Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some people say that relationships are like gardens—both must be tended to carefully, needs a specific routine to thrive, can wither away if left neglected or something small upheaves their baseline for survival. If you put the right amount of work in, they'll thrive. The problem is when you forget to water the plants or make the wrong decision in a relationship, you'll likely harm them past the point of revival. If the mistake is severe enough the thing simply slips from your grasp. Or at least, that's how it's supposed to go.

When he turns seventeen, Atsumu’s life turns upside down. Well maybe not on his seventeenth birthday, but it’s in his seventeenth year around the sun. All he knows is that when he’s seventeen, things start getting weird.

The first time it happens is at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. Despite the fact that Osamu is not attached to his hip for this venture, Atsumu tries to be excited—hell, he is excited, just a bit disappointed that Osamu isn’t coming along. Regardless, the camp turns into days of playing and sweating and laughing and longing. Longing being the key out of place and unexpected component of this trip.

Atsumu was so caught up in Osamu and his spat over volleyball that he didn’t think to look at the other invitees. So, when he shows up on day one next to Sakusa Kiyoomi and learns they’ll be sharing a room together, Atsumu’s little gay heart can’t handle the strain.

It doesn’t even matter that they’re sharing the room with two other people, Atsumu is over the moon that he gets to stay in the same vicinity as Sakusa. The crush thing started when he watched the Itachiyama ace slam the spike that forced them to lose Interhighs. With a spin like that, nobody would have been able to receive it—Atsumu least of all considering his eyes never left Sakusa’s concentrated and unimpressed face. Maybe it’s the way he glares at everyone who tries to invade his personal space or the fact that he’s rude like Atsumu, but Atsumu can’t seem to shake his thoughts about the spiker. And every time he takes off his mask and Atsumu gets to see that unimpressed look in all its glory, Atsumu thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.

Something started then, the blueprint for a garden formulating in the far reaches of Atsumu’s mind.  It’s not quite heaven he’s found, but it is something special—something he doesn’t quite know is destined to be his.

For the first time in his life, Atsumu almost stutters when he sets for Sakusa and the ace comes back with honest feedback.

“I like them a little higher and faster.” That voice gives no indication of irritation or malice, just a fact.

But Atsumu’s brain is slow to process for a moment until Sakusa is raising his brows and Atsumu finally nods, “Yeah, higher, faster, got it.”

Sakusa gives a singular curt nod and gets back into line while Atsumu sets for the next hitter in the drill line. The next time he sets for Sakusa, he simply looks over with the question written on his face. Sakusa’s nod sends butterflies through his stomach.

Stupid dumb gay thoughts.

A small part of him holds onto hope that he’ll be able to squash this crush that he refuses to actually acknowledge until they’re in the middle of a practice match. When he’s in the moment or incredibly focused on the court, Atsumu doesn’t really have control over what his mouth does. Neurons connect far too fast and movements become instinct, so it’s not his fault when he goes to set and calls out “Omi” instead of “Sakusa.” Both Sakusa and Kiyoomi would take the valuable brain-to-mouth time that could be better spent being brain-to-body time. In an effort for efficiency (and certainly not because he subconsciously thinks it’s cute), Atsumu spits the nickname out.

Fear strikes his heart though once the ball bounces off the arms of another player in a failed attempt to receive the spike and Sakusa turns his gaze over to him. “Why did you call me that?”

‘Cause I’m stupid and gay and yer hot and make my brain short circuit. While it’s the gods honest truth, that is not what comes out of his mouth, “It was just quicker,” he swallows when Sakusa’s eyes narrow as if analyzing him, picking apart his response with a microscope, “easier to call. I mean it was practically instinct.”

Those deep, dark eyes search Atsumu up and down, looking, scouring really, for a hint of a lie. The silence makes Atsumu antsy, physically stilling himself as he submits himself to that gaze.

“Well,” Sakusa turns to get back into the rotation, “I guess that’s fine then—efficient.”

Relief floods through Atsumu the moment the acceptance is out of his mouth. Without having to worry about the prickly spiker’s ire, Atsumu’s sets get even more pointed and they’re able to easily steal a win in two sets. For a moment, it almost feels nice to be around other volleyball-obsessed guys.

The reality comes crashing down though when it’s dinner and Atsumu’s loud mouth and crass attitude earn him more than a couple of scoffs and raised eyebrows. Adjusting to his attitude takes time and a whole host of patience so really, Atsumu shouldn’t be shocked when talk of hanging out in one of the other’s rooms doesn’t include him. Instead, he just gets up and walks back to his own room.

It shouldn’t be a shock to see Sakusa freshly bathed and reading on his bed when he enters either, but Atsumu still feels his brows tug together.

“Not hangin’ out with everyone, Omi?”

“I wasn’t aware the nickname would be following me off the court,” he peers over the top of his book before answering Atsumu’s initial question. “I don’t like large, loud groups. Plus, it’s high school boys, they’re disgusting.”

Atsumu finds himself laughing at that in earnest, gathering his own bath items. “Well, that’s just bein’ a teenage boy for ya.” Sakusa’s visible shudder pulls another low laugh from Atsumu. “Well, I’ll be back I guess.”

A noncommittal hum follows him to the exit. While he bathes, he’s able to at least relax from the day’s events, even if he feels a little keyed up knowing that he’s going to be spending hours with Sakusa alone.

That is something Sakusa doesn’t seem to expect when Atsumu returns and settles onto his own bed, picking up science homework he doesn’t actually want to do.

“Are you not joining the others?” For all his neutral tone, Sakusa almost sounds shocked, and though his eyes don’t move from the pages of his book, Atsumu can see the frown he’s sporting.

The awkward laugh that tumbles out feels rough even to Atsumu’s own ears, “Gotta be honest, people don’t really like havin’ me around, Omi.”

Atsumu expects a lot of different responses from the straightforward and equally as blunt Sakusa. He expects maybe something about how that’s no wonder considering he’s annoying to be around or even a laugh that betrays how much Sakusa agrees. A quip about how he doesn’t like having Atsumu intrude on his alone time either. If he’s feeling especially magnanimous, Atsumu anticipates silence that will, at the very least, leave Atsumu to his own interpretation. What he does not expect is a voice that is very nearly gentle and words that soothe him.

“They’re not all that great to begin with.”

In a single sentence, Sakusa breathes life into the little blueprint in Atsumu’s brain, forms the boundaries for something new between the pair in their hearts. The outlines of a garden plot take shape between them when Sakusa doesn't shut him out.

Despite the warmth in his chest and his skipping heart, Atsumu puts on his most smug smile, “How would ya know?”

“Tried it,” he looks over, abandoning the book for a moment, “found it’s not really my forte.”

“Ya wanna give it a second shot? With me?” The words are terribly cliche, but Atsumu doesn’t have the nerve to be embarrassed even when Sakusa lets out an amused huff and raises that devastating brow.

“Very corny, Miya.”

But he never says no, and when Atsumu asks him about his book, the conversation only grows from there. From their outside hobbies, the boys naturally fall onto volleyball. He learns that Sakusa beat his cousin out to be a spiker just like he surpassed Osamu, that he has the same admiration for his captain that Atsumu does, that he wants nothing more than to go pro just like the rest of them. Worst of all is that Atsumu finds out that Sakusa likes to hide his smiles and laughs so Atsumu won’t see them which only makes him try to draw them out more.

When the night drags into much later hours, he also learns that Sakusa fights back drooping lids just to keep talking to him.

Neither of them knows that with each suppressed laugh, every innocent question, all the little smiles and eye rolls, they're planting seeds in that new garden shared between them. A little piece of one another planted in their hearts, their minds.

Each day becomes its own sort of routine, Atsumu is more often than not woken up by Sakusa after he misses breakfast on the second day and spends all day complaining, they eat together, then join everyone else for training. While they’re on the court, it’s strictly business and Sakusa normally drifts over to his cousin to stand in companionable silence. But sometimes, and these times make Atsumu’s heart feel like it’s beating in his throat, he’ll slide next to Atsumu. They may exchange a word or two, but most times they simply stand in one another’s presence. Silence normally grates on him, urges him to fill it, but when he’s beside Sakusa in those moments, he basks in it, relishing the time he has with such a force of a player.

With each passing day, Atsumu realizes his crush is an issue. Most of all when he’s awoken on their last full day at camp with a hard flick to his forehead.

“If you sleep any later, you’re going to miss breakfast and give me shitty sets. Get up, Miya.”

Why is it that his unsympathetic, even voice makes Atsumu’s heart clench even as he blinks sleep away from his eyes?

“Yeah, yeah, I’m up,” he groans as Sakusa lets out a put-upon sigh of impatience. They both know that for whatever reason, Sakusa waits for him and Atsumu is grateful to him for it. For whatever reason, Sakusa stays by Atsumu’s side as he yanks on his gym clothes for the day and brushes his teeth in a frenzy.

The morning is just like any other; Atsumu inhales his breakfast and Sakusa makes fun of him by saying that he’s going to choke if he eats that fast, Atsumu taunts him by chewing with his mouth fully open. When they move to the court, Sakusa also checks to make sure Atsumu doesn’t get any cramps throughout stretches, drills, and their practice game.

Even though it comes through the guise of teasing, Atsumu feels the real concern in the questioning, and it makes his dumb little brain even more lovesick for the sea urchin. It’s blissful and terrible and Atsumu wishes there was something to do about it.

