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It was not like it was unfamiliar. The sight of people shuffling into the coffee shop at the corner, half dead of exhaustion, limbs dragging after them. Mirroring winter skies, both with the heavy circles under their eyes and their somber moods.
Atsumu had seen the change in the atmosphere with the weeks that went on. The joyful, exciting chatter at the beginning of fall, when golden sunlight still stretched out, the days slowly transformed into partly rainy days. Finally, the winter skies became brumorous as the days got shorter.
So did the mood and temper of the students rushing in to get their afternoon coffee before they went into the thick air of the library to revise and study for the upcoming finals. Their smiles faded, old ink on paper.
Like marcid leaves that lost their color and fell into puddles, the life was sucked out of them, and cheery responses turned into grunts. It was no wonder Atsumu despised November.
At least what they could fucking do was to leave a god damn tip. Damn scrubs.
At least there was one light in the dark of the tunnel. Actually, it was more like many, many merry little bright lights that enveloped the Black Jackal Bean in kaleidoscopic shine as Atsumu’s Christmas playlist blasted through the speakers.
December brought change with it.
The pumps of caramel toffee nut and the vanilla and cinnamon powder that was added not only seemed to sweeten the drinks but also the moods.
Especially the havoc that was the late afternoon rush, punctual as always as the 4pm classes were dismissed. The horde of caffeine-deprived students, lethargically pilgrimaging to the shop to get a variety of bean juice, looked to Atsumu like one of those Zombies in the post-apocalyptic movies.
When the masses arrived, Atsumu had timed his playlist perfectly to play the sugar plum fairy and the Russian dance from the Nutcracker at the most assiduous time. Which right now has ended.
Some of his regulars had decided to stay at the shop, quietly reading at a table nearby. Atsumu took the time to perfectly clean up the countertops and appliances, humming the Christmas song that was plaguing his brain for the day, while he scribbled away on his sketchpad, too distracted to actually draw something.
Albeit, there was one thing he wanted to draw, but he needed a reference to be perfectly sure his memory didn’t fail him. Just a little longer.
Hooded umber eyes, darting to the clock on the wall and waiting for 5.30 to arrive.
On the dot, the small bell of the door chimed, and Atsumu looked up, a grin spread immediately on his features as he sang, “Well…Hello to you, sunshine…. Lookin’ really chipper ‘n’ jolly.”
Juxtaposed to the traces of sun that danced in Atsumu’s features, his eyes and the tone of his bleached hair. The man entering the building was dressed in a black tweed coat and dark green scarf, leathery messenger bag strapped across his chest. Inky curls were slightly frizzy from the weather outside.
His stygian eyes swept to the corner the man constantly preoccupied during this time, slight relief that it was still empty, then darted to the barista behind the counter. No longer relieved but annoyed-looking up at the grinning blonde.
Atsumu knew Sakusa would probably be very annoyed by him raising his voice. Still, he was excited to see him and could not help himself.
“Cheer up Omi-kun, it’s Christmas.”
“It’s December 10th….”
The man’s expression was hidden behind a black mask. Still, Atsumu could see from the sigh he released and the way his hand rose to slick back. That one irksome lock that never seemed that it wanted to stay dangled over the two moles on his forehead, that he was stressed.
He was always stressed out, and Atsumu wanted nothing more than to fix the lock himself, touch his hair, and check if it really was as soft as he imagined it to be. Maybe also poke those moles, maybe turn the two dots into a smiley face…but Atsumu was a professional.
“You know you’re gonna get wrinkles if you frown like that..” he hummed, put down his drawing pad, and took out a small notepad from the front pocket in his black apron. He proceeded to take the golden permanent marker from behind his ear, using his mouth to uncap it.
“The usual…” Kiyoomi pointed towards the corner with a gloved hand and disregarded the cap in Atsumu’s mouth with a disgusted expression.
“Alright,I already wiped down the table you go sit down and look pretty. and I’ll get you your thing…Omi-kun.”
He ignored the eye roll from the other man at the sound of his unwanted nickname, and Atsumu went to work, humming the same Christmas song from before.
