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The tell-tale sound of keys sliding into a lock and the door sliding open to soft footsteps are the only indicators that Atsumu has a guest.
He doesn’t remove himself from the mountain of blankets piled on top of him, instead Atsumu buries himself deeper into the soft protection from the outside world. His heart booms against his chest and his ears ring into the quiet of the apartment.
The visitor moves from around the couch into the kitchenette and busies themself making noise, interrupting Atsumu’s quiet and perfect stillness.
“Couldja maybe try ta be a tad quieter?” he mumbles, not bothering to poke his head out of the blankets. They wrap around him in a warm, fluffy embrace. Atsumu decides quietly to himself that he’s never going to leave. Now that he’s had a taste of the euphoria of a blanket pile on a Thursday afternoon, he never wants to feel anything else.
“Or ya could get offa yer ass ta help.” Comes the reply.
No, Atsumu is not going to help. He is going to stay in his self-imposed solitude and forget that the world exists, or that he has to go teach a class tonight, or that he will never really be able to exist on the same plane as the rest of humanity ever again because holy hell these blankets are so nice.
“Did’ja ever talk ta yer landlord ‘bout the heater?” He hears Osamu start the stove and shuffle around in the cabinets. Atsumu secretly hopes it might be soup. The December chill has finally hit and Atsumu doesn’t think he’ll survive the walk to campus without the much-needed warmth.
Atsumu sighs, rolls over so that he’s facing the widow. The string of fairy lights leaves a stabbing feeling in his chest. He follows the strand with his eyes until it lands on the small half-fallen Christmas tree. He should really finish putting that up.
“I’m guessin’ that’s a ‘no’” Osamu starts to chop something on one of Atsumu’s cutting boards. The continuous sounds of the blade hitting the wood settle into Astumu’s brain like a clock. A clock that’s ticking faster and faster and faster and faster--
“Are ya gonna sulk all night or are ya gonna tell me what yer issue is?”
“Are ya gonna nag me all night?”
“Do I needta nag ya all night?”
Atsumu shifts to look at his brother’s back. He’s still chopping something; it looks like green onions.
The kitchenette is small. Ugly brown tile cracked and chipped from years of use. A small fridge, filled with an unnecessary amount of alcohol and too little food. The tiny amount of counter space is taken up by the coffee machine, tea kettle, and bag of groceries that Osamu had brought in with him. Osamu’s frame takes up most of the space and he only has to shift slightly to peek into the saucepan. The cabinets above him are filled with what little cooking supplies Atsumu has, and a very small number of spices that Osamu had left in the numerous times he’s cooked for Atsumu.
Atsumu watches Osamu cook in silence. Atsumu keeps his mouth shut, his lips are heavy. His tongue is thick and lethargic in his mouth. His eyelids close, they act as a barrier to keep the world away. He only really wants to deal with silence and darkness. He doesn’t want to deal with his other half currently working away in the kitchen. He doesn’t want to concern himself with the fairy lights, or the tree, or the soft thumping of feet down the hall.
Atsumu lets the smells and sounds of food surround him like the blankets he’s nestled himself into since late last night. The twinge of pain in his lower back screams at him to choose another resting place. One with more support for tired aching bones.
Osamu’s sigh reaches him, but he once again ignores whatever his brother is going to say. If he ignores it, it will go away. Most everything goes away at some point. Like the lights will eventually be taken down, and the Christmas tree, and the last of Atsumu’s sanity.
Atsumu startles when a bowl is set in front of him with a loud thunk. Osamu has set it on his sad excuse of a coffee table. It’s one he had been able to grab off of the side of the road. One leg is shorter than the rest so it wobbles and there are splatters of paint and dried clay all over it. It’s currently piled high with art supplies and books he’s barely picked up.
Osamu is standing above him with a disapproving look in his eyes. There are bags there, probably due to his own busy schedule. Osamu seems to slump to one side, a result of an injury from the sport they had played many years ago.
“Ya look like shit.” It’s the first thing that comes to Atsumu’s mind. Of course, Osamu is used to the lack of a brain to mouth filter and the lack of any kind of gratitude. He’s had a lifetime to get used to it. Atsumu is grateful for this, and the soup, even if he won’t express it. Osamu is used to him. Osamu is his mirrored self, put together and tolerable in the ways Atsumu is not. Entwined despite any reluctance either might hold.
“Yer one ta talk,” Osamu says, shoving Atsumu’s legs off of the side of the couch.
Silence sits with them as Osamu digs into the bowl of soup. Atsumu’s mind read perfectly in the form of tonjiru.
Atsumu moves slowly to sit up, careful of the blankets around his shoulders. He grasps the warm bowl between his hands and lets the feeling seep into his numb fingers. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aromatic masterpiece his brother has created for him. It’s not fatty tuna, not in any way, but it's still comfort food. It’s still something that Osamu has decided he needs, and when it comes to food, Atsumu is never going to question his brother’s taste.
They eat in silence, one spoonful at a time. One bite after another. Atsumu feels his belly warm. Regretfully, it’s not just from the soup.
It doesn’t take long for them to finish the soup, Osamu because he’s a glutton and Atsumu because he hasn’t eaten since the restaurant last night. Osamu should actually be yelling at him because of the time Atsumu has gone without food. Food is important. Food fuels and heals. If you don’t eat you can’t heal.
Well, ‘Samu, not everyone has a bottomless stomach and considers every food a comfort food.
“So, he’s gone?” It’s the first thing Osamu has said since they started eating. The image of a door slamming pushes into Atsumu’s brain. A packed bag after coming home from what seemed to be a good date night. A sad smile.
“Yeah.”
*
One last box lands on the floor. Something inside of it jingles and Shouyou hopes that nothing in it has broken. He didn’t drag all of these boxes up three flights of stairs only to shatter something he hadn’t thought to wrap properly.
His phone pings for what seems to be the millionth time and instead of ignoring it like he usually would, he turns his phone off completely.
It’s dark out by now, it had taken a while to get all of the boxes up by himself. Sure, Bokuto-san had helped with the furniture, but Shouyou had insisted on taking care of the boxes himself. There weren’t that many. He didn’t really care to keep that many things. Clutter wasn’t really his style.
Even though it should be around dinner time, he starts to unpack some things. Not like he has anything to cook with in the first place. It’s on his list of things to get once he has a paycheck shoved into his hands. Taking care of his body and all of that jazz. A soft western bed comes to mind from all the way across the world. He’ll miss it, but he has his futon now. His own place now.
It’s late enough by now that Shouyou can feel his stomach grumbling. He’s waited long enough to eat. The konbini down the street seems to be a good enough option, even if it’s not the healthiest choice. He’ll have to do some research and find somewhere to get healthier ingredients.
He steps out of the genkan and into the hall. As he passes his neighbor’s door a savory smell follows him down the hall. At least someone is eating well tonight.
His walk through the chilly December night is uneventful. He spies a stray cat that he’ll leave a small piece of his meat bun out for.
The trip to the konbini is as uneventful as most are. He decides on the meat buns so reminiscent of his earlier days his eyes mist up at the memory of senpais and classmates making too much noise outside of the small neighborhood konbini.
Shouyou grabs a few other things he’ll need for breakfast and lunch, until he can make a better trip to stock up his small kitchenette.
Once back at the small apartment, shoes tucked into the corner of the genkan, Shouyou breathes in the clean smell of another new apartment. A new city, a new opportunity just at his fingertips.
His view isn’t very good, but there is a microscopic balcony that Shouyou steps out onto. It’s chilly enough to make him shiver a bit in his short sleeves, but he takes in the air and the sights and lets the rush go through him. He makes sure to feel it in its entirety. He feels the buzzing in his brain, the need to move. It zings through his fingertips and all the way down, down, down to his toes. The feeling sits under his skin, comfortably. It’s good, almost pleasant. The feeling is almost excitement in the way it impatiently lingers and makes his fingers tap out that one song on the railing.
The song echoes in his head too. Sung across thousands of miles in a lone bar on the beach. Despite the hours of distance between himself and home , he can’t help but replay the last moments of the most familiar place in the world. He might have been born in Japan, but the feeling of home will always be associated with the sunny beaches of Rio de Janeiro.
He opens his eyes at the sound of voices drifting through the night. It’s not clear what they’re talking about. The sound is muffled by the cold air and Shouyou is only able to hear mumbles of replies. He hopes that whoever the voices belong to feel more at home than he does. He hopes that maybe they’ll be having a better night in a home and a companion.