What causes a real issue, not just one fueled by teenage hormones, is that final night together. Just like the previous nights, Atsumu and Sakusa find themselves alone in their room with Atsumu sharing stories and Sakusa hiding his grins and laughs. Something warm bubbles up in Atsumu, the stifled laughter coming from Sakusa feeding that ever-growing crush. Lingering on that feeling creates an unintentional lull in conversation—a heavy silence weaved with an undercurrent of energy falling over them.

Atsumu doesn’t even notice when Sakusa moves closer to him on the bed; he’s so caught up in the little molten center that he barely registers the blaring heat that comes from Sakusa’s leg pressing into his own. Nothing breaks him out of that reverie until Sakusa’s fingertips are prodding at his chin, tilting Atsumu’s face to look at his own.

“Miya?” Sensation rushes back into Atsumu and he feels the sear of Sakusa’s skin pressing into his along both his leg and face, hears the gentle concern hidden in the whisper of his name, but mostly he becomes hyper-aware of how little distance remains between his lips and Sakusa’s.

It’s a stupid thought, really, but Atsumu can’t seem to take his eyes off of those pretty pink and clearly hydrated lips.

“Yeah, Omi?” The heat of his breath must affect Sakusa too, seeing as his leg twitches just barely against Atsumu’s. Every part of him screams for him to just close that distance, to interlock his lips with Sakusa’s own and sate that desire budding in him.

“You just seemed,” Sakusa’s own eyes flit down to Atsumu’s lips and really Atsumu should get better at reading hints since Sakusa hasn’t moved and is still touching his face while looking at his lips, “distracted.”

There’s no point in lying when he doesn’t really feel the need to, “Was just thinkin’.”

“About what?”

A fork in the road appears before Atsumu: down one path is lying, playing it safe. He could say something about his brother or how he’s missing home or that he messed up a set during practice. Sakusa would pull away and they’d probably never speak of this again.

Down the other is honesty, throwing himself into the wild unknown. He could say that he was thinking about how much of a crush he has, how badly he wants to kiss Sakusa, or that even though he knows it’s dramatic after only a handful of days together but hell he might love the guy in front of him.

Path number two has a much greater risk—Sakusa could push him away, out him as a pervert or something. Worse, Sakusa could give in just for fun or for pity or out of loneliness and then leave Atsumu hanging.

Choosing honesty, though, has a much higher reward. Because if Atsumu isn’t misreading these signals and if Sakusa really might like him back, well then Atsumu has hit the jackpot. 

Two paths are ahead of him, one that’s safe and one that’s full of risk. But Miya Atsumu is one hell of a risk-taker, and he opens his mouth to spill his thoughts, but the first words are interrupted by raucous laughter outside of their door and Sakusa is up like a bullet tucking himself into his own bed. When the door slams open, Hoshiumi and Komori’s laughter dies out when they see a slightly horror-stricken Atsumu sitting fully upright on his bed.

“You alright there, Atsumu?” It’s Komori asking him because of course it’s Komori. Yet when he asks, Atsumu can’t help but notice the way Komori’s eyes drift to the curled-up form of his cousin.

“Uh,” the eloquent response falls out with a thought before he can conjure up real words, “yeah, yes, fine, totally fine. I, uh, just realized I have to go back to Samu tomorrow. Real terrifyin’.”

Hoshiumi laughs and picks up whatever conversation he was having with Komori as they make their way to change, but Atsumu can’t take his eyes off of the figure wrapped in blankets across from him. Sakusa is curled so far in with his back to Atsumu and it’s driving Atsumu insane. He wants to reach out, to touch Sakusa and show him that he wants him, so badly Atsumu wants whatever Sakusa will offer.

But in the face of others, Atsumu would rather spare Sakusa the embarrassment. So, he flips over with a general call of good night and stares at the wall well into the late hours of the night. Every nerve ending in his body craves that touch again—begs for the press of Sakusa’s skin into his own. Yet Atsumu stays still until he’s drowned in sleep, not even comforted by dreams.

This is where Atsumu realizes that his life might be a little weirder than most others’. When he drifts off that night, he knows he will wake in the morning and hop on a train back to Hyogo. If he’s lucky, he’ll see Sakusa at Nationals and maybe, just maybe, get another shot at this whole thing. But life will keep rolling along as it usually does.

Except it doesn’t.

It doesn’t because Atsumu is awoken, once more by a harsh flick between his brows and Sakusa’s indifferent voice, “If you sleep any later, you’re going to miss breakfast and give me shitty sets. Get up, Miya.”

“Huh,” in his half-sleep delirium Atsumu’s brows furrow, eyes still focusing, “the hell ya mean, Omi? We’re goin’ home today.”

“What are you talking about?” Blinking into focus, he sees Sakusa towering over him in the same outfit he wore yesterday, something Atsumu knows is impossible seeing as Sakusa hates germs and those would be filthy from sweating while practicing.

Atsumu feels genuinely crazy. “It’s the last day. Didn’t we talk about this yesterday?“

“No?” Sakusa’s raises a brow, concern weaving itself into his tone with the next dry remark. “Did you hit your head or something? Maybe you should talk to one of the trainers.”

“No,” Atsumu pulls himself up, running a hand through his hair and blinking, “no, ya’ve gotta be fuckin’ with me right?”

When he gets nothing but furrowed brows of concern from Sakusa, Atsumu starts to panic.

“Is this about last night? Ya tryna pull a fast one on me because Hoshiumi and Komori came in at the wrong time? ‘Cause it’s not my fault, I was gonna tell ya-“

“Miya,” the curt tone makes Atsumu look up from his frenzied speech, “what the hell are you talking about?”

Maybe Atsumu is crazy—the thought crosses his mind for a moment. Surely Sakusa wouldn’t be the type to pull a prank as elaborate at this and he’s certainly not one to lie. The ping of his phone beside him draws him back into reality: a text from Osamu. The same one from yesterday.

Uglier Miya🤢

c u tomorrow scrub. gonna be the worst day of my life since they brought u home from the hospital.

In checking the date, Atsumu realizes it’s yesterday's as well. Huh. Maybe he is insane.

“Sorry, Omi,” he shakes his head, “musta had a helluva dream.”

“Sure. Can you get up now?” Ever the charmer, this one is. “Breakfast ends in twenty and if you give me a shit set because you forgot to eat, they will not be able to find your body.”

So Atsumu pulls on the same clothes he put on yesterday or in his dream or whatever.

“Real sweet of ya to care about my health, Omi-kun,” the sardonic little huff from beside him makes Atsumu smile in earnest.

“Really I just don’t want to hear your constant bitching about how you’re so starving like you did on day two.”

“Well, that’s yer fault for lettin’ me sleep through breakfast.”

The glare he receives for that has Atsumu beaming as he leads them out of the room. “I’m not your mother, Miya. You should be able to wake up for breakfast.”

Just like yesterday (or not yesterday) they banter through Atsumu scarfing down breakfast, they do the same stretches, the same drills, the same practice game with the same result. When practice ends and they’ve finished their dinner, Sakusa still splits off to use the bath first and Atsumu follows. In their bedroom, it’s just the two of them and Atsumu telling the same stories and Sakusa suppressing his laughter all the same while Atsumu revels in that warmth. There isn’t really any hesitation in his speech this time, though, since Atsumu expected to be enamored. So, the pair just sit an appropriate distance apart and enjoy each other’s company until the doors open and Hoshiumi and Komori join their little conversation.

So maybe yesterday really was just a weird dream—a projection of what he wishes could happen with Sakusa. As yawns start to become more frequent, the four tuck themselves in and drift off, content with their final performance and ready to return to their beds the next day.

Or so Atsumu thinks. Until he’s being brought awake by that same flick.

“If you sleep any later, you’re going to miss breakfast and give me shitty sets. Get up, Miya.”

Atsumu blinks once. Twice. Three times.

“What. The actual. Fuck?”

Sakusa’s brows crease where he towers over Atsumu, just like he did yesterday and the yesterday before that.

“If you don’t wake up,” the shrug seems indifferent but there’s a tenseness that betrays Sakusa’s insecurity, “you get flicked.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Atsumu sits up. “Omi, I swear we did this yesterday.”

Sakusa shakes his head, “No. You woke up on your own yesterday.” That same concern from yesterday (or is it today?) laces itself underneath Sakusa’s indifferent tone. “Did you hit your head or something? Maybe you should talk to a trainer.”

Same Omi. Same response. Same weirdness.

Atsumu brushes past it, clocking the text that comes in just a couple of minutes later, the same contents from Osamu. The same outfits, the same breakfast, the same stretches, drills, practice game, dinner, bath, conversation, sleep.

A flick to his forehead and the same speech from Sakusa. Two more times this happens before Atsumu decides he isn’t crazy.

“Omi,” on the 7th yesterday Atsumu levels a serious look at Sakusa once he’s woken up, “I think I’m being Groundhog Day-ed.”

“What?” Furrowed brows, concerned undertones, “Did you—“

“Hit my head or somethin’? I should go talk to a trainer?” Sakusa’s eyes go wide for a moment and Atsumu heaves a breath. “Three, two, and there’s a text from Osamu.” The ping goes off right in cue and Atsumu gestures for Sakusa to pick it up.

Atsumu reads the text verbatim and Sakusa’s brows dig deeper as if he might actually start believing Atsumu.

“Is this a prank, Miya?”

Atsumu groans, changing into the same clothes for the seventh time, “No, Omi. This day has lasted a week for me. I just wanna go home.”