༻☕༺
His back was turned, so he wasn’t able to see how the curly-haired customer paused looking at Atsumu’s back. He always wiped down the table and seat before Kiyoomi came into the shop and mentioned it to Kiyoomi. It was like he knew that Sakusa liked things tidy.
The coffee shop worker clearly was a basket case when it comes to tidiness, Kiyoomi thought as his eyes darted over Atsumu, resting at the old notepad that he’d carelessly pushed into the back pockets of his jeans. The paper was crumpled and ripped in some places. The thicker cardboard back was ornamented by little doodles, similar to those he often found embellished around his name on coffee sleeves.
Sakusa Kiyoomi made his way to the corner he always occupied, shed off his coat and scarf, and meticulously draped it over the arm of the cuddly armchair.
He took some time watching Atsumu work behind the counter, the scent of his drink being made filling his nostrils, hand working in familiar practiced pacing.
He was strange, this one Kiyoomi noted as so many times before. An art student, Kiyoomi guessed from when he saw the blonde sketch something in his black book. A shy one, he never shared his drawings with Sakusa. He had asked once, and the barista had blushed, stammered something about needing to wash the plants in the backroom, and had scurried away. Kiyoomi didn’t bother to ask again. Nevertheless, he remained curious.
Before Atsumu could notice that Kiyoomi had been paying more attention to him than he should, the dark-haired law student took out his laptop. He rolled up the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, letting his elbows rest on his knees, and leaned forward to review the notes from his lecture that had just ended.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the large figure of Atsumu carrying over a large Americano and a slice of red velvet cupcake. Kiyoomi’s usual on Thursdays.
“Enjoy…’ n’ stop frownin’,” the blonde belted, setting the tray onto the table, “I know yer finals are comin’ up but don’t stress too much. … I’d love to stay, and chat but I am very busy, you know? So enjoy your drink..call me if ya need me.”
Atsumu declared, then went back behind the counter to focus on whatever he was creating on his sketchpad. He was using charcoal today, the fingers turning ashy with every movement. Strangely, Sakusa didn’t mind the thought of Atsumu having dirty hands.
Sakusa closed his eyes for a few seconds, then took off his gloves and mask to take that first deliciously warming sip of his drink. Perfectly brewed to his liking.
Atsumu really was a man of his work, he thought, glancing at his slice of cake. The frosting had something drawn on it with chocolate.
:( -> :) <3
Kiyoomi, side-eyed Atsumu, was smiling at him, eyes closed into crescents.
Sakusa shook his head and swiped the chocolate off with his fork.
Atsumu was also very annoying.
༻☕༺
The blonde barista hated that his job made it impossible to stop and just stare at Sakusa for hours every day he spent at the small corner café. He shouldn’t, really, since the customers coming in ordering and leaving made up his livelihood.
Still, gosh, one should keep Sakusa Kiyoomi as a piece of art in a very fancy exhibit.
As an arts student, Atsumu couldn’t just not look at Kiyoomi. The first time he laid eyes, he had been sure the tall guy must have been some model or reincarnation of some ancient demigod. He wondered if there was someone who had made a statue of Sakusa Kiyoomi, and if not, he wondered. Why the heck not?
If Atsumu would be practiced in the art of sculpting, he would. He only had his pencils.
He really shouldn’t stare, but Sakusa, the damn scrub, just had to go ahead and always come by on times that were the least busy. He was a clockwork prince that one. A few semesters ago, he just came by in the morning.
Grumpy face, hidden behind a mask, having the most complicated coffee order. Not because Sakusa was a fan of complex drinks, he had a different drink and food combo every day.
Atsumu was a fast learner, remembered the orders quickly and smiling widely as he handed over the dark to-go-coffee cups, with mask-guy hastily scribbled on the sleeve. Which Sakusa disapproved of by the look of his frown
One day, it was during finals week, one time the guy finally snapped telling him.
“It’s Sakusa by the way, Sakusa Kiyoomi…write my name down correctly.”