He shifts his focus from the drifting voices and moves back into the freshly moved in apartment. The few boxes stacked in the corner stare at him, almost in exasperation. They have traveled over thousands of miles to make it to that spot. They don’t deserve to sit there another night, and if Shouyou was in a less melancholy mood, he might be inclined to unpack everything, so it all falls together. So, he feels less like an intruder and more like an occupant.
He shuffles past them, heading for the sad excuse of a futon in the corner of the bedroom. He doesn’t even bother with finishing his nightly routine. He does as he would have in high school, the last time he had actually lived in Japan, he flops onto his stomach and closes his eyes. He immediately feels relief, and his body relaxes.
A slam. “Well fuck ya too!”
A smile works its way across Shouyou’s face, at least he isn’t the only one having one hell of a night.
*
Atsumu does make it to class after all, and only because Osamu had pulled him from the couch straight to the genkan. His students are amused and giggly as he huffs into class. He might be in a mood, but there’s nothing like a free workday to get his mind out of his apartment and into the waking world.
It's not until he’s sitting in a small coffee shop, across from Bokkun, does Atsumu realize that he has been less than fun to be around. Bokkun is fiddling with his fingers on top of the table and looking almost guilty. Atsumu hadn’t really been aware of his effect on those around him. Sure, he had a reason to sulk around, but it didn’t make anyone want to be closer to him. Even Bokkun seemed uncomfortable in Atsumu’s silent sipping of his latte.
“‘M sorry,” Atsumu sighs. If it was anyone else, he might’ve been inclined to keep being a baby about it. Bokkun didn’t deserve it though, so Atsumu decided to be on his best behavior. If only for his dear friend.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Tsum-Tsum! We’re all just worried!” Despite blowing off Atsumu’s apology, Bokkun’s slouch is gone, and the kicked puppy look has vacated his face. “If you want to vent about it, you can!”
“Nah, ‘Samu came by last night.” Atsumu would love to vent about his asshole of an ex, or the dumb broad that his ex-hole ran to, but it seems less and less appealing. He wants to forget about it.
“If you’re sure!” Bokkun picks at the strawberry shortcake in front of him. He really only gets them when he’s been thinking. It’s never really a good sign when Bokkun thinks. As much as Atsumu would love to peek into Bokkun’s brain and pick at his motivations, Atsumu would rather keep his own thought process intact. He loves Bokkun like a brother, but some things just need to stay inside of Bokkun’s head.
“Why’re ya bein’ picky?” Bokkun loves to talk, and it’s hard to get him to stop sometimes. It’s when you have to prod at any ideas that Bokkun is quiet. He becomes oddly enraptured in his ideas and becomes hesitant to share them.
Bokkun opens and closes his mouth. A grimace lights his face before he stares dutifully down at the strawberry shortcake. He’s mashed it up into an unrecognizable plump.
“Ya do realize ‘m not gonna make fun’a ya.”
Bokkun looks up at Atsumu, his face seems a bit apprehensive. Like he’s expressed this to someone else and they’ve told him what a shit idea he’s come up with.
“I know that.”
“Then ya can tell me what's got yer panties all up in a twist.” A lady gasps from across the aisle and it lights a small smile upon Bokkun’s face.
“I’m thinking about throwing a party for a friend.”
Atsumu can’t put his finger on why Bokkun might be embarrassed about that. He’s been known to throw everything from quiet movie nights to parties that make Atsumu reminiscent of his days in undergrad.
“Why’s that?”
Bokkun looks down at the mushed-up cake. Atsumu curbs the pulling at his mouth. He doesn’t need to be unkind and yawn, or frown. He’s already put Bokkun out by his pouting earlier.
“He just moved here,” Bokkun sits up a bit and drags his eyes to the window to stare at the people bustling down the street. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, but he gets kinda home sick easily. It happened last time he moved, and no one could really help him. I just thought it might be nice to help him make some friends.” Bokkun takes a bite of his shortcake. At least he’s eating it now.
“I don’t see why yer all nervous ‘bout it.” Atsumu makes sure to ease the tone of his voice, soften his words so they soothe instead of sting.
“You think it's a good idea?” Another bite of shortcake makes its way to Bokkun’s mouth.
“I think it's real nice of ya, Bokkun.” Atsumu feels just as fake as the smile crossing his face.
“Really?” Bokkun droops in relief against the back of his chair and then immediately begins to demolish what’s left of his shortcake.
“I think yer a real good friend,” Atsumu nods.
Atsumu can feel the tightness in his chest. He should really feel happy for Bokkun and his friend, but Atsumu feels a churning in his stomach. It feels like the time when he ate some of the bad take-out in his fridge. Atsumu smiles anyway as he listens to Bokkun brainstorm.
Even though a stone has settled in the bottom of his stomach.
*
There is a creak in the floor, Shouyou notices as he places the last picture on the wall. The last piece to unpack.
It’s of his sister and him. Her orange curls wild and crazy, her arm is slung around his shoulders as she smiles wide and happy. Her other hand is held in a peace sign out in front of them. Shouyou’s own smile is wide, a perfect twin of his sister’s. Their mother used to lament that they took after their father. They had inherited his wild curls and large smiles. Although, she would also say that they had inherited her taste in men.
Shouyou smiles, he misses them. The family he wasn’t able to spend as much time with. He’ll have to take a trip to see them once he gets settled into the job.
He turns to the empty boxes sitting near the door. He moves to the balcony again. The warmth of the sun settles into his skin. It holds him close and warm and the hollowness in his stomach seems to fill just a smidge.
“You’re like a plant,” he says, tongue in cheek. “All you need is food, water and the sun.”
He touches the glass, it’s cool to the touch, something he expected but it still sends a sting into his bones. He might be used to the cold, he was born in Miyagi, but he doubts it will ever be like home.
He slides away on socked feet, there are things to do rather than daydream on what feels like the ghosts of a past life.
His kitchenette is smaller than the kitchen he shared with Pedro in Rio. There is no dishwasher and Shouyou is somewhat glad he won’t have to deal with the rickety microwave. Or have to battle it out with the ancient refrigerator in order to get a hold of some fresh fruits.
Shouyou revels in the smooth opening of the fresh produce drawer to grab some ingredients he snagged earlier in the day. He sets about making dinner to the sound of silence. He should invest in some speakers.
As he chops away at the fresh vegetables on his cutting board, the slam of a door sounds from down the hall.
*
Osamu’s soup lasts for a couple of nights. Dinner is the only meal Atsumu doesn’t dare to miss. Breakfast is usually the one he forgoes in favor of getting to campus faster for his dreaded office hours. Why he decided to have the earliest hours possible is completely a mystery. He curses his past self every morning, scrambling to make it on time. Not like students actually show up.
He’s microwaving the last of the soup when he finally lets himself go. He’d been on best behavior all day. He was nice to Bokkun, he didn’t yell at the obvious uncaring students in the Sculpture I class, he called his Ma, and even stopped by his peer’s exhibit in the main art building.
The microwave bumbles on and Atsumu’s eyes drift to the small corner of the room covered in cheap plastic tablecloths. Tarp had been too expensive at the time of its construction, and he just never had the energy to change them out.
The last standing piece of Atsumu’s series of personal sculptures stands half finished. Warped clay and metal all converge into a mess of something. Anything really. Atsumu wishes it had been anything. Of course, most of his actually good art was in the small faculty studio on campus, while his own small personal pseudo studio was mostly left untouched. Not many people were allowed to see Atsumu’s personal projects. Usually, it was just Osamu or maybe Kita-san. Sunarin was barred since the last time he had laughed at Atsumu’s attempt at creating a feminine body. It was supposed to be an abstract piece but had ended in a failure so bad he had yet to return to the idea. It circled around in his head, like a catchy song. Sure, it had been a few years since Sunarin’s incredulity at Atsumu’s failed sculpture. It wouldn’t be the first failure, but something about it had stuck in the back of Atsumu’s skull. Rolling around and around until he sat up in bed at 2am and wished for everything to go away.
The microwave beeps and Atsumu grabs the bowl of tonjiru. He doesn’t bother with sitting down, his nest of blankets are still on the couch. Instead Atsumu shovels spoonfuls into his mouth from the counter. It’s just as good as it was the other night. Warm and homey. It makes the ache in his chest feel just a tad lighter. He lets the scowl on his face deepen. He should really take a run, get all the emotions out of his system or maybe start something new. Brush up on his painting, maybe. Ma did buy him those really nice watercolors.
