Work Text:
‘ Call me as soon as you land. ’
‘ Just got to the airport. You here yet? ’
Atsumu glanced at the bright dashboard of his car, then the screen of his phone. Both had the same hour; 1:13 in the morning. He sighed softly, tugging at the strings of his hoodie to tighten it around his head. He could feel the weariness and sleepiness of the day starting to get to him, which prompted yet another fucking yawn to leave him.
He couldn’t have chosen any other hour to fly, huh?
“It’s a favor. It won’t kill you,” Kiyoomi had told him the day before, smack in the middle of his complaining about how late the arrival would be. He was right, but it’s not like Atsumu was happy about missing sleep.
1:15. Christ .
He turned the engine back on, wincing a little as the old thing roared to life in the mostly empty (and pointedly, quiet) pickup area. (The thing was a gift from one of their uncles, he really couldn’t complain—especially after it survived the hefty moving between his childhood home and the MSBY residence). The music on his radio served as company as he did another drive around the airport, circling back to the entrance, drop-off, official waiting area, and back to pick-up. He even got to park in the exact same spot, right in front of the ugly, chipped column.
The engine remained idle as he reclined his seat, refreshing his social media one more time in another attempt to keep himself awake. Then it was game replays. Then it was practice replays. He was just about to watch a clip of one of Hinata’s emergency sets for the third time (seriously, the kid’s form was almost as good as his own), when a rapping on the window startled him. The phone dropped between the seat and the compartment next to it and he sat upright, expression changing from anger and surprise to excitement in mere seconds.
“Samu!”
“Unlock the fuckin’ doors, I’m freezing out here!” was his brother’s muffled response, accompanied by a shimmy of his shoulders. Atsumu jolted again, fumbling with his door until he finally pressed the right button.
Osamu was quick in shoving his bags in the backseat, rushing to the passenger side and hopping in. Atsumu focused on raising the heat in the meantime, along with fixing his seat. Both men looked at each other under the yellow light of the car, bursting into laughter and hugging each other tightly—as tightly as permitted in the small space. Osamu gave his brother’s back a light tap, whereas Atsumu rubbed his, humming happily.
“How’d ya know I was parked here?” Atsumu asked, pulling back and starting to buckle up so they could leave. He was still smiling, the annoyance at the delay melting quick.
“How could I not ? The engine was growlin’ at me from the second I stepped out of baggage claim.” Both men laughed. Osamu took his cap off, rustling his hair and leaning into his seat. “Sorry ‘bout the delay, by the way. I know ya get impatient. My phone died mid-flight, plane had to taxi for a while, it was a whole thing.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes, taking a turn to exit the airport and start the ride back home. “S’fine, I’m just glad you’re finally here. How was the fair?”
“Oh, shit, it was so good.” Osamu was using that tone, the one where he was trying to downplay his feelings. Atsumu glanced to his left, and sure enough, the smallest hint of a smile was on his lips. “Two weekends doesn’t seem like enough, honestly. I got to meet so many cool chefs, and I tried so much food, Tsumu. It was crazy, I wish you coulda gone with me.”
“I don’t think I woulda survived two weeks up north,” Atsumu admitted with a laugh, trying to suppress another yawn. “Does this mean yer food will finally taste decent?”
“Fuck off.” Osamu laughed too, pushing his brother to the side, then crossed his arms. He was looking out the window. “Ma went to the last game, didn’t she?”
“Mhm. Got to meet the boys n’ all. I think she thinks they’re weird.”
“Sakusa, too?”
Atsumu’s cheeks went hot. He shrugged. “Weirdest of the bunch.”
Osamu hummed. They fell into silence after that, letting the sound of the car and the music from the radio (an American band, on Meian’s recommendation) filled the air between them.
The house came into view after another fifteen minutes or so. Osamu looked at the exterior in awe, leaving Atsumu to get the bags out of the backseat. The car was locked, and both men walked inside the house, sighing nearly in unison at the comfortable warmth. Shoes off at the genkan. Jackets on the coat rack. They were being careful with their footsteps, as quiet as possible while they walked down the hallway.
“Shit, maybe I shoulda stuck with volleyball, too,” Osamu mumbled, half-joking, taking in the details of the interior. “How many rooms are here?”
“Six, I think. We all split the rent, but there’s a couple guys livin’ elsewhere. Here.” Atsumu opened one of the doors on the right, flicking the light on as he walked inside. The room looked like a standard guest space, with a neatly made bed and an empty desk. It looked quite plain, save for a few posters still hanging on the walls and a cork board full of pictures—the twins at one of their training camps, them with their mother, a few of Atsumu goofing off with Aran. Osamu observed his surroundings, curious.
“Ain’t this your room? Why is it so empty?”
Atsumu blushed again, shoving the suitcases in the closet. He shrugged, looking at everything except his brother. “Omi’s bed’s a little bigger, and I spend most nights there anyway, so I ended up just movin’ most of my stuff.”
There was a pause. One looked at the other.
“You two are official? Like, for real?”
Oh, it was mortifying. Atsumu grimaced, scratching at the nape of his neck. “Yeah— it’s pretty recent, I really was waitin’ to see ya so I could break the news—”
“About fuckin’ time!” Osamu shoved Atsumu again. There was no malice to him, it looked more like excitement. “Shit, I’ve been havin’ to listen to ya wail about that crush on him for like a year now, I was about to set ya up on a date!”