“Well, tomorrow—“ It’s not fair, he knows it’s not fair, but the frustration builds and builds over those days and there’s nowhere for it to go except at Sakusa. So, he snaps, voice raising with his irritation.

“I ain’t gettin’ a tomorrow, Omi, what the hell do ya think I’m so upset about? Are ya deaf or just fuckin’ dull?” 

Silence descends between them and it’s not the kind from that first yesterday. The air is tight and heavy and thrumming with energy but it’s tense and violent and feels so, so wrong.

The first true deviation: Atsumu never snaps at Sakusa, not on the court and certainly not outside of it. In real time, Atsumu gets to witness as the flowers they’ve planted wilt and wither and die; a singular comment bringing down all they’ve built over the past near week.

Something in Sakusa’s face darkens and he turns wordlessly, stalking out of the room. Any attempts at getting him to turn around are fruitless. Actually, any attempt to get Sakusa to talk to him at all falls on deaf ears. The silent treatment never felt so heavy.

That single choice, lashing out, even changes their nightly routine. Sakusa braves the room full of people and laughter just to avoid Atsumu and it’s shitty, just so shitty, and Atsumu thinks for a moment that maybe this is the outcome that will end the time loop and that only makes the pain in his chest worse.

Yesterday number eight soothes that fear when the familiar flick has him tearing his eyes open. Sakusa’s familiar unimpassioned intonation brings a warm smile to Atsumu’s face first thing that morning. If he’s going to have to live the same day over and over, he’d rather it be one where Sakusa wants to talk to him.

Just like that, Atsumu gets to see all of those previously withered blooms flower into brightness once again. Vibrant greens showing just how alive their budding friendship is, the depressing brambles of yesterday a mere illusion.

So today (or yesterday number eight), Atsumu leans into the banter, leans into the eye rolls and the quick-witted quips, leans into whatever Sakusa is willing to give him.

It’s still the same routine, stretches, drills, practice game, but this time it feels brighter. One bad day with Sakusa is all it takes for Atsumu to realize how lucky he is.

So that night, when they’re sitting side by side and Atsumu is regaling him with a new story—one he hasn’t shared the other nights—Atsumu gets to hear a real Sakusa laugh. It’s a little choked and high, like he doesn’t actually know how to laugh, but it settles into the back of his throat and Atsumu drinks it up like ambrosia. Everything from the sound to the crinkle of his eyes to the angle of his head has that warmth bubbling up again but this time it’s so hot that Atsumu knows he really has feelings for Sakusa. Even if he wanted it to be a simple crush, Atsumu is stuck with big, messy feelings.

And just like that first yesterday, fingertips ground him back to the present, his eyes moving to meet Sakusa’s with the gentle brush.

“Miya?” The brush of hot air makes Atsumu all too aware of how close their lips are. Almost like habit, Atsumu’s eyes drift down to those plump, pink, moisturized lips and his tongue darts out to wet his own. Unlike last time though, Atsumu looks Sakusa in the eye when he responds.

“Yeah, Omi?” Maybe the details of all of this were lost on Atsumu the first time this happened, but now he feels Sakusa’s other hand lift to his waist, gentle fingers toying with the thin shirt covering Atsumu’s skin. One thing does not change though: every part of him screams for him to just close that distance, to interlock his lips with Sakusa’s own.

“You just seemed,” Sakusa’s own eyes flit down to Atsumu’s lips and he knows that he’ll have the right answer this time, “distracted.”

Instinctively, Atsumu starts to twist his body, one hand rising so he can rest it along the curve of Sakusa’s neck. “Was just thinkin’.”

“About what?” When there’s no outward flinch at Atsumu touching him, Atsumu knows that he’s making the right choice.

“You.” The charge in the room grows heavy with the right kind of energy this time—passionate and new. “Really thinkin’ about how I wanna kiss ya.”

“Is that so?” Nodding only makes the tiny amount of space between them more apparent. “Well, then why don’t you?”

Flowers begin to bloom with that very first kiss—vibrant and warm. And, gods, Atsumu can’t help but think of how much of a fool he was for not having done this to begin with. Just as suspected, Sakusa’s lips are soft and warm, making Atsumu’s head spin.  He’s positive the slight chap of his own lips are driving Sakusa crazy, but he can’t really think about that when they’re pulling apart and pushing together over and over just to explore the different ways their lips can meld together. The hand on Atsumu’s waist clutches at him, pulling him closer while the one on his face drifts into his hair, Sakusa’s fingernails scratching at the scalp occasionally.

Their lips slot together again and again, each kiss a little longer than the last, and it’s so tender that Atsumu has to pull Sakusa closer in return, to press more fervently. The hesitant swipe of Sakusa’s tongue against his lower lip has him more than a little breathless. But he also knows that Hoshiumi and Komori will likely be barging in soon.

For once, Atsumu uses his brain and pulls back just far enough to speak, “Ya wanna keep goin’?”

“Yes,” Sakusa sounds just as breathless as Atsumu, “more than anything, yes.”

“Then c’mon,” Atsumu slots his hand into one of Sakusa’s and starts dragging them to the door. Before Sakusa can even protest, Atsumu supplies his logic. “Our roomies should be back soon, don’t wanna be disturbed if I’m honest with ya, Omi.”

When Atsumu squeezes his hand, he doesn’t expect a squeeze back. But Sakusa is full of surprises. “Good thinking.”

“Did ya just compliment me?” The words come in a hushed whisper as they creep past rooms and find an abandoned common area on the upper floors. “Careful, I might think yer startin’ to like me.”

“There could be worse things.”

The talking stops there as Sakusa urges Atsumu down onto the couch in order to crawl onto his lap and fit their mouths together once more.

While this isn’t Atsumu’s first kiss, it sure is the first good one. Sakusa kisses the way he plays: thorough and until he’s got it just right. Though it shouldn’t be a surprise that Sakusa pays attention to the little indicators of what Atsumu likes—he’s just as attentive as Atsumu. Still, Atsumu drowns in the attention for a moment before he gives back Sakusa’s focus in kind.

“C’mere,” Atsumu gestures for Sakusa to lie down, “gotta be uncomfortable hunchin’ over me like that.”

Sakusa hums into a peck, “A little. You should try growing.”

The resulting scoff from Atsumu only leads to Sakusa muffling his laughter, covering his mouth as his eyes crinkle up in that same way that mesmerized Atsumu earlier.

“Don’t cover yer mouth up. Wanna see yer smile,” the words come as he settles his hips over Sakusa’s, knees bracketing the boy beneath him.

“Cheesy.” But Sakusa still reaches the hand covering his mouth up to Atsumu’s bicep instead. The risk of sounding as cheesy as he does is worth seeing the way Sakusa’s lips curve up and up, squishing the pink stained apples of his cheeks towards those crinkled eyes.

“Can’t help it,” Atsumu lowers his face close to Sakusa’s, “ya seem to have that effect on me.”

When they try to slot lips again, Atsumu nearly slams into Sakusa’s nose with the way he surges up, teeth clinking instead of lips. Through small breaks of laughter, they manage to spend minutes or hours exploring what it’s like to kiss one another. Atsumu marvels at the feel of Sakusa’s lips against the corner of his jaw, soaks up the way he clutches Atsumu a little tighter when their tongues finally make contact. Eventually, there’s more stifled laughter than kisses, the pair devolving for reasons they can’t parse together. But Atsumu knows he’ll have the feeling of burying his laughter in Sakusa’s shoulder while feeling the vibrations of Sakusa’s laughter in the cords of his neck embedded into his memory until he dies.

Those little laughs and smiles warm the pair more effectively than sunshine, each exchange fueling the growth of this little thing between them. Without them even realizing, they’ve planted roots in one another that can never be torn out—the echoes of laughs and smiles etching themselves like initials into bark, a sign that they’ll always be there.

Eventually, they pull themselves apart, whispering to one another to be quiet and stifling more laughter in the dark as they tiptoe through the halls.

They sneak back into the room, Sakusa first since he’s quieter and Atsumu following just ten minutes after. Neither of their roommates wake and Atsumu gets to lay another lingering kiss on Sakusa’s cheek before he slips into his own bed and drifts away while Sakusa heads out with his toothbrush in hand.

When the next morning comes, it’s not a flick to the forehead that wakes him. Instead, familiar fingers grip his chin and shake his head gently.

“Atsumu,” not Miya, his given name, “wake up. We have to leave soon, and I want to get coffee before I go home.”

Home?

Home.

HOME.

Atsumu bolts up to find an empty room aside from his stuff and Sakusa dressed in different clothes than yesterday and the yesterday before that and all of the other yesterdays. His face stretches into a grin that makes his skin feel tight and must border on manic, but Atsumu could hardly care. Flinging himself out of bed, Atsumu grips Sakusa by the shoulders with a warm laugh and leans in for the quickest of pecks before he starts to change into his new clothes—the outfit he couldn’t wear for nearly ten days.

“That excited to leave, huh?”

“Omi,” the laughter just will not die down, “ya have no idea. The past few days have felt like ages.”

Too enthused by the turn of yesterday into tomorrow, Atsumu misses the way Sakusa’s shoulders fall just a little, “Oh.”

“I wish I could tell ya what I mean,” he continues as he crams clothes and blankets into his bag, “but I don’t even think I could make it make sense, ya know?”

“Right.” Sakusa’s voice seems drier than normal, but Atsumu chalks it up to his seemingly inane babble.