He decides on the run instead. Touching the corner studio space seems like too much for his head. Instead, he puts on one of the playlists Bokkun swears by and takes off running into the night. It’s not something he normally would do, running at night, but he needs to get his brain to stop working. It’s really the only thing he can think of.
His feet pounding against the asphalt of the road calm his brain down. The stray cat pokes her calico head out of her ally. Atsumu doesn’t stop for her courtesy pets, he’ll do it on the way back.
He really needs to stop asking Bokkun for playlist recommendations. He’s tired of listening to instrumentals when he runs.
He feels the cold seep into the tips of his finger and nose. It burns his lungs as he pushes the chilly air in and out. His thighs burn with the repeated movement, but he revels in the pain shooting up.
The watch on his wrist beeps with the met steps goal, he doesn’t stop. Atsumu pushes himself faster, his feet hit harder, and the burn becomes almost unbearable. He should really run more.
He sprints around the park, the darkness staying at bay with the help of streetlights. He takes one lap and heads back, not willing to stay out too late. He has office hours in the morning.
He only slows to say hello to his favorite creature in the world. She’s small and fat now from himself and the shop owner down the street always feeding her. She purrs at his appearance and happily head-butts his hand as he reaches down to pet her. He strokes
at her fur, a little rough from the street life. He’ll have to buy a brush for her and probably rebuild her bedding for the cold winter months.
“Hello, there, Akachan.”
She meows happily at his attention. His favorite girl. “Yer such’a gorgeous gal,” he muses scratching behind her ear. She seems to soak up his words and brighten with every compliment. He entertains her for a few minutes more before the chill starts to seep deeper into his bones.
“Alright, see ya later, Lil lady.” She meows at him as he stands and takes off again at a light jog to make it back to his apartment in decent time. He takes the stairs two at a time, his legs straining from overuse.
Upon entry he ditches his shoes, his head pounding from the leftover adrenaline from his run. Despite the sharp cold that has settled deep under his skin, burrowed down, a drop of sweat makes its way down his forehead. He strips as he makes his way into the bathroom, the perks of living alone.
Alone.
It’s when Atsumu is half naked in the hallway, only steps away from the warmth of a hot shower, when he freezes. His hand is poised at the waistband of his leggings, the shorts that accompanied them discarded on the floor a few feet behind. His fingers freeze the bare skin at his waistline. A sharp intake of breath to hold back the creeping tears making their way to the corner of his eyes.
He’s alone.
There is no Osamu barging down his door. Bokkun won’t be showing up. He won’t have anyone tonight.
He undresses a bit more carefully now. Throwing his leggings and socks in a pile on the floor by his sink. The shower screeches as he moves the lever over. It normally takes a while for the water heater to get to work.
When those few minutes of silence are up and a nice steam is building up to the ceiling, Atsumu takes a step into the shower. The warm stream of water hits his back and runs through his hair. He sighs and begins his shower routine. He’s in for a long night.
*
Shouyou knows the drill about new places: you move in, unpack everything, make a list of all the things you need to get, get the things, etc.
So Shouyou ends up doing just that. By getting out and about, away from the tiny apartment, he ends up feeling better almost immediately. It might not be Rio, but there isn’t much he can do about that. Instead, he decides to make the day better. While out running errands, he stops at a ramen shop for lunch and makes sure to walk around the neighborhood. He makes sure to stop to pet the small calico, giving her a quick scratch under her chin. He takes some time to look through the park. It’s decent sized and Shouyou can see himself taking his morning runs around it.
The day ends with a smile. He sits on his couch and watches the sky turn dark outside. He feels the serenity of a good day settle in his stomach, along with the good food. Nourish your body, nourish your mind. He repeats this in his head. He should meditate really, he set aside the corner with the most sunlight in the morning. He hadn’t done his regular morning routine and he could feel the antsy tingling in his toes. He doubts he could really calm himself though. He would then be subject to his own mind, and that’s never been a good thing while alone in a new place.
He makes himself get up anyway. He slides on one of the sweaters he had. It was grey and threadbare, a hole in the sleeve that he had a habit of thumbing through when relaxing. It’s warm though, and familiar. The lettering across the front is worn and cracked from so many washes. He can barely read One Piece that sprawls across his chest.
The sleeves wrap him in a hug and for a moment, Shouyou feels like he lives here. Like he actually inhabits this apartment.
Shouyou settles down onto the plain, worn mat. It’s a comfort, the textured feel of something familiar brings back memories of bright sunrises and shared yoga classes with his friends. No, he might not be in Brazil anymore, but he’s got to make himself a new home here now.
He breathes in. Out.
Quiets his mind and solidifies himself into the ground. Shouyou almost immediately feels the familiar rush of energy all the way through the top of his head. He slips his fingers into Apan Vayu Mudra and begins to slow his breath down. In. Pause. Out. He repeats this and focuses on his body. A wave of calm treks through his body, starting slowly at the base of his spine. It moves up with every breath he takes, through his shoulders and circles around the mudra . The energy releases out of the top of his head, a small trail rather than a large explosion.
Breathing does wonders. Without losing focus, Shouyou can feel the tension in his neck and shoulders ease. They don’t droop but stay sturdy within their position. The posture becomes easier to hold though, less like forcing himself into a familiar position. He’s able to keep his breathing even without much focus and he feels his jaw unclench.
After finishing a cycle of breathing, he opens his eyes slowly. They immediately focus back onto the balcony; the view isn’t much.
No, it isn’t.
But now Shouyou can see it: a flower box. Or maybe he’ll try to grow some herbs to cook with. Maybe he’ll find a vine to wrap around the small ledge. He can drink his morning tea out there too, and maybe stargaze at night. He can see Christmas lights and a good deep clean. He can see himself, standing there on the small balcony, feet planted firmly onto the miniscule space.
He turns to look at the kitchenette, he’ll fill it soon. Ask his mom to send some of the older kitchen things she doesn’t use anymore. He’ll get a speaker to listen to music, and he’ll make sure to cook so many tasty meals. Brazilian, Japanese, American, He’ll make so many different dishes. He’ll nourish his body well.
He can make this home.
He can get a new futon and keep the other one for guests. He can decorate however he wants, this is his own space after all. He can invest in a kotatsu, so that when he misses the warmth of Brazil, he can revel in the warmth with tea or a good meal.
With one last resolute breath, he seals his own contract. He’s tired of feeling sorry for himself. This is his home now, and he’ll be damned if he takes that away from himself.
There’s a notepad sitting on the table, left from his list of things that he needed. He tears off the old sheet and begins to write a new list.
This is my home.
He tears that too and uses a piece of tape to stick it to the mirror in the fridge. He’ll need the reminder.
His head feels right now. He can feel it in his bones that he’ll be out of this depression soon. That his homesickness will be gone, and his apartment will be his new home. His new place. His roots might be torn and scattered all over the world, but that doesn’t mean he can’t dig more roots. And he’s determined to make Osaka one of those places. A place he can always come back to too. Another home out of many.
He slides into bed with the heaviness in his chest gone to feel a sense of comfort in the hug of his blankets.
It’s pitch-black inside of the room when the muted sound of a door slamming jolts Shouyou from his dreams. The shuffle and thump of feet follow the slam. Shouyou blinks his eyes, hazy from sleep. He can tell immediately that it isn’t time to wake up, his body still teeters on the brink of unconsciousness and the waking night.
He rolls onto his side and curls his legs to his chest. He closes his heavy eyes, prepared to sleep until his alarm goes off in what’s probably a few hours at least.
He’s close to sleep again, focusing on the silence in the room to lull himself asleep when a sob makes its way through the walls.
He hadn’t noticed how thin they were until now.
The sobs continue, softly and drifting through the drywall between them. They are full of grief to the point that Shouyou can feel them in his own chest. Whoever these sobs belong to must hurt so bad. Shouyou hurts for them.
He’s fully awake now, the crying from behind the wall finally poking him into consciousness. He presses his ear to the wall, and he can distinguish the sounds clearer. His heart aches. He never wants anyone to feel this sad.
“What’s wrong?” he asks before he has any right mind to stop himself.
The sobbing stops.
*
The shower only seems to make Atsumu’s passable mood turn sour.
He had already decided that he would behave while in front of people. He didn’t need to make anyone around him worry. He’d been alone before; he could do it again. He was used to people leaving.
Instead of the shower relaxing him enough to get some rest, he finds himself pacing in front of the door to the balcony. The half-decorated tree is mocking him. He wanted to throw it out, but the need for some festivity sat at the back of his head. Too many thoughts implanted by too many people who weren’t around anymore.