“Okay, Omi-Omi…it is” Atsumu had hummed and had started to scribble the new nickname on the sleeves. A variation of smileys, bad puns, or encouragement along the lines of “smile it’s a beautiful day” were sometimes added much to Sakusa’s dismay and Atsumu amusement.
The blonde had claimed that if he didn’t want the nickname on the coffee sleeve, he should no longer order to go and just stay in. Sakusa didn’t show up for a whole week after that, then he started to come by every day and stayed for hours.
The Black Jackal Bean had become Sakusa’s auditory. The hours, weeks, and months passed as he worked on his assignments and ate through all the danish and pastries. Who knew the clockwork prince had a major sweet tooth?
Mondays started out with a dark roast and a raspberry danish, something quick because he was swamped these days. It was on Mondays where Atsumu only saw Kiyoomi in the mornings.
Tuesdays, he came in in the afternoon. His combos were a caramel flavored Latte and a vegetarian quiche. He had more time on those days and stayed longer, adding some warm banana bread later to fill him until he went home for dinner.
Wednesdays were the days where Kiyoomi visited twice. Coffee Mocha with an extra espresso shot and an almond chocolate croissant in the morning, a cheese danish, and a Columbian in the evening.
Thursdays like today were for a quick bone dry cappuccino, bagels in the morning, an americano, and a slice of cake in the afternoon.
Fridays, routinely were days where Kiyoomi just wanted the thing with the highest caffeine and sugar intake. He always looked tired on Fridays, exhausted from the dead, and Atsumu, and he always argued about his diet.
“One day yer gonna walk around lookin’ like a gingerbread man,” Atsumu had said the last Fridays while pumping toffee syrup into a latte with whipped cream,”
“Mind your own business,” Kiyoomi gruffly grumbled, stuffing a generous tip into the jar as he grabbed his drink, grimacing at the “ made with a whole latte love” written in gold onto the black cup.
“I actually am, Omi-kun,” Atsumu hummed, and Kiyoomi could swear he could hear a “you silly thing you” added under the blonde’s breath.
Atsumu packed the warmed-up cinnamon roll into a bag, adding, “If my best customer is not allowed to come by anymore, what will I do?”
His beaming smile twitched into a sheepish one as Atsumu lowered his chin, just the slightest tilt of his head. While the blonde’s half-lidded gaze fixated on the dark-haired man, murmuring in a smoky voice, “I’d actually be very sad…Kiyoomi”
His fox-like intense stare captured Kiyoomi as many times before, more than he would like to admit.
A small noise escaped Kiyoomi’s mouth, a rabbit in a snare, muffled only by his mask.
Suddenly it was as if the temperatures had risen suddenly, and Kiyoomi felt the tips of his ears flush, burning, huffing as he grabbed the baked goods and turned around.
Just then, he was able to take a deep breath and answer the menacing blonde.
“You’ll get over it.”
He walked a few steps, calming the rapid thumping in his chest, then turned around. Atsumu leaned over the counter, chin propped up on the palm of his hand, watching him with intense eyes.
“I’ll see you around, Miya.”
“See ya Omi-kun.”
The barista had the audacity to wink and wriggle his fingers.
Blush was such a lovely color on Kiyoomi.
༻☕༺
“You always use an analog sketchpad,” Kiyoomi said one day as Atsumu cleared up his first for the day. He was feeling a little peckish. Maybe he could ask Atsumu to warm one of the paninis.
“Yeah, it’s more my thin’ you know…and I sort of don’t have the money for a digital pad yenno,” Atsumu murmured softly, wiping off the ring the coffee mug had left on the table.
“You work here nearly every day….” Kiyoomi added, watching Atsumu’s handsome features twitch into a smile. He was contemplating what to say. A little sadness and regret washed over Atsumu’s eyes basked in the warmth of the nearby fairy lights. Kiyoomi didn’t dare to add something to his statement. Afraid to have overstepped or had been too brash like he always was.
“Yeah, Omi…I do…and I pay rent and fees and well,” Atsumu sighed, “I’ll get by… I’m saving for a digital thing. I also kinda need new pencils; I have been going through them a lot for my finals…but you know nothing tops an analog sketchbook. The feelin’ of the scratchy pencil on paper…is… is something real, you know? I dream up so many things when I draw that I like the feelin’ of something being real.”