“Plus,” he slings his bag over his shoulder, “it’ll be nice to be in our own beds, won’t it?”

Those coal-like eyes move to the ground between them, face tilted down, “It will be, I suppose.”

Noting the strange behavior, Atsumu makes his way over, a gentle “hey” getting Sakusa to look up. With as much caution as he can manage, Atsumu raises a hand to Sakusa’s face, leaning in to kiss him with a tenderness so incongruent with his typical demeanor. When he pulls back, Sakusa follows, chasing Atsumu’s lips into one more kiss.

“Might be a while,” Atsumu whispers when Sakusa finally pulls back, “one more for the road?”

The comment seems to make that strange energy around Sakusa dissipate, a roll of eyes and a final soft kiss pulling him back into his normal self. “You better not go running your mouth about us, Atsumu.”

“One day,” he winks, extracting himself from Sakusa’s pull and opening the door for him. “After you, Omi-Omi.”

“Don’t start with that,” he intentionally nudges a little too close when he passes Atsumu in the doorframe, “one nickname is bad enough.”

The teasing lilt to Atsumu’s voice makes Sakusa hide a smile, spurring the blonde on even more, “What? Ya don’t like my nicknames?”

“I barely like you, Miya.” The use of his family name strikes him as odd until Atsumu looks up to see several other of the boys around them. So familiarity is off-limits when they’re around others, noted.

Regardless, Atsumu keeps their teasing banter up until Sakusa joins up with Komori to talk about their plans for getting back home. Throughout the conversation, he feels eyes on his back a little too much for his liking. He assumes that will be the end of it, the last he’ll see of Sakusa during this trip to Tokyo until he hears Komori yelling for his cousin to have a good time.

When he turns, he sees Sakusa speeding up ever so slightly to catch up with him.

“Before you open your big, dumb mouth, I already said I wanted to get coffee before I go home, and my favorite place happens to be next to your station.” Sakusa doesn’t hide his matter-of-fact analysis of the situation, but Atsumu still lets that smug look take over his face.

“Excuses, excuses, Omi-kun. Ya can just say ya wanna be with me longer.”

Sakusa passes Atsumu before slowing down just a little so Atsumu can catch up. “This is going to be the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“Couldn’t be,” Atsumu shoves his hands in his pockets to quell the urge to sling an arm around Sakusa, “I’m the best when it comes to everythin’.”

Though it’s muttered Atsumu still hears Sakusa clear as day, “Best at being insufferable.”

“Ya always do like a challenge, don’t ya? Puttin’ up with me might be yer hardest yet.” The scoff that produces sends Atsumu into a full belly laugh. He never once expected that Sakusa Kiyoomi would have him nearly doubled over in the street from a mere scoff, but he also never expected to wake up in the same day nine times. So maybe he isn’t the best judge on what to expect.

Or maybe he’s a half-decent judge of it, because he fully expects to savor every second he can get with Sakusa, and he certainly does that. All too quickly they have warm drinks in hand and stand before the station Atsumu needs to head into.

“Well,” Sakusa looks at him over the lid of his cup, steam obstructing Atsumu’s view of his face in the few seconds after Sakusa finishes taking a sip.

Atsumu sighs, “Well.”

There’s that energy around them once more—more delicate this time, like pressed flowers between the pages of a book or a freshly planted bulb testing out new soil. It’s sweet and beautiful but it almost feels like one stray movement could tear it to shreds.

“Nationals?” Atsumu raises his brows, the implied question of whether they can do whatever this is again.

Sakusa tucks a smile into his shoulder before looking Atsumu in the face, impassive as ever, “Nationals.”

This time, they do not kiss, the delicate thing between them too fragile for such public displays. Still, though, Atsumu feels the warmth in the small smile he finds when he turns to find Sakusa’s eyes once more. A small wave sends him into the station and Atsumu thinks he might be floating when he steps onto the train.

Once he’s home, that floating feeling fades as he’s taken out by Osamu’s hug which devolves into a wrestling match in the station, much to their mother’s chagrin. And it almost feels normal when Osamu asks about the camp in his roundabout way and Atsumu leaves out the weird time loop he found himself stuck in, definitely leaves out sneaking out of his bedroom to make out with one of his roommates. In fact, everything feels so normal in the days, weeks, and months after that camp that Atsumu half believes making it up. Maybe it really all was one bad dream.

The complete mundane cycle of his daily life all but confirms that it must have just been a strange nightmare. He returns to school, goes to the same old practices, gets in the same fights with Osamu. Most importantly, every day he wakes up it’s never the exact same day twice. Monday turns to Tuesday turns to Wednesday all the way to Sunday and back again. It never repeats, never gives him completely identical situations.

The slight variations feel like a paradise compared to whatever hell that dream was.

Ultimately, Atsumu decides that it must have been some extraordinary night terror—those are the ones that feel more real, he tries to remember. So, he never admits the weirdness of it to anyone. Not his mom, not his captain, not his best friend, not even his twin. Atsumu eventually tucks it away so well he all but forgets why it happened in the first place.

That is until Nationals.

They wind up in Tokyo the day before the tournament itself to get settled in properly—the night before is always Atsumu’s favorite. The energy is rife with excitement and nerves so palpable that it’s almost impossible to go to sleep.  There’s always the question of how the matches will go and where they’ll place. Of course, everyone says first, but you never really know, just like that upset with Shiratorizawa.

When they head into the stadium the next morning, a cacophony of voices only adds to the swarming energy of possibility. The top teams of the nation all gathered to go head-to-head fill the space with such potent energy. Yet through the noise, all Atsumu can really think about is Sakusa of all people. The memory of those bright green bushes they’d sown together and the blooms to accompany them have plagued his mind for months. From the moment his foot crosses that threshold, he’s looking for inky black eyes and hair to match, searching for two moles above a deadly brow that makes his heart stutter just a little.

Even if he’s kind of forgotten that weird little time loop and the horror of living that day over and over, he certainly hasn’t forgotten the feel of Sakusa’s lips against his, the sound of his muffled laughter, the warmth when they were entangled with one another on the couch—his own personal ray of sunshine.

It takes a bit of bobbing and weaving, and a lot of dodging Osamu and Suna’s pointed remarks about Atsumu distinctly looking for someone, but finally Atsumu spots him tucked into a corner, glowering to keep others away. Atsumu has to tamper down a laugh when he sees the blatant irritation and discomfort—he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t care for crowds. Before Suna can yank him away, Atsumu manages to call out to Sakusa.

His deadly stare settles on Atsumu when he hears the familiar nickname and Atsumu swears those dark eyes soften just a little. Waving like a madman, Atsumu has to stifle his absolute beam of a smile when Sakusa sticks out a hand in half a wave back. But the moment is short-lived as Suna tugs Atsumu away by the back of his jacket, saying something about lining up.

Day one passes in a blur, especially since they just have to wait until their game the next day. As much as Atsumu loves watching the games, he finds that he wants to be on the court even more. Regardless, he does enjoy getting to wave hello to some of the other boys from camp and talk to them. He’s even more elated when he finds he’s going to be playing against Goody Two Shoes the following day.

But Atsumu doesn’t spot Sakusa at any other point during the day—though he almost expects that. With the crowds as large as they are it would make sense for Sakusa to try and hide, even if he did want to see Atsumu. Not that Atsumu really thinks Sakusa cares either way, but a boy can certainly dream.

And if he does dream about Sakusa that night, well, that’s no one’s business.

The following morning Osamu wakes him up as he normally does when they’re at a tournament: a nice kick to the side. Atsumu’s reflexes are too slow to latch onto his twin’s ankle and bring him down, but the laughter of all of the other teammates does make him smile. It’s impossible to get irritated on gameday. Nothing can make him feel more unstoppable.

Everything feels on high until the end of the match with Karasuno. Even if the game was tight and the match a thrill, losing never feels great. So Atsumu does what any athlete who cares does: he cries and cries and cries until the loss doesn’t feel as harsh. While he’s caught up in his own pity, he barely realizes he never found Sakusa.

It’s when it’s late at night that the reality of it hits him: he’ll leave tomorrow without having seen Sakusa at all, really. Somehow it only adds insult to injury.

“Tsumu?” Sometimes he wonders if it’s just as odd for his twin to hear his voice reflected back at him from Atsumu like he does. Even after Atsumu grunts to signal Osamu to continue, there’s a stifling quiet between them. “We’ll get ‘em next year, won’t we?”

There’s not really any other option than for them to win next year. “We gotta, Samu.”

And neither note how strained their voices sound when Osamu guides them back to safer territory.

“So the one ya were lookin’ for all mornin’ yesterday was Sakusa-san?”

Something between a sigh and a laugh comes out of Atsumu. Having a twin for a brother makes it impossible for anything to go under the radar. “Yeah, we, uh, roomed together during camp.”

“And yer friends now?” When Atsumu gives him a hum of ascent, he can all but hear the crease in Osamu’s brow, “He don’t really seem the type to make friends, Tsumu.”

“He ain’t, but neither am I.” And it’s the truth, really. Sure, he’s friends with Aran and Suna—maybe he could consider Kita a friend someday—but he’s always been the loner out of the twin pair. Osamu has a way with people that Atsumu doesn’t have the patience for.

Osamu is quiet for just a second too long before responding, “S’pose yer right. Ya gonna try to find him tomorrow before we leave?”

“Nah,” Atsumu sighs, “I’ll see him when I’m meant to see him.”