So, he paces, right in front of the damn thing.
The exhaustion he feels sets itself into his eyes can only do so much because it’s his brain that seems to be running miles a minute. So, he takes his Gran’s advice: Hot tea, acchan, is the key to making everything turn out alright.
Tea it is.
He’s never been a perfectionist for tea. As much as Osamu beat the proper procedure to brew any kind of tea, Atsumu has never cared to put any of it to practice. He just simply boils the water and throws the tea in. He’s never been much for doing things the correct way.
His Gran would agree, and Ma, and Osamu. Like when he was seven and instead of calling Gran to get the plates, he climbed onto the counter. It had ended in him splitting his head on the floor as he fell. Osamu had never teased him about that. Ma had said something about not being able to joke about someone you care about almost dying. Or Atsumu can think of the time he had snuck to that one art exhibit despite his Ma promising to take him the next day. Acchan, you scared me half to death!
He doesn’t even want to think about all of the things he’s done around Osamu. All of the lectures and ‘lessons’ he’s been given to him by his brother. ‘Tsumu this and ‘Tsumu that.
The crack of the mug hitting the tile at his feet is what shatters his thoughts. Of. Fucking. Course.
It takes about 15 steps for Atsumu to make it to his bedroom door and slam it closed behind him. He presses his back to it and clenches his jaw. Pain rips up through the side of his head. His heart is beating so so fast. Too fast almost. Too fast for a lone man in his single bedroom apartment.
He falls hard onto his bed. He doesn’t even realize his cheeks are wet, eyes watery and nose effectively clogged. A loud sob sounds from his mouth. The dam breaks. They continue to get louder and louder and Atsumu feels like he’s almost screaming. Alone with no one to hear him.
Or at least he thought so but he’s proved wrong with the clear, “What’s wrong?” seeps its way through the vents and wall and into Atsumu’s solitude. He immediately tries to quiet his sobs. Here he is, making a nuisance of himself for a perfect stranger. Not only do his friends have to put up with his craggy attitude, but now his neighbor has to put up with his late night tantrums. Before Atsumu can apologize the voice calls again--
“I’m sorry, I just heard you--”a pause, “and I thought you might need someone to talk to?” The neighbor’s voice wavers a bit, unsure of the proposition shared between the wall. “I know when I’m sad I just want to talk about it.”
“‘M sorry I woke ya.” Atsumu pushes out before his poor neighbor can start rambling.
“Oh, god no! You shouldn't apologize for your emotions!” Atsumu almost feels scolded. “It’s just that I’ve been sad like that too, and I wanted to see if I could help?”
Atsumu feels like he’s entered into some kind of weird manga. In what world does your neighbor start to comfort you through the wall? Atsumu almost doesn’t believe this is happening. Maybe he’s in some messed up dream where everything that can, goes wrong but the weird person next door is going to make it all okay. Its wild as shit, honestly.
“So? Did you wanna talk?”
“I don’t wanna bother ya more than I already have.” Atsumu’s voice sounds broken and scratchy from his crying. He feels he might still cry. In the bathroom though, as not to keep his magnanimous neighbor awake any longer.
“I’m the one that offered, I wouldn’t have if it bothered me.”
Atsumu can’t decide. Should he trust this stranger with whom he shared a wall with? Should he tell his neighbor about everything?
“Come on, we’re both here.”
Atsumu has always been pretty easy to peer pressure.
“I got dumped,” he sighs, “took ‘im out for our anniversary. Told me he found someone else an’ left. He’d even packed his shit up so when I got back it was empty.” Empty like Atsumu’s chest feels.
“He’s an asshole then.” The voice from behind the wall sounds resolute in his discovery. “You don’t just get to cheat and leave.”
“Yeah, well, nothin’ ta do about it now. Everyone’s been tired 'a my moping.”
“So, you’re just bottling everything up?”
Atsumu moves to press his back against the wall. It’s the wall closest to the vent and the best place to hear his neighbor clearly. Not that the wall isn’t thin enough for that in the first place.
“Guess so, nothin’ else ta do with it.” He tips his head back. It’s almost as if this neighbor is in the room with him. A comforting presence at his side or sitting in front of him. Atsumu imagines his neighbor in the same position as him: pressed against the wall with his head tilted back, eyes closed and ears straining to get every word as clear as possible.
“That’s bullshit. They should be there for you! You should be able to express your emotions!” He imagines arms flailing in exasperation. Maybe his neighbor’s hands would come up to their face or maybe run through their hair.
“Well, I don’t blame ‘em. No one wants ta be ‘round me much anyways.” It’s just Atsumu, in his too big, too empty one bedroom apartment.
“You need to make new friends,” The neighbor huffs, “I can’t believe they treat you like that. Friends are supposed to be there for the good and the bad! They should respect your emotions right now--” Atsumu smiles, really smiles. Here a complete stranger is, talking him through his episode and getting angry on his behalf.
“S’okay,” Atsumu shrugs even if his companion can’t see him. “They’re all good enough ta me. Better than I deserve, really.”
“What does that even mean?” The frustration in the voice is clear, “How are you actually arguing for them treating you like that?”
“Well, ‘m not the best person out there, I give ‘em a lotta trouble. An’ some 'a them have put up with me fer most 'a my life. Least I can do is not let ‘em worry.”
“That’s bullshit too!” Atsumu bites back the laugh that threatens to burst out of his mouth. “You were cheated on! And then dumped! And you’re worried about worrying people? They should be worried! Only psychopaths wouldn’t be affected by that!”
“Well, most would say ‘m a narcissist,” There’s an obvious sound of frustration.
Atsumu doesn’t think he’d mind this lecture.
*
Shouyou wakes up with a stiff neck. He’s slumped from the position he had fallen asleep in against the wall. His legs are tucked close and the blanket fell to cover only his feet.
He stands on shaky and stiff legs. Yoga is a need this morning.
He didn’t even realize they had stayed up so late. The last thing he remembered was talking about how his neighbor was a pretty decent cook, but his brother was the chef of the family. Going to the prestigious culinary school in the next town.
Shouyou can’t say that he’s ever had an experience quite like last night. He wasn’t even mad about the lack of sleep. He even felt a bit rejuvenated from the genuine connection he had felt talking to his neighbor. His first new friend.
He decided to go straight into his morning yoga routine. Warm up and move his body, small stretches that lengthen into deeper ones. Moving, feeling the warmth spread through his body. He finally steps to the top of the mat to start a morning flow.
He breathes through the movements, steady and clear. Shaping and moving his body in the best of ways. He’s calm and gentle, but strong and steady at the same time. He presses himself up off of the mat and holds, making sure to sink deeper into each position in tandem with his exhales.
When he stands at the top of his mat after his final flow, he feels better. His body isn’t stiff anymore, even if he can still feel the soreness in his neck
He moves to tea on the balcony. Carefully brewed and perfect in the chill of the morning. Shouyou can feel the warmth slip into his fingertips, can feel the tea warming his whole body.
He wonders what his neighbor is doing. They had talked about so many things. Shouyou can’t help but to get stuck in his weird late night interaction. How many people can say they became friends with their neighbor through the wall? No one that Shouyou knew.
Tea gone, he heads back into the small apartment, it feels slightly more welcoming now. The sunlight is shining in, hitting the floors and opening up the room like Shouyou had yet to see. Yes, he had a friend now. He could do this.
He showers and gets ready for the day, slipping on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he had things to do now.
While slipping the shoes onto his feet a blink of neon blue catches his eye.
*
Atsumu can feel his spirits are a bit higher. There’s less of a frump in his step, his shoulders are higher. As he walks home with clay dried under his fingernails, he can say that today is a decent enough day.
The sun is out, meaning that it isn’t as chilly as it might have been, so Atsumu has ditched his coat for a lighter sweater. He feels good, like he might be able to end the day with a smile even.
He takes the stairs, one by one, and doesn’t really try to rush. He doesn’t really want to be alone, but he doesn’t think he’ll be in danger of another breakdown.
He should have cleaned up the broken mug and spilt tea too, waking up to a mess was a recipe for a bad day. But he had fun last night, talking to the mystery man behind the wall. It had put him in a good enough mood to not care much about having to clean up a mess.
He stops at his door and pauses.
I hope you had a better day today :)
He takes the note and holds it between his fingers. Wiping his thumb across the messy scrawl of what he suspects is his neighbor.
His cheeks pull into a smile.