He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. For a second, then he huffed. “Omi-kun, you’re trying to take my mood down during the holiday season. Damn you, how about I’ll get you that panini so that your grumpy self is at least fed?”
“How did you know I want a panini Miya?”
“I’ve been watching you….” Atsumu blurted out, then his eyes widened, “I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ at the thin’ fer a while, like since ya got ‘ere and well…better a fed Omi than a grumpy Grinch that scared all my other customers away….”
Atsumu was cute when he got nervous. Kiyoomi notes. He emphasized with wid gestures a lot, lips turned into involuntary pouts in between his words as his accent got stronger. Cute…
“Yes, I’d like one….” Kiyoomi said, keeping careful watch of Atsumu, who muttered curses under his breath as he worked.
“One day…” he said as the food was brought to him, “I’d like to see those drawings of yours Miya.”
The blonde rushed away blushing, gesturing wildly with his hands and saying something about having to walk his goldfish in the break room.
༻☕༺
During finals week, Kiyoomi’s bags under his eyes got bigger as his sleep got shorter, and so did his temper. Much to his dismay, he spent a little more time in the library than at the cafe. He considered texting Miya to ask if they had any cinnamon rolls left that day.
The barista had at one time scribbled his number onto a napkin one day during the last months when Sakusa had asked him about how Atsumu made the french chocolate cake. Atsumuwho’d been on his way out, had just scribbled the number on a napkin and told Sakusa to text him, so he could send him the receipt.
He decided just to drop by, even though it was close to closing time and the air was frosty. He saw Atsumu’s silhouette, just finishing putting away the seating. He carried the last two chairs, dressed in a light t-shirt and apron. It would have been okay for the toasty warmth inside the cafe, but outside, Kiyoomi frowned. He’d catch a cold or something.
Sakura’s assumption was correct, as the blonde froze, only to let out a loud sneeze that would have caused snow to fall off the nearby tree branches if it had snowed.
“Do you want to get sick or are you showing off?” Kiyoomi said, inspecting Atsumu’s strong arms.
“Very funny Omi-kun,” the barista sniffed, having difficulty carrying the last two chairs inside and opening the door with a kick of his foot. Kiyoomi swiftly helped him out.
“Why are you running around like you’re on Spring break?”
“Like my guns?”
“No.” Read: debatable, could you flex them for me?
“If I were on Spring break, ya would swoon over my thighs like a fair maiden Omi-Omi, I never skip leg day.”
Sakusa didn’t doubt it, but he didn’t have time to once again admire Atsumu’s thighs and grunted, “Why are you not wearing sleeves.”
The shirt was also a v cut. Atsumu was out here in the cold. What. An. idiot.
“Cuz, I spilled somethin’ on what I was wearin’ earlier,” Atsumu sighed, putting away the chairs, then added. “I was makin’ myself a tumbler to go…need some caffeine to get through the night since I need to submit a project in a few days…and I didn’t screw the lid on properly. It fell and spilled all over my sweater and cuz I’m a lucky fellow…on my sketchpad too….”
“That sucks…” Kiyoomi so eloquently said and loosened the green scarf around his neck.
“It does.” Atsumu said, wanting to add a witty comment but was stopped by Kiyoomi, looping his scarf around his neck.
Atsumu froze as Sakusa neatly tied it in front of his chest, gloved hand resting a little too long on the fabric. Kiyoomi’s slender fingers picked at lint on the scarf and simply said, “You are going to catch a cold….”
Atsumu, not daring to breathe, halted, eyes searching for a scintilla of something in Kiyoomi’s dark eyes. Charcoal, he noted, the perfect pitch black of charcoal. His lips parted, slowly exhaling breath, and whispered the acceptance. “Okay…”
Sakusa looked into Atsumu’s eyes. Despite the tired expression he had on his face, Atsumu gave Kiyoomi a tender smile as he said, “I already packed you yer cinnamon rolls….”