Atsumu’s mouth fell agape. His hands even went to his hips, like Barnes’s when he was in a serious conversation. “Why’re ya bein’ so rude about it?”
“I’m not. Dolt.” Osamu took another look around the room, exhaling. “I’m real happy for ya, Tsumu. I know how much you like him, it must’ve taken a lot of bravery to get this far.”
The blond’s lips turned down in a pout. He could feel the lump on his throat forming, as the sincerity of his brother’s words settled within him. The most he could do on the spot was roll his eyes and say, “Yer startin’ to sound like Kita-shin,”
To which he got a scoff as a response. They stood in silence.
“Want some grub?”
—
“Ya know, this ain’t half bad.”
“Mm. I made it.”
Osamu looked up from his seat on the kitchen island, smile asking an implicit ‘no shit?’. Atsumu nodded, crossing his legs. He was sitting on the island, with his bowl of cold rice in one hand. They only had the backlight turned on, illuminated just enough so that they wouldn’t be eating in total darkness. The setting was reminiscent of those teenage nights, raiding their grandparents’ fridge for anything they could get.
They were trying to not wake up the rest of the boys—hence the low lights, and the cold rice. At most, they garnished it with some ketchup, kewpie mayo, or the bit of furikake they found in the pantry.
Apparently it wasn’t quiet enough, as they were accompanied by one (half asleep) Kiyoomi Sakusa. Atsumu’s demeanor changed; he set the bowl down in front of his lap, placing an arm around the other’s shoulders as soon as they were both close enough.
Osamu kept to himself, taking smaller bites of his food. He looked at them, at how carefully Atsumu was moving Sakusa’s curls out of his face, how Sakusa hid his face against Tsumu’s neck. He looked grown up. They were hushed.
“You want a bite?” Atsumu asked, cheek pressed against Sakusa’s forehead.
“No. Just came to see if it was you,” Sakusa responded. He looked down, eyes meeting Osamu’s. “He told you?”
It took him a second to swallow down his food (and decipher the question). “I figured it out myself, actually. Congrats.”
Sakusa paused. He seemed to be really taking Osamu in. “It’s nice to see you again, Miya. Welcome home.”
Osamu put his chopsticks down, giving him a little playful pout. “C’mon, I think we can skip the formalities by now. Call me Samu—Osamu, at least.”
Atsumu giggled, letting go of his boyfriend to continue eating. Sakusa’s (Kiyoomi’s?) brows did that thing, the one where they went together in the middle. “I don’t think so. How is… Kita-san?”
“Yeah, when’s the wedding?” The other asked, a teasing tone to his voice. He would always pester Osamu about his relationship; of all the people in the world, he had to date his former-team-captain-now-business-partner.
(This was coming from the man pining for his teammate. Osamu made sure to point that out every time.)
“The wedding is in about a year. Hopefully.”
The couple’s eyes went wide in surprise. Now it was Atsumu’s turn to hit his brother on the arm. “No fuckin’ way!”
“Yes fuckin’ way, and don’t talk with yer mouth full, ya pig,” Osamu laughed, waving him away. “We know each other very well. I already got his grandma’s blessing, which was the most important part for me. I wanna do it.”
All three men looked at one another, not quite sure of what words to say next. The air wasn’t tense between them, it was simply… big news.
“I’m gonna be yer best man, right?” Atsumu asked, hopping off the island. He pressed a kiss to Kiyoomi’s temple, and the two separated, one heading to the sink and the other back to the hallway.
The question was a relief for Osamu. A green light. He stood up as well, placing his empty bowl in the sink for Atsumu to wash. “I don’t know yet. Right now the plan is… well, askin’. It all depends on his answer, you know.”
“Funny that you think he’s gonna say no.” Atsumu didn’t look up from the dishes, making sure to scrub away at the dirt. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Ya mean the way you and Kiyoomi-kun look at each other?”
Atsumu didn’t answer. The dishes were put to dry, and he wiped his hands, leaning against the counter. He was thinking.
Osamu noticed. He didn’t mention it. “Where’s the bathroom? I hate sleeping without showering.”
That worked. Atsumu got up again, tilting his head to the side as a cue for Osamu to follow him back into the hallway.
—
It was almost three in the morning when they were ready to sleep. Osamu showered, Atsumu tidied up the kitchen for whoever woke up first. They ran into each other in the hallway, on their way to their respective bedrooms. If it wasn’t for the lifetime of seeing one another, they would be nearly unrecognizable in the dark.
“Samu,” Atsumu started. “Do ya remember, back in school, right before we graduated?”
“Hm.” Osamu nodded, prompting Atsumu to continue.
“We had that really dumb fight, about who’d be the happiest.”
Osamu crossed his arms. “We ain’t 80 yet. I think it’s too soon to tell.”
“No, ya dumbass. We ain’t even 25 yet.” Atsumu paused. “I think it’s a tie. I’m— I think you’re doin’ great.”
I’m proud of you.
Both of them were blushing. It was that sense of pride, the one that made them root for one another and simultaneously, embarrassed them into softening these types of words. The pride of being raised together, seeing one another at their lowest and most vulnerable, knowing they had each other’s backs and the brazenness to admit when the other’s fucking up.
“I think so, too,” Osamu responded after a moment. “You really won the lottery with the team.”
I’m proud of you, too.
“And you, with the restaurant. Looks like you’re smart enough to not tank a business, huh?”
“Fuck you. I hope you lose the next game.”
They laughed.
“See ya later, Tsumu.”
“Yeah. Later, Samu.”