He rushed into his own apartment, dropping his bag in the genkan and not bothering to take off his shoes. He pulls the pad of sticky notes out of the mess on his coffee table before rushing out a quick note.
I did, I hope yours was good. Sorry to keep you up so late. Gets pinned to the door. He returns to the lone apartment. His pseudo studio looks lonely, he walks to it.
*
My day was fantastic! :) I’m glad you’re feeling better! I also had fun so don’t worry about it!!! ^-^
*
Shouyou continues the string of notes. Maybe he’s just selfish, wanting to keep contact with the only friend he’s made here. He might be selfish, but he won’t stop sending notes to his neighbor. He’s too invested in this stranger’s life.
I hope your job hunt went well :) I fed Akachan today, she’s getting fatter. I think she might be pregnant.
The topic of the adorable calico had come up earlier in the week when they had a rare day of rain. His neighbor had recounted his treck in the rain to make sure the cat, Akachan apparently, had shelter and food for the weather.
Shouyou thought it was sweet, really, his neighbor was sweet. They hadn’t been exchanging notes for long, but Shouyou could see it in all of the little details his neighbor would give him. It made something in Shouyou feel goopy on the insides. Here was this man running out in a storm to make sure a stray had a dry place and some food, and then turning around and calling himself an inconvenience? He was a kind person indeed. Shouyou could feel it in his bones.
I guess that would make you the kittens’ grandpa then :p I applied to a few more places. Hope you got some more work done!
He sticks it to his neighbor’s door before finally making his way into his apartment. He toes off his shoes in the genkan, not bothering to set them to the side, and immediately heads to the kitchenette to make some tea. He had a call back for that one coffee shop, he wasn’t thrilled to be a barista, but it was a job.
He’ll have to ask his neighbor if he knows any places that were hiring. Or maybe something will come along that he actually wants to do. He didn’t really think everything through when he decided to come to Osaka.
Shouyou has a lot to think about.
*
“Got any new artworks goin on?” Osamu is sitting across from him at the ramen place they had decided to eat at.
“Kinda,” Atsumu shrugs, staring down his beer.
“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?”
“I mean,” he sighs, “that I kinda have one going on. Working with clay again.”
Osamu doesn’t flinch, Atsumu usually finds his way into working with a medium he doesn’t like.
“Thought ’cha were all into wire or somethin’,” Osamu downs a gulp of his beer. “Should we get gyoza too?”
‘Sure.” Osamu’s eyes flit up.
“Okay.”
Dinner leaves a bad taste in Atsumu’s mouth. Like ash. Osamu has been walking on eggshells lately, and it's not every day that they get to see each other. With Atsumu beginning to start his prospectus and Osamu getting close to finishing up his culinary degree. Soon even, they might not be able to see too much of each other after all of these things. Instead of using their time wisely, Osamu acts like Atsumu is a livewire. Like at any moment he’ll explode.
He’s not that messed up in the head, to not be able to hold a conversation with his own brother. Sure he’s got a lot going on, but that doesn’t mean he won’t smile and move on. He’s an adult, he can keep a leash on his own emotions.
I hope dinner with your brother goes well!!!!! ^-^ I think it’s really neat that you guys keep in touch.
He pulls the note off of the door. Rubs the paper beneath his fingers.
He wonders what the fingers that wrote this were like. If they were small and dainty, or maybe large and strong. His neighbor might be some excitable kid, right out of high school and trying to make it big in Osaka. Or he might be some big burly guy that goes to the gym and lifts twice his body weight. Atsumu doubts the last one.
He slips into the door and grabs the pad of notes and pen he’s kept near the wall.
How’s that barista job going? You started this week, right?
*
“So, you have a crush on your neighbor?” Yamaguchi’s voice comes cracking through the phone.
“ No , I said that I’m kinda pen pals with my neighbor. It’s fun! We just write notes back and forth and--”
“Look, Hinata, I know that it seems kind of exciting, but what if he’s a pervert! He could be, like, grooming you!” Yachi’s voice comes from behind him. Shouyou really wishes he was in Miyagi by now.
“I’m not getting some weird crush on my neighbor, I don’t even know what he looks like.”
*
Sometimes, I forget that he’s gone. Those days are the hardest. -A
Well, I’m right behind the wall. I hope you feel better soon. Maybe your brother could bring you soup? -S
Thanks. I think he’s pretty busy with school and stuff, I’ll just try to get past it. That's all I can really do. -A
Like I said, I’m right behind the wall. -S
*
“Uh, ‘Tsumu, there’s a note on yer door.” Osamu says walking into the apartment. A six pack of beer and the looks of a very large take-out bag.
“Oh shit, I didn’t check today,” He runs to grab the note.
Work was really nice today. I get to talk to my sister later today too! I hope taste testing with your brother goes well!!! ^-^
“That’s so gross. Why’re ya smilin’ all creepy?” Osamu looks like he’s tasted a lemon. His mouth is puckered in a tight line and Atsumu can even discern a bit of detest in his eyes.
“Nothin’” Atsumu slips the note into the trash. He doesn’t have time to put it with all of the others.
Osamu’s eyes narrow, “Fine, let's get to tastin’!”
Osamu sets out each onigiri in a row. He’s careful and deliberate, only placing them just right. One by one, they each take one and bite into it. Tasting and eating. They make notes on what is perfect and what needs to change. By the end of the night, they’re tipsy and laughy. Atsumu feels like his chest has gooped up and he makes sure to memorize every laugh and joke they share. Laughing about high school, or the time Osamu had burned a pie so badly the pan had to be thrown away. Or when Atsumu had been trying to get that dog out of the street and had ended up with a broken arm. Osamu’s first chef job, Atsumu’s first showcase, everything.
Atsumu calls it a goodnight.
I heard you guys laughing! I’m so glad you had fun!
*
It’s the crying that gets to Shouyou. The way he can hear his neighbor sob some nights. Sometimes they talk through the wall, more late nights talking about their friends and family.
“I don’t see why you won’t tell me what’s wrong,” Shouyou says, on a particularly bad night.
It’s the silence that Shouyou hates the most.
*
I hope you realize how glad I am to know you
*
How was Miyagi?
So cold!!! It was nice to be home for the holidays though! How were you?
Everything was great.
*
Atsumu placed his head in his hands.
He was sending notes to a complete stranger. This stranger knew more about the poor state of his mental health than Atsumu’s own family.
“I think you’re too afraid to lose people,” comes from the other side of the wall. Atsumu is curled up. Back pressed to the wall, head tilted to hear his neighbor’s voice clearer. “I think you should live without worrying people are going to leave, or that they don’t love you.”
“Well, look atcha, all deep ‘n shit,” He hears a giggle.
“You can deflect it all you want, but I’m right.”
*
Thank you, you help me feel less lonely here.
*
“So, when are you going to let us meet prince charming?” Tsukishima asks through the gritty video call.
“I told you, we’re just, like, pen pals or something.” It sounds wrong coming out of his mouth.
“You literally just told us that he made you feel at home in Osaka,” Yachi pipes in. Shouyou hadn’t even known she was paying attention.
“Even Kageyama knows something is up,” Tsukishima smirks. “And he’s the least experienced in these kinds of things.”
Shouyou feels an ache in his chest. Sure, it's been weeks of them passing notes back and forth. Of conversations through the wall. “He just helped me not feel so home-sick is all!” His eyes move towards the balcony. The sun has set so it’s dark. Shouyou can see the street lamps glow.
“And how has he done that?” Now Yamaguchi wields a smirk, the shine in his eyes teasing.
“Nothing like that!” He flushes, “He just helps to talk me through it! He’s the one that convinced me to take that trip for New Years!”
Now all three of them are sporting smirks. “Sure, Hinata.”
*
“What’s this?”
Osamu is standing just in the genkan. His shoes are off and lined against the wall next to Atsumu’s sneakers. Atsumu is fresh out of the shower. A pair of sweats sitting on his hips and a towel around his neck to catch the drops from his hair.
Osamu looks stern, like Atsumu is about to get another lecture.
“The last few times I’ve been over, there’s always a note or somethin’ for ya,” he walks towards Atsumu and holds out the purple piece of paper between his fingers.
Thank you! I feel a lot better now! You’re so kind ^-^
Atsumu takes it. Running a finger over the black ink. It’s the second note today, which means that his neighbor must be home now. Or he had stopped by.
He looks up at Osamu, “So?”