What famous last words for a boy so confident that his life is anything remotely normal. There’s nothing for him to really worry about when he lets sleep overtake him, but that’s because he doesn’t realize that he really is right that he won’t have to try and find him tomorrow. The universe will do everything in its power to make sure the two are crossing paths.

So, when he wakes up to a kick to the side, his reflexes are much quicker to catch Osamu’s ankle.

“What day is it?” His voice borders on frantic even with its tinged rumble of disuse.

“Ya okay?” Osamu yanks his ankle out of Atsumu’s grip. “It’s the second day of Nationals?”

Memories of the training camp time loop rush back to him in his half-awake state. Surely this is a nightmare. Being asleep somehow seems more probable than the idea that he is once again getting stuck into a time loop. Frankly, he would rather die at this moment than admit that he might once again be stuck in this chronic loop with no idea how to get out.

Atsumu pinches himself and winces with the pain—so not a nightmare. But isn’t his life just a waking nightmare if it’s going to make him relive the horror of losing at Nationals?

Reliving the day over means that he already knows the outcome though—knows the plays Karasuno will make to win. Is it an unfair advantage? Absolutely. But having to relive this day until he solves where he went wrong shouldn’t have to come with the shame of losing every time.

Atsumu considers himself something of an optimist, so he tries to see the silver lining when he runs through the motions of getting ready for yesterday’s game. And really it all feels the same, he sees the same people, has similar conversations, does the same warm-ups. But much to his own devastation, the game has the same outcome.

Over. And over. And over. And over.

Fifteen times.

Inarizaki loses Nationals fifteen times.

For someone as competitive as Atsumu, losing at all is agony. When it’s something as important as Nationals, the pain hits differently. After yesterday seven, the tears stop—something hollow and numb sprouting in place of the ache that normally comes with losing.

Yesterday ten has him so dejected he completely fails to set a ball that’s tossed to him.

After yesterday thirteen, he can’t even pretend like he’s excited during their morning routine.

Each day is its own personal hell with its own battles to overcome and there’s no end in sight. Compounding fifteen losses all but makes Atsumu a statue on the sixteenth yesterday.

He’s up before everyone else, staring out of a window, dressed and deliberately missing out on pregame activities. It’s gotten harder and harder to pretend to be excited when he knows how the game will turn out—when he knows there’s a devastating and crushing loss awaiting them on the other side. The fact is, Atsumu has tried everything he can think of to try and win that game. He perfected the freak quick each time, but still, Karasuno manages to weasel their way into a victory. Even bringing Kita in fails to shake their resolve.

Of course, the team notices that Atsumu seems miserable and uninspired, each member trying and failing to liven his spirit. Though no one can really explain why and Atsumu couldn’t even put it into words if he wanted to. A crack opens up between him and the rest of his teammates, only furthering his difficulties on the court.

His feelings of alienation are what drive him to deviate from the normal routine he went through the past fifteen days. When they walk into the stadium, he looks to Osamu with his quiet but hopeful face and mumbles something about looking at the merch, misseing the way Suna’s brow creases in concern and Osamu’s eyes trail his disappearing figure.

Weaving through the noise and cram of bodies at least numbs his thoughts for a while, getting lost in a sea of people lets him forget for a moment that he’s being forced to relive his failure over and over with no real clear explanation as to why.

“You look awfully down,” a familiar voice brings his body back to awareness, the sound of the crowd now a distant rumble. Atsumu hardly realized he’d gone so far from the merchant stands.

Before him is the impassive face of Sakusa Kiyoomi, concern etched into his eyes while the rest of his face remains hidden beneath that mask, “Yeah well, in a funk or somethin’.”

“Or something,” Sakusa eyes him a little closer. “Don’t go losing on me, Miya,” the cutting glare and cold voice make raw energy claw up Atsumu’s spine, “I expect to beat you in the finals, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” a crestfallen laugh comes from Atsumu, and he feels Sakusa’s hand turn his face up to look him in the eye.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Atsumu shifts his eyes to those two moles, anything to avoid Sakusa’s piercing gaze, “Bad dream.”

“You dreamt you lost?” When Atsumu doesn’t reply, Sakusa drops his hand with a sigh. “That’s not the setter I know.”

 “A loser?” His voice sounds grossly self-loathing even to his own ears.

“No, so daunted by losing.” They eye each other up for a moment before Sakusa speaks again, “Even if you know you’re going to lose on the court, shouldn’t you enjoy it? You get to be the center of attention—the brilliant Miya Atsumu.”

Sakusa’s tone makes it seem like it’s a bad thing to be considered the genius setter, pulling a reluctant smile from Atsumu. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a compliment sound more like an insult.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” When neither makes a move to go or speak, Sakusa steps in a little closer. “What’s the Inarizaki motto again? ‘We don’t need memories?’”

“Why ya gotta say it like that? It’s better than ‘Effort’,” Atsumu raises a brow at him.

Sakusa’s eyes soften the way Atsumu remembers they had in the nights they shared at training, “Sure. But there’s no need to dwell on a dream, Miya. You’re not just talented, you’re skilled. Even if you were positive that you would lose when you step on that court, you should enjoy yourself. Focusing on the outcome only serves to distract you.”

For the first time in fifteen days, Atsumu feels a little lighter—jaded, but a little less burdened, “Yer givin’ out advice like that to yer competition? Dunno how rational that is.”

“How else would you be able to compete against me?” Atsumu’s eyes roll so far back he swears he can see his brain. “Besides, I don’t think memories should haunt a person like that—makes life more difficult.”

“That how ya feel ‘bout our memories?” The question slips out unbidden. Though Atsumu can hardly be angry when Sakusa reaches up to brush Atsumu’s bangs out of his eyes.

“I never said that.”

Silence befalls them once more until calls for games start.

“Well,” Sakusa moves away first, brushing his shoulder against Atsumu’s, “I’ll be seeing you around.”

And just like that, Atsumu is alone again. But this time, it feels like he’s found a moor to anchor himself to. After fifteen days of drifting in a sea of monotony, his interaction with Sakusa is a glimmer of land that has Atsumu’s brain searching for a way to finally land on steady ground. Something about that tickles a piece of Atsumu’s brain—the need to interact with Sakusa seeming like a necessity, but for what he can’t see.

When he hears Osamu calling his name, he allows Sakusa’s words to simply settle with him.

While they don’t solve his problem, they do give him something to think about, something that is distinctly not being stuck in a time loop.

Putting those words into action still proves to be a challenge once he takes the court, however. Trying to have fun even though he knows the outcome isn’t in his favor isn’t something he is mentally prepared for when the rest of his team seems to hold onto hope. When that final point comes smashing down and crowns the crows as winners once more, Atsumu can feel the wave of devastation around him. Yet he still holds out that he’ll play again tomorrow.

For the first time in the last two weeks of the same day, Atsumu takes comfort in knowing he’ll wake up to try again tomorrow.

While his teammates spend their time crying, Atsumu packs his bag. The tears don’t come today, either; he thinks he might be immune to crying after getting out of this hell. But perhaps tomorrow he can find the joy in all of this again—focus on enjoying what he’s capable of doing just as Sakusa suggests.

Whatever happens after the match is blurry to Atsumu—it has been the past ten days—but he finds himself tucked into bed next to Osamu once more that night. Sakusa’s words ring over and over in his head, his school’s motto clanging alongside them as he makes the same promise to get them next year with his twin. Making that promise hurts a little less tonight as his thoughts swirl with that advice.

As he tosses and turns, he thinks about his situation. Before, he’d been with Sakusa, and the answer seemed so clear—he just had to be honest about his feelings with the boy. If he had that conversation with him today, then maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow. Or maybe he has to learn how to have fun even with the promise of failure. If he learns how to enjoy himself on the court when he knows he’s bound to lose, maybe that will free him from whatever trap he’s in. As he lay there, numb from the pain of loss, Atsumu resolves to enjoy himself tomorrow—to pretend he doesn’t know the outcome of the game—if he wakes up to live it again. While he’ll hope to win, he’ll choose to enjoy himself. More importantly, he’ll focus on the fact that he loves volleyball; win or lose, volleyball is his constant companion right alongside Osamu.

For the first time in a week, Atsumu falls asleep with a smile on his face. When Osamu’s familiar kick wakes him, he doesn’t let the despair sink in. Instead, Atsumu tackles him to the ground with a laugh. If the universe is going to have him endure agony like this, he may as well take advantage of the foresight. His teammates have no clue that yesterday-Atsumu wallowed in his predicament as they burst into laughter at the figures rolling around, pinning each other down and laughing when they’re unseated.

Even when Kita gives them The Look and a stern word, Atsumu can’t hide his smile. A new lightness fills his chest that he hasn’t felt in the past two weeks when they step foot into the gym.

From the first serve, this game feels different. There’s a thrum of energy all around him that feels so akin to the first time he played this match. Each play feels more vibrant than it had before, even when the ball comes crashing down and the loss is confirmed, devastation doesn’t sink in immediately.

For the very first time in seventeen days, Atsumu enjoyed playing volleyball, loved seeing the way his opponents thought through each of their tactics. Even in the face of their loss, Atsumu swears to set for Hinata in the future and they’re off the court making their way out. As they tidy up, the stifled sobs of his teammates ring in his ears.

Something about the tears of his teammates over that seventeenth loss breaks him, sends him up, up, up into the bathroom of the nosebleeds where he’s sure no one will be. While the match was more enjoyable than ever, something still makes him ache, makes him feel like he’s not doing enough. He had fun, but why is this loss still heartbreaking? The terrible thought that this is all a punishment for his arrogance—eternal suffering because he’s a little too self-centered at times—plagues his mind. What’s more humbling than nearly twenty losses there’s nothing he can do to stop?