“How did you?”
“It’s finals week, right? You have a big test tomorrow and ya alway samp up the sugar intake.” He said softly and handed over the bag. “In case you are going to end up doing something illegal on your sugar high I don’t want to be held responsible, so they’re in the house.”
Kiyoomi was stunned for words for a bit until he blurted, “I’ll pay you..”
“I don’t want the rolls on record, so no….”
“Really, I’ll compensate….”
“Omi-kun…just take the fuckin’ rolls.”
“Stop cursing you idiot.”
“This is my shop I can curse whenever I want.”
“Technically, it’s not your shop Miya.”
“Technically, those cinnamon rolls aren’t yours yet.”
“Yeah, Yeah, whatever,” Kiyoomi quickly grabbed the bag from Atsumu’s outstretched hand, looked at the blonde, and murmured, “Thanks….Mi- Atsumu. I appreciate it.”
Atsumu beamed, “Don’t worry about it…Ace that exam for me, Omi-kun….”
At home, Sakusa found a handwritten note from Atsumu.
“Careful. They are cinfully tasty.”
༻☕༺
Sakusa didn’t like to be in debt to anyone. Especially not art students who worked part-time as baristas in his favorite cafe.
So, as soon as his exam ended two days after, Kiyoomi went off to get some art supplies from downtown and wanted to drop them off and swiftly depart. He didn’t want to have to hear Miya’s annoying voice dragging out the vowels on that stupid nickname he had given him. Getting him a new sketchpad and pencils was no big deal, so Miya better not overreact or show him that derpy smile of his.
He’d just get a coffee to go, or better hot chocolate since it was the end of exams. Grab his drink and leave before Atsumu got any that Sakusa getting him a gift meant anything.
Kiyoomi just wanted to get it over with, so why did he keep stalling and going into overcrowded shops to buy things he clearly didn’t need. He considered buying himself a new scarf. What an idiotic move it had been to give Atsumu his favorite scarf. Sakusa glared into the distance, locking eyes with a random person who jolted under his gaze and scurried away. Atsumu had always made fun of the scarf due to its color. Why the heck did Kiyoomi give him the scarf so willingly?
It was time to get the scarf back. Atsumu should get his own scarf. Yes, that was right. Sakusa would just go right into that cafe, demand his scarf back, order a hot chocolate and give that airhead his goddamn present.
Sakusa made a noise from deep in his chest that scared off a child nearby and made his way to the Black Jackal Bean. Kiyoomi took some time checking whether the wrapped gift in his bag was really there if the bow was still intact and took a deep breath before pushing the door open. The familiar sound of the bells chiming reached his ear first, then Sakusa noticed an unfamiliar bossa nova playlist resonating in the cafe.
Strange, maybe luck was on Sakusa’s side, and Atsumu finally got sick of his cheesy holiday playlist. Another customer in front of him was still ordering, and Kiyoomi had a few minutes to gather the words in his mind he wanted to say.
He had already come to the cafe. Check.
He had to ask for his scarf back. Order hot chocolate. Endure some cheesy, dangerously flirtation from the barista. Try not to smile at the way his stupid face looked and get his chocolate with extra whipped cream and slam the present into Atsumu’s hands and then run out and never return.
The person in front of him got his drink, and the man on the other side of the counter locked eyes.
They were the wrong color.
Instead of warm cinnamon toasty browns, they were gray. Why was this person, this imposter wearing Atsumu’s face? Sakusa glared at the man on the other side. His brown hair, a darker and colder shade than the undercut, revealed Atsumu’s natural color.
Not Atsumu blankly stared at him, calmy cool. Not a goofy grin spreading on the person’s face that usually was behind the counter.
“You’re not Miya.”
Sakusa finally said after staring him down. Not Atsumu was not budging under his stare. He was almost bored, it seemed.
“Actually, I am..” Not Atsumu pointed towards the nametag. O.Miya, the O was written on a tape, “You must be Omi-kun.”
Sakusa blinked. His nickname sounded wrong out of monochrome Atsumu. He didn’t want him to utter it again, so he corrected, “Sakusa.”