“It’s a little weird, ‘cause it corresponds with ya bein’ so happy. Which is also weird ‘cause ya always pout an’ sulk till ya find another boyfriend ‘n then the cycle repeats. Ya don’t get goody goody over dumb notes.” Osamu is staring him down. He probably already knows some of the story. Osamu has always been able to figure Atsumu out pretty easily. Like the time he lied about who ate all of the pudding in the cupboard.
“Can’t I be happy?” Atsumu is getting a bit annoyed now. His class had gone well earlier and he even had students come to his office hours to go over an assignment. It all left a skip in his step and he had even been excited to see Osamu. All of that seems to be flushed down the drain a bit.
“I’m just worried that yer out here findin’ a rebound ‘n yer gonna get yer heartbroken again.”
Atsumu sighs, it's fair that Osamu is worried. There has been Atsumu’s continuous cycle, which he likes to say it’s part of his struggling artist persona.
“It’s not a big deal,” he tries to brush it off. Slightly embarrassed at the fact he’s been communicating with his neighbor for weeks and has never even met the guy. At least not face to face.
“Talk,” Osamu crosses his arms. Man, his shoulders are broad. Atsumu wonders if his are broad like that. “Or I won’t be sharin’ the final products.”
“Fine, I’ll tell ya!” Atsumu huffs. He moves to the couch, the blankets he used to cocoon in are placed in their basket, folded and cared for. The mess on his coffee table is better now too. He threw out the tree forever ago. He didn’t want to look at it.
His eyes catch the string of lights. He’s added to them since, they string across the ceiling in an array of patterns, lighting up the room. All of the strands pool together around Atsumu’s art corner. A finished sculpture sits, drying from its final additions earlier in the day.
“I kinda had a breakdown a couple 'a weeks ago,” Osamu sits on the other side of the couch, he has his body turned towards Atsumu. “Well, I guess the walls’re thinner than I thought. Ma neighbor kinda talked me down. We--uh--write notes back ‘n forth.” It’s only a quick explanation. There are more nights spent talking until the early hours, there’s shared tears and thoughts. Despite his brevity, he still feels his cheeks burn, the sensation traveling all the way to the tips of his ears.
Osamu stares at him. The silence sits heavy like a weight blanket. It smothers any of Atsumu’s higher thoughts. He’s waiting for Osamu’s reaction.
After what feels like too long, Osamu’s lips quirk into an infuriating smirk. Atsumu knows what’s about to happen.
“Sounds like ya got yerself a crush.”
*
“So, you’re admitting it?”
Kageyama sits across from him. His face is blank, Shouyou wants to rip his hair out.
“Why are you acting like this is a murder mystery! I just told you I have a crush on my neighbor!”
“I heard you the first time, dumbass.” He shouldn’t have chosen Kageyama. He could have chosen anyone, and he told Kageyama.
“I don’t know what to do!” he falls back, eyes catching the quartz crystal hanging in front of the balcony doors. It casts rainbows over the floor. “Help me, please.”
“Sorry, you’re on your own.” Kageyama ends the call.
*
No, because for once in his life, Osamu is right .
Atsumu realizes this, while staring at the collection of sticky notes (minus the ones he had to throw away so Osamu didn’t see). He had kept as many as possible, tucked them away in a shoe box he kept next to his paints.
Osamu is standing behind him with the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen.
“‘Samu, I don’t know what to do.” He picks up a note. This one is blue, much like the first one notes he had ever received.
You really helped me. I was super homesick before. I’m very grateful to you.
Well, Atsumu is fucked.
They continue with their night. Osamu has him try all of the finished products. Onigiri, recipes perfected and created, sit on a plastic platter they had found in the top of the cupboard.
The onigiri is good, like it usually is. He can taste the hard work and care put into each one. But his eyes keep moving to the shoe box in the corner.
He can’t focus on anything, just his mind turning over and over on itself.
“I’ve never even met him, ‘Samu.” The onigiri is gone, demolished by the twins.
“Ya said ya talk all the time,” Osamu is rubbing at his stomach, a habit he started as a kid and never let go.
“Yeah, through the wall,” He can feel the tension in his shoulders start to build.
“So ya just haven't seen his face?” Osamu’s hand freezes on his belly. “Just look him up on social media.”
“I don’t have his name either.” Atsumu feels the shame slide up the back of his neck. It chokes him like a hand.
“Well, ‘Tsumu, looks like ya gotta ask him out on a date,” Osamu grins, proud of his grand idea.
Except Atsumu has never been all that great at feelings. His eyes wander again to the shoe box.
*
Shouyou places a note onto his neighbor’s door. He hopes that everything is okay. The notes had slowly come to an end over the course of a few days. He hadn’t even heard much from the apartment next door. There was no loud music, or food smells, or action movie scenes.
Shouyou doesn’t give up though. He’s been a lot of things in his life, but he isn’t going to let this friend slip out of his hands. He might have a slight (only slight) crush on the guy, but so what? They’re friends. Shouyou needs to be there for him. So, he leaves notes daily:
Hope you’re doing well
I fed Akachan today, hope that’s fine
I watched a bad horror film with a friend, it reminds me of the movies you said you liked.
*
Shouyou walks into Bokuto’s apartment. It’s larger than his own, partly because he rooms with Akaashi and Kuroo. Weeks ago, he had talked Shouyou into a welcoming party. Despite the fact that Shouyou was pretty established in Osaka, it was nice to get the chance to hang out with Bokuto more. The party might be a bit later than it should have, but that wasn’t going to deter him from calling it Shouyou’s welcome party.
“You do realize he knows like half of the people in the room already,” Kuroo grouses into his beer, “I told you we should’ve had it weeks ago, before Christmas.”
“I’m sorry, okay! I thought it would be alright,” Bokuto begins to pout.
“Don’t worry about it, Bokuto-san! I’m just honored that you threw a party for me!” Shouyou has never been really into parties, but he can always say he has a good time whenever he’s with Bokuto.
Seemingly having his spirits raised, Bokuto takes Shouyou around the room to introduce him to everyone. One by one Shouyou meets everyone crammed into Bokuto, Akaashi and Kuroo’s apartment. He dazzles everybody with his wide smiles, and tanned skin. Ever the conversation holder, the other guests seem to rotate around him as the party moves forward.
Shouyou is having a pretty interesting conversation with one of Akaashi’s friends from the literature department of the nearby university, when he’s unceremoniously grabbed and pulled away from the conversation. Bokuto pulls him to the front door where a very handsome man is just walking in.
Shouyou is caught off guard, pretty boys have always been his type, blonde hair is perfectly styled. Shouyou knows it's probably rough and coarse from the product, but he can’t help to think that it’s fluffy looking and soft.
The handsome stranger is wearing a pair of jeans with a sweater tucked into them. The university logo on it is worn, well used. On his feet are a pair of black boots that he doesn’t bother to take off.
“Tsum-Tsum!” Bokuto calls, alerting the handsome man in front of him to look their way. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry, Bokkun, got caught up ‘n a new piece. Lost track 'a the time.” He gives Bokuto a white smile that reminds Shouyou of warm beaches.
“Well, you’re here now! Here’s that friend I wanted you to meet!” Bokuto pushes him forward. “This is Hinata.”
Shouyou feels speechless when that smile is directed at him, then a slight bow. “Atsumu Miya, but just call me Atsumu.”
Dazed, Shouyou bows back, “Uh, I’m Shouyou Hinata.” Eloquent.
“Hey Tsum-Tsum, is Mya-samm coming? He always brings the best food!” No one seems to notice that Shouyou is decidedly staring straight at the pretty boy in front of him.
“Nah, sorry, Bokkun, He had some kinda thing fer the onigiri.”
It’s a blur, they move from the entry and Shouyou finds himself next to Akaashi, who hands him another beer and has decided to include him in whatever conversation Akaashi is currently having with one of the other guests.
Shouyou feels tired really, not used to spending his free time surrounded by so many people. His mind trails back to his neighbor, the first friend he had ever made in Osaka. The person he looked forward to talking to the most. Shouyou excuses himself to the kitchen, an actual separate kitchen, to take a breath and break from the crowd.
Shouyou steps through the doorway to see the man before, Atsumu, sifting through the fridge. “Oh, sorry,” he says automatically. The stranger stops and stand to make eye contact.
“Fer what?” A single eyebrow lifts, Shouyou wonders if he goes to get them done.
“I didn’t know you were in here.” Shouyou shifts onto his heels and back again to the balls of his feet.