As soon as he’s crossed the threshold hot, thick tears stream down his face. Nearly two weeks of pent-up sobs tumble from his throat, each noise ripped from his throat sounds like something dying, perhaps a part of him.

Atsumu didn’t do anything to deserve being stuck in a cycle like this, really. Yes, he likes to taunt and lie and tease and be a general menace, but there is nothing in the world he can think of that would justify this kind of hell. What kind of cruel gods would do this to a seventeen-year-old? Put him face to face with his own failure over and over instead of allowing him to live a normal life? The thought ricochets around his skull just as his sobs do in the bathroom: why can’t my life be normal?

In between nasty sobs, Atsumu hears one of the stall doors open, his precious solitude crumbled with a strong, quiet voice, “You’re an ugly crier, Miya.”

When he looks up through the mirror, he sees the tug in Sakusa’s brow, the tiny tells that give away the genuine concern that lay underneath the quip. There aren’t enough words for him to squeak out between his next hiccup of a sob, so instead Atsumu just tries his best at a laugh.

“Is this about your match with Karasuno?” Before Atsumu can respond, Sakusa continues on, “You know they upset Shiratorizawa—we all know they were a favorite to win Nationals.”

When Atsumu does speak, his voice is hoarse from the sobs that tore through his throat, “I know.”

“So why are you upset?” Plain, open Sakusa Kiyoomi with his no-nonsense questioning.

But Atsumu cannot grasp how to even start explaining his situation, especially since he snapped the last time he tried to tell Sakusa what was happening. The truth sounds insane and Atusmu doesn’t have the words to express what he’s really feeling.

“It’s more than a loss,” Atsumu braces himself over the sink, eyes locked with Sakusa’s in the mirror. For once, Atsumu chooses vulnerability, exposing his heart without a trace of fear, “There’s nothin’ I can do to stop that final point, no tippin’ the scales in our favor. How can I call myself a top setter when I keep lettin’ my team down like this? I’ve tried and tried and there’s just nothin’ I can change.”

Sakusa unhooks his mask to look at Atsumu fully, pouty lips complimenting the reprimand held in his brow, “Of course you can’t. You’re a teenager, not a god.”

“Yeah,” a hollow laugh comes out of Atsumu—Sakusa unknowingly hitting the nail on the head, “I know I’m just a kid. But if I can’t do what I need to do to get the team to a victory-“

“You’re not a one-man team, Atsumu.” The way Sakusa’s mouth cradles his name sends shivers through his whole body, tone still cutting but so caring Atsumu can’t bring himself to mind the coldness of it. “Even if it feels like it, the world does not revolve around you.”

“Harsh, Omi.”

Sakusa shrugs, finally making a move to get closer to Atsumu, lingering behind his back and still looking at him through the mirror, “Sometimes we have to hear harsh things.”

“I still feel like I should be helpin’ them win. Do somethin’-“

With zero regards for Atsumu’s feelings, Sakusa cuts in again, “Then get better.” Atsumu watches as Sakusa reaches over his shoulder with a handkerchief and raised brow. “You practice and get better.” He takes the handkerchief with a mumbled thanks and cleans himself up. “Whatever it takes, you learn how to make all of those connections on and off the court faster.”

Sufficiently cleaned, Atsumu locks eyes with Sakusa in the mirror before turning to face him, “We get smarter.”

Even if Sakusa has no clue that Atsumu’s daily life has become a twisted puzzle where he has to figure out what frees him from reliving hell, the echo of his words is reassuring in its own way.

“We get smarter.”

Atsumu has to thank whatever possesses him to wrap his hand around the back of Sakusa’s neck and rest their foreheads together. It’s oddly intimate but the points of contact help ground Atsumu into reality, make him feel like waking up to a new day is still possible.

“It’s been a rough few weeks.” His voice is still wrecked from his breakdown, but too breathless to write off on just emotions, “Thank ya, Omi.”

The warm feeling of Sakusa’s lips against his cheek, just centimeters off from the corner of his mouth, comes as a shock when he’d just been snot and tear-covered.

“I’m just telling the truth.” There’s a pause before he buries his vulnerability into the corner of Atsumu’s mouth, “But I’m happy to help.”

Turning his head ever so slightly, Atsumu fits his lips to Sakusa’s with hesitancy, the catch of their lips a little awkward. Sakusa smiles anyway, adjusting to kiss him properly. It’s light and quick but it makes Atsumu glow, nonetheless. Just as he pulls back, Sakusa rubs a thumb over the top of Atsumu’s cheek, right where a tear had fallen before.

“I have a game to play,” Sakusa extracts himself from Atsumu’s grip, dry humor coloring his voice, “unlike someone.”

The laugh that comes out of his mouth feels like it’s ripped out of him by the shock of such a harsh joke just moments after he was sobbing in front of Sakusa, seconds after kissing him, “Ya just don’t quit with the honesty, huh?”

“You wouldn’t want me any other way, Atsumu.” And again, the sound of his name out of Sakusa’s mouth warms Atsumu from the inside out.

“I’ll see ya?” A simple question that is all too loaded for them to explore. Will Atsumu be able to kiss him senseless again? Will they get to laugh until their sides hurt? Will Sakusa let Atsumu in again and again?

A smile plays at the corners of his lips and Atsumu can’t help the way he beams at his response. “Eventually.”

Just like that, Sakusa pushes through the door and makes his way toward the stairs down. It’s only after the door has slammed behind his retreating form that Atsumu realizes he’s still clutching the handkerchief. A personal little stamp of Sakusa’s that sits in his own hand—an unspoken promise that they will see each other, eventually.

But somewhere deep inside, he knows that handkerchief is more. Crumpled up in his palm, the fabric becomes a key—the surety that this is his way out of the loop settling over him.

With the hell he’s been through, it shouldn’t send fire through his veins, shouldn’t make him smile—it should make him want to tear his hair out and scream at the gods—but it fills him with sunshine. In the bleak reality he’s been forced to live, that handkerchief feels like a blazon of hope. He’ll have time to be resentful later.

For now, he heads out to look for his brother, to sit and watch Sakusa advance to the semis, to laugh with and poke fun at his friends, to smile at Sakusa when he looks up into the stands and sees him, to watch their eyes meet once more when Itachiyama loses. Sakusa doesn’t mouth anything, doesn’t really change his face much, but Atsumu can almost read the way he says, “See? It happens to us all.”

The moment doesn’t go unnoticed by his twin, taunts starting up and following them back to their hotel immediately. Atsumu allows for it, only because he can’t really argue much of anything when he’s still clinging to the handkerchief Sakusa gave him. Smiling at the thing like it means something, like it holds all the secrets to this little time loop.

It must, though, because he wakes the next day to the sounds of packing up, Osamu’s disgruntled voice complaining about Atsumu being lazy for sleeping in. Where he’d normally rib Osamu right back, he can only beam, starting his own packing duties with renewed vigor. They won’t go to the finals, they won’t watch them, but he’ll get to keep going, to move forward.

Without the opportunity to see Sakusa again, the handkerchief comes home with him alongside Osamu’s chronic teasing.

“He left ya with his hankie, huh? Must be real close ‘friends’ for him to just up and leave that with ya.”

Atsumu can only roll his eyes, “He hates germs, Samu. I don’t think he’d really want this thing back when it was covered in my snot and tears.”

“Dunno,” it takes everything in him not to tackle Osumu to the floor with that stupid smirk on his face, “this all feels very Victorian romance.”

“If ya don’t shut yer damn trap,” Atsumu’s taunt is only met with laughter as Osamu drags Suna into the mix. Together, they make the trip home near unbearable. If he thought reliving Nationals was hell, having to listen to Suna and Osamu rib into him with no end in sight is a new level of hell. Maybe it would be okay if they weren’t acting out dramatic romance scenes, but Suna plays the role of stoic Sakusa a little too well which only makes it worse.

Halfway home Kita has to pull Atsumu off of his brother as Suna jeers with his phone out. The pair stumble off the train and back home.

“Ya plannin’ on cleanin’ that thing?” Osamu lobs a look over to Atsumu.

Atsumu rolls his eyes, “I’m not stupid, Samu. Course I’m gonna wash it.”

“How ya gonna make sure it doesn’t get dirty again?” Those cool eyes settle onto his face and Atsumu has to think. “Ain’t he real finicky with the germs and all that?”

With a nod and grunt in assent, the pair move to their room to unpack things, Atsumu moving to take the wash first. As he looks up at the pieces of the twin’s artwork above the washer that their mother insists on keeping, an idea finally clicks.

“Ma?” He calls out as he starts the wash, heading toward her responding call, “Do ya still have those little boxes you and I made a few years back?”

“Course, baby, they’re in the top right drawer of the desk in my studio. Why d’ya need one?”

A faint blush colors his cheeks—something about his mother makes it impossible for him to hide his feelings. “A friend of mine left his handkerchief with me. He’s really picky ‘bout germs so I wanna make sure it’s kept clean ‘til I can get it back to him.”

“A friend, huh?” Looking at her in the eye only confirms that she knows Sakusa isn’t just a friend. “Alright, well, maybe ya should paint it. If it’s gonna be given to him, better to let him keep it. We made so many of ‘em anyway.”