“Yeah, whatever…yer the dude my stupid brother keeps drawin’ and fawnin’ over… it’s disgusting…honestly yer not that pretty,” monochrome Atsumu said, then added. “I’m Osamu…what can i get you.”
“Where is Miya?”
“Not here”
“I can see that.” Sakusa glared, “Where is he?”
“Tsumu had ta pull an overnighter and got sick… he’s stayin’ home.”
Oh, he was unwell.
Osamu sighed, grabbed a spoon, and started polishing it. “He’s being a big baby about it too…annoying since I ain’t have the time to look after him and cover his shift.”
Side glancing at Sakusa, Osamu picked up another cutlery, “You have his number right? He’d like a call from you.”
“Will he?”
“Yes. Please, i don’t want to listen to him whine about not bein’ able to see Omi-omi when i get home..”
“Say Sakusa….”
“Yes?”
The dark-haired Miya paused, checking the tip of the knife, then pointed it at Sakusa,” You could also visit my brother…I could write you down the address.”
A threat was woven into the tone with which he said these words, but Sakusa didn’t like to be in debt. So he got Atsumu’s address. He had to get his scarf back after all.
༻☕༺
He wasn’t sure what to expect. Perhaps a dragon’s layer, Atsumu in a cave-like apartment cluttered with things, pencils, paper balls, empty coffee cups. When he knocked at the door to Atsumu and Osamu’s apartment in a somewhat sketchy part of town, Sakusa was strangely nervous.
The sound of the Christmas playlist blasting louder than at the cafe was a comfort.
“Freakin’ scrub Samu, you fergot ya keys didn’t ya,” he heard from the other side of the door, made Kiyoomi’s lips twitch from under his mask, and he tugged his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.
“Yenno, I had to stand up from the couch and-” Atsumu opened the door, dressed in a cozy red Kigurumi, red with a snowflake and reindeer pattern, “Oh…Omi? Whaddya doing here?”
“Your brother told me you were sick.” Sakusa said, staring at the cartoon reindeer that had red noses and candy cane striped scarves around their cartoon reindeer necks. “This is atrocious.”
“Well, I am sick, and this is comfy….” Atsumu said, sniffing and pouting as if that was a justification. He ruffled his hair so that the hood, with sewn-on antlers, fell from his head, “I’d like to invite you in, but you’d probably don’t want to….”
“Do you have something warm to drink… it’s rather cold outside,” Sakusa said, and Atsumu stepped aside to let him in.
“I got tea….”
“What kind of tea do you have ?” Sakusa inquired, emphasizing the last word, attempting to correct Atsumu’s grammar.
“Dunno something from Samu’s cabinet…pick your slippers,”
Atsumu said, getting out a pair of guest slippers, all Christmas themes. Kiyoomi chose the red and green ones that looked like elf shoes.
He looked around. The apartment was more spacious than he thought, the entryway leading to a big living room and open kitchen, like in a studio apartment. There were two doors on the left and another on the right wall, probably a bathroom and bedrooms.
“It’s clean….” Sakusa noted, and Atsumu huffed.
“Yeah, I ain’t a slob…well not in our shared livin’ space…my rooms a little messy during creative urges, but Samu won’t mind unless I keep my stuff in there….”
Osamu was a little more likable now. Sakusa thought and gave Atsumu a look over.
“I didn’t want to stay too long…I heard you were sick.”
“It’s nothing…I just got overworked since I had to pull an all-nighter to fill my sketchbook with things…but hey…I submitted the thing and slept off the cold. So I’m fine…” he sniffed, grinning a little,” Thanks fer ya concern Omi-kun…but I am alright….”
“Why are your eyes red then?”
“I was crying over a Christmas movie….” Atsumu confessed almost too proudly, Endearing.
“Wimp,” Sakusa said, tugging off his mask and shedding off his coat. Atsumu just shrugged, took the clothing, and hung them up.
“Yeah, Rise of the Guardians is just a masterpiece… it’s so brilliantly drawn and gosh…Jack Frost is hot.”
“It’s a drawing.”
“So?”