“S’not like two can’t fit in here.” Atsumu beds down to grab something out of the fridge before closing it. Shouyou spies a can of beer in his hands as he moves away to lean against the counter. “Did you need another?” The blonde points at the similar can in Shouyou’s own hands.
“Oh, no.” Shouyou can feel something tingling in between them. Atsumu pops the tab and lifts the drink to his mouth. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Shouyou.
“Ya in here fer some quiet?” He’s leaning back artfully against the counter. Atsumu’s head is tipped to the side, hair still perfect.
“Yeah, Kinda,” Shouyou slides his eyes away from Atsumu and onto the counter.
“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Atsumu slips from his position on the counter and stands straight, the line of his shoulders cutting against the lighting of the kitchen. “I’ll get outta yer way then.”
Atsumu steps just past Shouyou, almost to the doorway, “You don’t have to.”
They’re paused precariously on an edge. Shouyou has his hand just barely outstretched.
“Thought ‘cha wanted some time alone?” Atsumu turns. His eyes taking Shouyou in, reading him.
“I mean, I don’t mind you being here.”
He’s graced with a smile. White teeth and charisma that Shouyou will never be able to replicate.
“Guess I’ll stay then, getta know ya a bit better.”
*
Atsumu is a little smitten with Bokuto’s small redhead friend.
All of the other guests seem to be revolving around him. From what Atsumu can tell in the few minutes he’s been there, Shouyou didn’t need a party to make friends.
So, when he finds himself cornered by the man of the hour in the kitchen, He can’t help but to think someone is smiling down on him. Especially because said man was one of the most attractive people Atsumu has ever been able to hold a conversation with.
“So whatcha in here for?” The redhead looks nervous to be here with him; tapping his finger against the beer can. “Bokkun said’ja were good with people.”
“Good with people doesn’t always mean that I always want to be around them.” He’s surprisingly honest, it takes Atsumu a second to recover from it. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone willing to be this honest with him from the get go.
“Guess I can’t blame ya fer that.” He shrugs.
“Why are you here? You just got here.”
“Well, I’m not much of a people person,” he takes a drink of his beer and watches the way Shouyou tenses in front of him. “Usually, I’m just an asshole.”
“I think that’s unfair,” The redhead takes a step closer, standing almost in front of him. “You’re being plenty nice to me.”
He’s taken aback once again. Well, two can flirt.
“Guess it means yer just too sunny to be mean to,” Atsumu moves back against the counter. He leans against it in the way he knows accentuates his long legs.
“That’s a whole lot of guessing going on,” now they’re staring each other down. Atsumu feels a zip up his spine. It settles into his chest and quickens the beat of his heart. Oh, this is fun.
“Alright, alright,” he breaks their staring by letting out a laugh. “Ya got me there. Yer not so bad.”
“At least that wasn’t a guess,” Shouyou smiles, moving to lean on the counter next to him.
“Bokkun says ya just moved here? That yer a language specialist or somethin’?” Nothing like a bit of conversation. Maybe if Atsumu plays his cards right, he’ll get a phone number out of the deal. He wonders what his neighbor would say. Thinking about his neighbor makes something in his chest twinge. He doesn’t have a right to feel bad about it. He’s the one who decided to ghost the nicest person in the world. He just couldn’t get his heart broken by a man from the other side of the wall.
“Or something.” Atsumu watches a wry smile cross Shouyou’s face. He doesn’t look too pleased with the topic change. “I’m waiting for my certificates to be transferred over so I can work on getting a job as a translator. It’s taking a while.” The redhead takes another drink from his beer.
“We’ll I’m sure it’ll work out, Bokkun brags about’cha all the time,” They’re facing each other slightly. Caught in the conversation. “Somethin’ ‘bout you speaking a bunch’a different languages.”
There’s a quick smile, “I know four, I’m working on a fifth though,” Shouyou takes a drink, a smirk taking the place of the sweet happy smile. “Guess it means I’m good with my mouth.”
Atsumu is mid drink of his beer.
He barely makes it to the sink to spew the foamy liquid and falls to the floor as he guffaws. “I wasn’t goin’ there but okay.” He continues to laugh and soon both of them are in a fit of giggles on the floor of Bokuto’s kitchen.
As they talk, and flirt, Atsumu can feel it. The soft tension of people testing waters. The click of an actual connection where smiles and laughs are easy.
His chest feels like it's expanding every time Shouyou ends up on a tangent. In turn he sees fondness in the red head’s eyes when he goes on his own rants about how his friends bully him relentlessly.
“I think they just love you.” Shouyou says, can long discarded and his knees pulled up to his chest.
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
It’s not long after that Bokuto discovers them, “I knew you two would get along! But stop hogging the guest of honor, Tsum-Tsum!”
Atsumu relents and lets Shouyou be whisked away to have conversations with other people. So, Atsumu takes his place on the wall and watches Shouyou enamor people with his genuine smiles and happy disposition.
Their eyes keep meeting though, which makes Atsumu think that even if he doesn’t get a number tonight, he will eventually. It sends a zip into his toes. His lips curl into a smile as he once again catches the eye of the cutest person in the room.
“Stop making eyes at Hinata,” Akaashi grouches as he passes by. He might have listened, had Shouyou not have sent a smile and a wink his way.
He’s so getting a number tonight.
*
It’s late before Hinata gets the chance to go home. He’s been trying to talk to Atsumu for the past hour, but he really needs to get home. Sleep schedule and all.
“Are you sure you can't stay, Hinata?” Bokuto is pouting, but it looks like both Akaashi and Kuroo have been slowly trying to wind down the party.
“Yeah! I have to catch the train.” He’s slipping on his coat and trying not to give into Bokuto’s pout.
“Come on, Bokuto-san, he probably has things to do.” Akaashi reasons. “We’ll see Hinata some other time.”
“That’s fair,” Bokuto looks a bit crestfallen. “But you have to promise that you’ll come over soon!”
Shouyou smiles, he sure loves to see his friend, “Of course I will!”
With that, Shouyou is free to leave and says his goodbyes to his hosts, bowing in thanks for the party. He’s just out of the door when it opens again.
“Hey, wait!” It's Atsumu-san. Stepping out into the cold without a coat. “I didn’t get ta say goodbye.” There’s a sheepish look on his face. His hand goes to scratch at his undercut.
“Oh, well, goodbye.” Shouyou can feel heat rising to his cheeks. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.”
“Yeah, ‘bout that.” Atsumu grabs something from his pocket and hands it to Shouyou. It's a piece of paper. “Well, see ya!” Before he can answer, Atsumu is slipping back inside the door.
I had fun talking. Here’s my number, let’s get coffee! -Atsumu
*
Atsumu catches a cab. Living off of the high of probably securing himself a coffee date. He doesn’t want to spoil that good mood with a walk in the cold.
It drops him off in front of his building and he pays the driver before hurrying into the warm building. He switches it up and decides on the elevator, he normally doesn’t take it for the fact that he’s afraid it might break on him. He doubts that it will though, nothing would dare to shatter the high of his good night. Not even remembering his less than wonderful treatment of his neighbor.
There they are. Atsumu with his keys in the lock, staring Shouyou down. It’s comical really. The pure astonishment on both of their faces would be funny in any other circumstances, but Atsumu just feels mortified.
The cutie from the party was, no is , his neighbor. The one who talked him down, the one who despite Atsumu’s freak out kept leaving notes, it was all Shouyou Hinata. Atsumu has a passing thought that at least he’s cute.
Shouyou looks to be going through a similar dilemma in his own head. He’s just standing at his door, mouth open in shock, eyes wide and hurt.
So Atsumu does something that’s very in character, he panics and bolts into his apartment.
“Hey!!” A knock beats at his door. “Atsumu-san, please let me in.”
Shouyou is there. Standing right outside the door, and Atsumu walks away. He can’t deal with this.
“Atsumu-san, we need to talk about this!” Shouyou sounds a bit desperate. He knocks again. “I know you can hear me!”
Atsumu stops in the entryway. The kitchenette to his left, he’s staring straight out into the night. The fairy lights cast a glow onto everything.
“I know you can’t be this much of a coward.”
Atsumu is ripping the door open. His mouth open, ready to tear into Shouyou. How dare he. But there Shouyou is, red hair in wild curls on top of his head, eyes intense and angry. Atsumu has been hiding behind a door for long enough.
*
For the number of conversations he’s had with Atsumu, he never figured him one of those people who had fairy lights draping over everything. It fits though, the way they sparkle around him, blinking off of his hair, brightening the color to his cheeks.