With a kiss to his mother’s cheek and a muttered thanks, Atsumu moves to do exactly as she suggests.

Completing the box, making sure it’s sanitized on the inside, and keeping his own germs off the handkerchief all take a little more attention to detail than he normally would put into such a simple task. But he knows that it matters for Sakusa, so he does it anyway.

The box hangs out in his room, in his bag during away games on the off chance he sees Sakusa, through Inter Highs where he can’t get a second with Sakusa, all the way until their winter break. Naturally, it follows him on a trip to Tokyo when Suna hears word from one of the Tokyo teams about their interest in him. If they have the chance to see Aran and make his life far more colorful than normal, the twins are definitely going to tag along. The trio even convinces a couple of teammates to tag along.

Atsumu soaks up the time he has to make memories, to embrace the moments left with his teammates. He also constantly looks over the crowds to see if he can spot Sakusa. It’s a long shot with so many people, but the hopeless romantic in him tries anyway.

But if asked why he suggests they go to that coffee shop a little out of the way that’s by the station where Atsumu and Sakusa parted the first time, well Atsumu would insist it has nothing to do with the lingering hope that he’ll run into the other boy. And when he orders the same drink he had then, well he’s not being sentimental, that’s for sure.

Atsumu certainly isn’t being sentimental when he scans the patrons in the shop looking for exactly what he wants to see. The world just about stops when he spots a familiar, mask-covered profile.

“Omi?” The head of unruly black and two pinprick moles above a brow shouldn’t be startling since Atsumu has been looking for them. He just didn’t expect it to fall in his lap like this.

Charcoal eyes widen ever so slightly when they meet his, “Miya?”

“What’re ya doin’ here?”

“Me?” Sakusa raises a brow. “I’m going to my favorite coffee shop. What are you doing here? This isn’t Hyogo.”

A little laugh falls out of his mouth as he pushes for his teammates to go on without him, only Osamu lingering before ultimately sitting without him, “No it ain’t. Just a weekend trip for Suna to do some prospect stuff. A group of us decided to come out too.”

“And here you are.” If he’s correct, Atsumu can hear the smile in Sakusa’s voice.

“And here I am.”

“Well,” Sakusa flicks his eyes to Osamu and the others, “I don’t want to keep you.”

Atsumu doesn’t really want to leave Sakusa but there seems to be a certain pinprick air about their exchange, nerves or something else rattling the air, “Right. Well, I’ll see ya?”

“Sometime, I’m sure.”

They linger for a moment before Atsumu steps towards the table, “Later, Omi.”

“Miya.” And just like that, Sakusa is gone and Osamu and Suna are railing into him about the chance encounter.

It’s not like Atsumu can fault them though—not when his eyes linger on Sakusa’s retreating form through the windows. Even his halfhearted retorts are dampened by the way he ducks his head and digs his hands into his pockets. But a small box has him shooting his head up, chasing the long-gone shape of Sakusa.

“Shit,” it’s meant to be quiet, for his ears only, but Osamu’s twin sense tingles.

“What?”

There’s no way Atsumu can look his twin in the eyes when he plays with the box housing Sakusa’s handkerchief, “I still have the- ya know.”

When Osamu’s smirk gets a little more devious, eyes a little darker, Atsumu knows the truth was a mistake.

“Aw got yer crush’s little hankie? Gonna go chase after him?”

“Shuddup ya scrub!” Osamu only laughs at the way his brother shoved him in their seats. “‘M not goin’ anywhere. I’ll see him before Nationals anyway.”

But you see, Miya Atsumu is a fool and an idiot. Miya Atsumu simply doesn’t get a normal life. Instead, he gets a lovely night with his friends and a morning that is identical to yesterday morning. He can only thank the gods that it’s not as terrible as Nationals on repeat.

If he’s waking up in a time loop again, then he knows it’s Omi related considering both other times were solved by interacting with the other boy. While he’s still bitter that he had to endure agony for Sakusa’s handkerchief, there must be a reason the thing has been burning a hole in his pocket. As Osamu teases him for zoning out for the fourth time that morning, Atsumu resolves that the solution must be giving the handkerchief back.

Everything goes exactly to plan—the group follows the same routine as yesterday—and Atsumu runs into Sakusa with a smile already on his face.

“Well heya, Omi.” Seeing Sakusa jump makes Atsumu feel like it’s a little unfair that he already knows Sakusa will be waiting for coffee there.

“Miya.” Those dark eyes widen and, god, why does Atsumu get so warm when he’s under the weight of his gaze. “What are you doing here? This is a long way from Hyogo.”

Atsumu watches as Sakusa’s eyes flick to his twin’s face. “Ah, Suna has some prospect stuff to do, since Aran lives here, we thought we’d make a trip of it.”

“And you ended up in my favorite coffee shop by coincidence?”

“Yeah, actually,” Atsumu laughs, scratching the back of his head in a rare display of nerves. “I don’t really know yer favorites, Omi.” The problem is that he does, though; that he’s lying through his teeth. Atsumu remembers vividly that Sakusa pointed out that this was his favorite spot—the shop right by the station that connects him back home.

Those eyes regard him a little different, Sakusa tilting his head just so to read something Atsumu can’t determine. “Shame. Well, I don’t want to keep you.” He directs his gaze once more to the table of boys who keep glancing over at them.

“Sorry ‘bout them,” Atsumu laughs, small and apologetic, “they’re nosy.”

“Just like you.”

Sakusa’s eyes crinkle when Atsumu lets out an indignant “hey” and it warms Atsumu right through, hands shooting into his pockets as he rocks onto his heels at the sensation.

Fingers wrap around the box and Atsumu remembers, “Oh! ‘Fore I forget,” he pulls the little box out and extends it towards Sakusa. The little wrinkle in his brow is enough to let Atsumu into his confusion. “Yer handkerchief. I washed it and all that, but I thought ya’d want it kept a little safer from like dust or whatever.”

When Sakusa just stares at the box in his hand, Atsumu’s nervous mouth keeps going.

“I, uh, made the box myself. My ma and I do crafts together and we took to woodwork sometime a few years back. Thought I’d use one of the boxes from then. Painted it too—“ green and yellow, because Atsumu thought Sakusa might like the nod to his school. And because whenever Atsumu thinks of green he thinks of Sakusa for reasons he can’t quite place.

Sakusa interrupts before Atsumu can continue droning on, “Thank you.” Even though his voice hardly changes, Atsumu catches the hint of pink poking out of his mask, the way his eyes soften as if there’s a tiny smile hidden underneath that mask.

“No problem.”

Silence stretches between them again, the same tense energy coming from Sakusa once he pockets the handkerchief and its new home.

“Right,” Sakusa nods, “I’ll see you around, Miya.”

Something about Sakusa’s hesitancy to leave but the underlying urgency to do something has Atsumu’s brows tugging together, “Yeah, sure thing, Omi.”

And just like before, Sakusa shuffles his way out while Atsumu watches him walk off into the crowds through the window. He becomes so engrossed in losing Sakusa in the crowd and thinking about their exchange that he hardly feeds into the teasing from Osamu and Suna. There’s something missing from his interaction with Sakusa, that Atsumu can tell.

The question of what exactly plagues him throughout the whole day, and he isn’t surprised when he wakes up to the same hollers from Osamu as yesterday and the day before that. If the handkerchief isn’t enough, does he have to say something? Rambling about how he’d taken the time to personally paint Sakusa a box he’d handmade felt like a bleeding-heart confirmation of his crush, so he can’t imagine being any more straightforward without declaring his feelings outright.

He tries though, once he goes through the shock of Sakusa seeing him in Tokyo and handing off the handkerchief.

In that strange silence before Sakusa tries to scuttle away, Atsumu speaks up.

“Ya know, I really miss ya, Omi. Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya sometimes.”

Sakusa is definitely blushing beneath his mask, eyes wide enough that Atsumu can see Sakusa’s entire iris—the black fading inward to rich brown. His voice is too breathless when he responds with a taunt, “That makes one of us.”

“Oh c’mon,” Atsumu smiles with that god-awful smug look hooding his eyes, “ya can’t tell me ya don’t miss me at least a little.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Sakusa shrugs, the heat still burning the skin Atsumu can see beyond the mask.

With a gentle laugh, Atsumu rests his hand on the crook of Sakusa’s neck, “When yer ready to admit it, ya let me know.” Before Sakusa can even respond, Atsumu is walking away. “I’ll be here ‘til Sunday.”

And Atsumu basks in watching Sakusa hesitate before ducking his head and making his way out into the crowds. Smug triumph washes over him before ebbing into dull horror. Osamu watches his twin’s face drop in real-time, brow raising and making lightning-fast calculations.

“Holy shit,” the light bulb goes off and he smacks Atsumu’s arm, “ya totally told him to hit ya up and he ain’t got yer number, do he?”

“Shuddup,” it’s mumbled in defeat, and Osamu bursts into laughter.

“Yer fuckin’ terrible at this, Tsumu. Why didn’t ya get his number at Nationals?”

Atsumu crosses his arms, pouting like a child when Suna lifts his phone to document his petulant reaction, “I don’t fuckin’ know, Samu. Maybe ‘cause I was more worried about volleyball than some stupid, cute guy.”

Admittedly, losing Nationals seventeen times would probably relegate any kind of flirtation to the back of someone’s mind, so it’s not like Atsumu can really blame himself.

“So you admit it,” Suna jumps in, “you think he’s cute.”

“Duh,” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I’ll just find him on socials.”