Sakusa paused, shaking his head, “How can drawings be hot Miya?”
“Well…they just can,” Atsumu hummed, “Settle down on the sofa if ya want Omi…. I’ll start the film anew and convince you….but don’t mess up my blanket, if ya want one get it from the basket over there. I’ll getcha yer tea.”
Kiyoomi heard Atsumu sneeze on his way to the kitchen and smiled a little as he overlooked the carefully arranged array of three fluffy blankets Atsmu had spread out on a corner of the couch. He didn’t get a blanket from the basket. Instead, Kiyoomi sat down on the little bit of empty space and looked over the coffee table that was littered with some stuff.
A dog holder tissue box, some snacks, a plate of cookies, a large Olaf the Snowman mug, and one of Atsumu’s black sketch pads. Opened up with a drawing of some cartoon characters visible on the page. They must be from the movie, which Atsumu had been crying about. The Santa Claus Atsumu had sketched hand tattoos on his forearms stating naughty or nice.
Kiyoomi took off his gloves, carefully reached for the book, and skimmed over the pages. Many of the graphite lines seemed fresh. He had drawn the plate of cookies, fuller with more cookies but the same plate that was on the table. Some doodles of cartoon foxes playing around in the snow, chasing each other over the page.
A detailed drawing of an apple and then his face.
Sakusa stared at the page that showed his face drawn on to the rough paper with charcoal, the same jaw, the harsh lines that looked incredibly soft. Strangely touched, Kiyoomi wanted to trace them with his fingers.
He flipped a few pages, not wanting to intrude on the unsettling feeling that had started to warm in his chest, and Kiyoomi found himself over and over again on several pages. Sometimes there was a hand, but Kiyoomi knew it was his because the hand was holding his favorite pen he always studied with. The dark eyes Atsumu drew with such intensity had the same markings and lines Kiyoomi’s own had. How could someone create something so realistic?
Kiyoomi saw a softer version of himself on the pages. Was this the way Atsumu saw him?
“Done snooping Omi-kun?”
Atsumu’s voice, suddenly very close, brought Sakusa out of his fascination and looked up, caught red-handed. He didn’t sound angry, thank god.
“Your tea…Omi-kun…”
“Why did you draw me Miya?” Sakusa was surprised that he was not offended. It was such an invasive thing that Atsumu had drawn him so many times without permission.
“Yer pretty to look at Omi,” Atsumu simply said and smiled, “I’m sorry if that’s a little creepy….”
“It’s okay….” Sakusa said, and he realized he really didn’t mind, “They’re good.”
“Thanks…” Atsumu smiled and plopped down onto the couch, “So…what brings ya here….”
“My scarf,” Sakusa blurted out, “I want it back.”
Atsumu blinked, then laughed out loud, head tilted back, bellowing.
“Sure thin’ Omi kun…I need to wash it first thou….”
“I also got you something,” Sakusa blurted out again and rummaged in his bag, “A little something...you mentioned that you need new supplies, and this is not a big deal. It was a pain in the ass to find those charcoal pencils, and I think the salesperson ripped me off. Anyway just forget about it and I’ll get going….”
He shoved the wrapped thing into Atsumu’s chest and wanted to stand up but was held back by his wrist.
“Why don’t you stay Omi-kun…just for a little.” he smiled, and Sakusa realized that Atsumu, even in the depths of winter, had freckles on his nose, “Thank you….”
“As I said, no big deal….”
“Right..” Atsumu grinned.
“I should get going….”
“You can….but” Atsumu smiled, “You could also stay…I just put some cinnamon rolls in the oven they should be ready to eat in an hour….”
“Okay… I’ll stay….” Sakusa said, looking into Atsumu’s eyes, “For the cinnamon rolls….”
“And the movie….” Atsumu’s eyes glinted then turned into crescents.
“And the movie….” Kiyoomi agreed and settled on the couch as the saccharine scent of cinnamon filled the room. Warm, pleasantly, comfortable just as Atsumu’s presence next to him.
A presence Kiyoomi realized was not unfamiliar but welcome. Very much so.