“Do ya want tea?” He watches Atsumu shuffle over to the kitchen and flip on the electric kettle. “I don’t have any a’the fancy stuff ya like.” Even though he’s finally let Shouyou into the apartment,
“I’m okay with anything,” He answers, taking in everything.
The apartment is a mirror of his own. Except Atsumu has secured a corner of the room, it’s covered in tarps and surrounded by tubs of what Shouyou assumes to be art supplies. It’s cleaner than he had expected too. For how often Atsumu had talked about being late and never having time to clean, everything was surprisingly tidy.
The kettle clicks and Shouyou watches Atsumu place two tea baggies into separate mugs and pour the water over it. It’s not how Shouyou would have made it, but Atsumu did warn him.
Atsumu sits them down on the couch, each with a cup of tea. Shouyou goes to talk, but Atsumu stops him.
“‘M not very good with people,” he watches as Atsumu stares down the tea inside of the mug. “Everyone always likes my brother more than me. They prefer him, really. “ Shouyou takes a sip, letting the hot tea calm his nerves. “So, I was never good at makin’ friends ‘n I’ve never been good at bein’ nice--”
“Atsumu-san, I don’t see what this has to do with you running away from me. Repeatedly.”
Atsumu seems to take this in, he sips at his tea for a minute. The seconds stretch between them. Thicker than the walls that had once separated them.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, “you didn’t deserve that.”
“I forgive you,” Atsumu’s shoulders relax and the grip on his mug is looser now. “But I have a few conditions.”
Atsumu finally looks up into his eyes. “What’re those gonna be?”
“First,” Shouyou holds a finger up, the feeling from before in the kitchen is starting to return. “You’re not allowed to run away ever. I’ve heard all of your embarrassing stories, nothing you can do face to face is going to change the fact that I know what you’re like. So, no running away.”
“Gotcha,” he nods, blonde head bobbing in agreement, but the look in his eyes is skeptical. It will be a hard condition to follow.
“Second,” Shouyou makes sure Atsumu is looking directly at him. He’s going to use these conditions to the fullest. He wasn’t imagining the feelings in the kitchen, or the exchange of numbers after the party. He’s not going to pretend like their connection wasn’t the same in person as it was between a wall. Shouyou wanted to see where this could go.
He takes a breath. “You owe me a date, Atsumu-san.”
*
They meet, of all places, on campus. It’s a little late, and Atsumu is starting to regret his decision of being original . He should have picked a nice restaurant or something. Anything but this. Sometimes he wonders if he just shoots himself in the foot like this just for the pure enjoyment of others.
Atsumu gets there first, he’s waiting outside of the arts building. The lone street light casting a soft glow onto him. It’s cold, so Atsumu has his hands shoved into his coat pockets, while trying not to bounce too much. He has valuable things in his bag.
It doesn’t take long for Shouyou to arrive, “We could have walked together, you know?” He looks cute, orange curls trapped under a hat, a scarf wrapped around his neck.
“Had a couple errands ta run.” Is his answer, he unlocks the door and opens it for Shouyou, letting him step into the warmth first.
“I guess chivalry isn’t dead.”
“Maybe save yer thoughts for after the date.” Atsumu can feel the burn of blush through his cheeks. He’s glad he can just blame it on the cold
They shuffle in, hanging their coats in Atsumu’s office.
“So, what are we doing here exactly?”
“Well, ya kinda told me I wasn’t allowed ta run away,” They move down the hall and through double doors. “I was thinkin’ that the opposite of runin’ away, is bein’ vulnerable.” They’re standing in front of a door now. Atsumu is shuffling through his keys.
“This is the graduate studio. It's where all of the graduate students work on their thesis pieces.” He pushes the door open for Shouyou to walk through. “Although, I tend to use it as just a regular studio space.” He flicks the light on.
Atsumu watches Shouyou cautiously. He moves into the large space. “Which ones are yours?”
So, Atsumu leads them over to his station. Sculptures and busts litter the ground around it. There’s a half finished oil painting on the side. Atsumu has always preferred sculpture work. He had cleaned it off a bit, in preparation, but there was only so much he could do.
“We’re not really here ta look at my stuff,” he says, laying his bag on top of the station. He’ll save the deep dive into his work for a later date. “I jus’ thought it might be nice to show you a space of mine.”
Shouyou’s eyes are shining. A small smile lifts onto his face, it wasn’t any of the big ones directed at others from the party, or the large greeting of when he woke up. Instead, he’s looking at Atsumu like he’s grateful.
“Plus, I brought some goodies,” Atsumu pulls out a couple of to-go containers. All filled with onigiri that he had Osamu make for tonight. A bottle of wine comes out next, with some plastic cups, he didn’t trust himself with glass.
“Goodies indeed,” Shouyou laughs.
Atsumu is grateful too, in a way, that Shouyou was too stubborn to let him run away. He is a bit of a coward, which is fair that Shouyou had called him out on it. But staring over at the redhead next to him, as he coos over the flavor of the onigiri, he knows that he’ll forever be grateful.
They finish dinner, and with full bellies they converse. Laughing and learning each other without the distance of walls in between them. Atsumu can feel the zing all the way down to his toes.
Shouyou picks up the hunk of clay that Atsumu had rolled out earlier in the day. He answers the show me , by taking Shouyou’s smaller hands in his own. He helps Shouyou make his first little pinch pot, the easiest thing to build with clay.
It’s not perfect, the cold has made it crack along the edges, but a bit of water might help to fix that. Shouyou is proud anyway, he makes Atsumu promise to bring him back to paint it once it’s ready.
“Thank you,” Shouyou whispers as Atsumu helps him slip on his coat. “I know I kind of made you feel like you had to share everything with me, but I appreciate you showing me this side of you.” He turns to look up at Atsumu.
His copper eyes seem to burn into him, turn the icicles in his fingers warm. It burns into his chest and lights it's way up up into the tips of his ears. Atsumu’s breath quickens and the blood in his body pumps faster and faster. He can feel his hands start to twitch, and his throat close up.
“‘Course, ‘m happy ta have ya here.” He’s rewarded with a beautiful, blinding smile.
“I think I really like you, Atsumu-san!”
*
On the walk back to their apartment complex, Shouyou sidles up next to Atsumu and takes his hand. It catches him off guard, he trips a bit, making Shouyou laugh.
“Yer killin’ me, Shouyou-kun.” He answered with a giggle.
The cold isn’t so bad tonight.
Atsumu walks Shouyou to his door, hands still locked together. They had taken the stairs to prolong the date.
Shouyou is laughing at some dumb joke Atsumu had made. He’s too stunned at the genuine laughter, that he doesn’t realize he’s stopped to stare.
Shouyou has his mouth open in a loud guffaw. His back is pressed against the door to his apartment, and he squeezes at Atsumu’s fingers with every jolt. Yeah, Osamu was right about this one, Atsumu has a crush.
Shouyou has stopped to look up at him. There’s tear in the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard, his breathe is faster and the peach tinge on his cheeks, makes Atsumu’s brain lose all higher function.
He leans down, and presses his lips softly to the shorter man’s. He’s not normally a kiss-on-the-first-date kind of guy, but what else is he supposed to do? When his neighbor, his kind and wonderful neighbor, looks so beautiful standing in front of him and laughing at something he said.
It’s short really, and sickly sweet. It reminds Atsumu of the candy he used to hide from Osamu as children. All too good, but gone too quick.
“Thank you again, for tonight.” Shouyou smiles just as sweet as their kiss. “Goodnight, Atsumu-san.” And he’s gone. Slipping into his apartment.
Thank you for the wonderful date, Atsumu-san :). Same time on Monday? Maybe that coffee you promised?
*
Shouyou opens his eyes to the bright sunlight. His eyes catch the boxes stacked up in the corner. Deja vu, almost, just without the crippling homesickness that usually follows moving boxes.
He shifts around the strong arm, secured around the middle of his stomach. Giddiness erupts and he can’t help but to snuggle deeper into the warmth of the man behind him. He can feel the warmth all the way down to his toes.
Atsumu shifts, tightening his hold onto Shouyou. “Good mornin’.” He feels a kiss pressed to his neck.
“You can’t run away from me now,” he answers, flipping over to press his nose to Atsumu’s. Akachan meows in agreement from outside the door.
“You betcha,” a tired but wide grin stretches across Atsumu’s face. His hair is messy from sleep and his accent is thicker. Shouyou feels a familiar zip of attraction move up his spine. "Yer stuck with me now. Like sticky notes.”
Yeah, maybe morning yoga could wait.