“He doesn’t have any,” the cutting little smirk on Suna’s face makes Atsumu want to ram it straight into the table.

Osamu nods, “Yeah we searched when ya admitted to likin’ him after Nationals. Couldn’t find a single thing.”

The groan that comes out of Atsumu’s mouth is met with a chorus of snickers from the pair and it only makes Atsumu want to bury his head further into his hands, “Well, I’ll just figure it out.”

But even as the words come out of his mouth, he already knows that figuring it out means he’ll be waking up to the same day unless, by some miracle, he runs into Sakusa again today. For the remainder of the day, he puts up with Suna and Samu’s teasing and reminds himself that he’ll get another chance tomorrow. As annoying as it is, it’s nice to know he’ll get the opportunity to correct his mistakes, make his wrongs right.

There’s no surprise when he checks the date the next morning and sees nothing has gone forward.

Today goes a little different, though—it’s Sakusa that’s calling Atsumu first.

“Miya?” Atsumu whips his head to the sound of that voice with a smile. “What are you doing here?”

After motioning for Osamu and Suna to kindly scuttle off to their table, Atsumu turns back to Sakusa, “Stoppin’ in town for Suna and some prospect business. And what’re ya doin’ hangin’ around here?”

“Well, I live here. And this is my favorite spot for coffee.”

“Right,” Atsumu ducks his head, “I remember that.”

For a brief second, Sakusa’s brows tug together, eyes hard and unreadable without the view of his lips. “You remember?”

“Course I do, Omi. We came here after camp, didn’t we?” When Sakusa nods, Atsumu rolls along, choosing to be brash and honest for the first time in this time loop, “Liked the coffee last time I came with ya, so I suggested it to the boys. Ya got taste.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.” As derisive as the words are on paper, the way Sakusa looks away when he says it is all Atsumu needs to know that the insult has no edge. Instead, Atsumu smiles, digging into his pocket.

“Speakin’ of taste,” he fishes out the box and looks towards Sakusa. By the end of this, he’s sure he’ll know all of Sakusa’s tells for when he’s being thrown for a loop. He just stares at Atsumu and the box before tentatively turning his palm up.

“I swear I tried to give ya this a thousand times,” Atsumu presses the box into Sakusa’s outstretched hand, laughing a little at his own joke—oh how little Sakusa knows, “but hopefully it’ll be stuck with ya for good this time.” When his brows crease in confusion, Atsumu jumps into the familiar explanation, the box and the making of it, using it to house the handkerchief so it would stay clean. A familiar hint of pink blooms under Sakusa’s mask and if anything, Atsumu is grateful he gets to see that so many times.

Those dark eyes are like lasers when they fall onto him, his voice just as clear but a little breathless, “Thank you, Miya.”

Now’s his chance to right yesterday’s wrong, “Ya know, we gotta stop meetin’ like this, Omi.”

“In surprise visits to the city I live in?” An amused little brow quirks up and, god, Atsumu wants to kiss those two little moles.

“By chance,” he locks eyes with the boy in front of him, warm eyes flicking between Sakusa’s dark ones. “I’m tryna give ya my number.”

A soft little “oh” is muffled by the mask, but Sakusa still reaches a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone and a bottle of sanitizer. Atsumu smiles at the precaution holding both hands out and rubbing in the sanitizer after Sakusa leaves a dollop in one of his palms. Inputting his contact is such a minuscule act yet so monumental—finally moving the pair from chance encounters and the whims of fate to decided action.

“Ya don’t have to talk up a storm or nothin’,” Atsumu hands the phone back with a small smile, “but a ‘hey’ every now and then would be nice.”

“I’ll think about it.” For as flustered as he seems, Sakusa’s dry wit still shines through.

“Don’t go thinkin’ ‘bout it too hard. Ya just might talk yerself outta it.”

It should be impossible to look so devastatingly attractive when he’s a blushing mess, but those hard eyes still make Atsumu warm from head to toe. “Haven’t done that yet.”

“So ya’ll shoot me a message?” The pause isn’t long enough to warrant any fear, nor would Atsumu admit to any anyway, but he can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest as Sakusa eyes him up and down.

“I will.”

“Right.” Atsumu’s heart soars at the confirmation, “Well then–uh–yeah, I’ll be hearin’ from ya.”

For all Atsumu wants to poke fun at Sakusa for looking like a blushing bride when Atsumu took his phone, he could never say anything with the way it feels like his tongue is too big for his mouth and his smile keeps twitching up even wider at Sakusa’s promise to send him one singular text. And, of course, none of that gets past the ever-observant Sakusa.

Atsumu feels like he can see the way those lips curve into his arrogant little smirk, “Goodbye, Miya.”

“Later, Omi.”

Saving himself the embarrassment of any other words, Atsumu makes his way over to his table, eyes trailing after Sakusa like they have every other day he’s relived this moment. This time though, his heart feels a little more full.

Of course, Osamu and Suna pick up the teasing Atsumu has grown accustomed to over the last few yesterdays, but he can’t bring himself to be all that fazed by it when he basks in the knowledge that he finally, finally, has a consistent line of connection to the boy that more or less plagues his daydreams. Even though he knows that he’ll only have that connection if Sakusa permits it, Atsumu has inscrutable confidence that he’ll hear from him. That ring of confidence holds him through the remainder of their activities and just past dinner when his phone vibrates with the anticipated text.

Unknown

I’m shocked you didn’t save your name under something far more embarrassing.

ur a simple guy omi-omi

figured my name would be enough

Omi-Omi

No emojis or anything either. Do you think I’m that boring?

maybe i do

seriously tho nah

figure u can pick what to add u kno?

 

Omi-Omi

Hmm I suppose.

An onslaught of teasing from Osamu has Atsumu batting his twin away from looking at his phone, almost going so far as to tackle Osamu to the ground before Aran pulls them apart with a laugh.

“Quit tryna tease him, Samu,” Aran laughs, pulling Atsumu into his side, “we should be glad someone is willing to deal with his antics like us, huh?”

After sticking his tongue out at Osamu, Atsumu smiles at Aran, “Thank ya! Finally someone gets it.”

“I only hope the best for ya, Tsumu. Now I gotta early practice, so we better get going.” Aran yanks him towards the station, Suna and Osamu trailing behind them. It’s only after Aran gets on his own train and the trio are waving goodbye that Atsumu checks his phone and clocks the old notification from Sakusa.

Omi-Omi

I picked a fox and a sun, by the way.

Fighting back a smile, Atsumu can’t help the way his face warms even more in the cool fall air.

fair choices

care to explain?

Omi-Omi

Well, the fox is for Inarizaki, obviously. Plus, you’re just as sly.

mean omi!

Omi-Omi😷

It’s just the truth.

well what about the sun?

Omi-Omi😷

Well, you’re bright and warm.

People seem to like when you’re around and miss you when you’re gone.

You annoy me when you get in my eyes.

u were doing so good

still sweet 🥰

 

Omi-Omi😷🌙

Don’t ever call me sweet again.

The ride back to their inn isn’t all that long, but Atsumu is fighting for his life between Suna and Osamu as they do a dramatic rendition of Sakusa and his text exchanges. It’s all wildly inaccurate since Atsumu is protecting his phone with his life, but they keep up the act anyway. When they get off, Atsumu phone vibrates in his pocket again and he has to make sure Suna and Osamu are fully engaged in their own antics before he checks it.

Omi-Omi😷🌙

Do you have any plans tonight?

just finished up dinner with aran

we’re headin’ back to the inn

boys are done for the night

 

Omi-Omi😷🌙

Where are you all staying?

Atsumu sends him a link to the place without much thought.

Omi-Omi😷🌙

Oh.

That's not far from me.

There’s a nice late-night café over there.

Reading and rereading the text makes his heart rate climb a little more. There’s a heavy implication in that text that is ripe for the picking. And if having to live this day over and over has taught Atsumu anything, it’s that he should just take the leap. Glancing up to his brother gathering up his stuff for a shower, Atsumu takes the plunge.

is that so?

Omi-Omi😷🌙

Yes.

think i should try it out?

i’d love some company if i do

 

Omi-Omi😷🌙

I’m free at 10.

send the address and i’ll meet u there !!

Armed with an address for the place that is just a few blocks away, Atsumu anxiously awaits ten pm to roll around. Osamu ribs into him for the methodical way he brushes his teeth and makes sure his hands are clean, but it’s not like Atsumu is going to walk into a night with Sakusa like an unclean heathen. Throughout the entire bout of bickering, Suna just watches with that amused look that makes Atsumu want to kick him square in the face. Having the pair be privy to the details of his budding love life makes him want to pull his hair out.

He survives though, Osamu going to bed at an ungodly early hour while Suna just taps away at his phone, texting internet friends no doubt. As he makes his way out, Suna’s voice stops him.

“Don’t fuck up this time.” Cutting green eyes meet Atsumu’s and, despite feeling a little called out, he just nods. “And use protection.”

That earns Suna a threat of a kick to the head which he blithely ignores as he rolls over to continue his tapping away.

The walk to the café isn’t very long and, even though he arrives early, Sakusa is there waiting for him when he finally does show up, mask pulled over his nose and glaring at passers-by on the street. That familiar glower settles onto him before lightening just a little, he stands up, raising a brow as if to usher Atsumu over to him.

“You’re early,” Sakusa almost sounds pleased at the development.

With a smile, Atsumu pulls the door open for Sakusa, “Like I’d ever wanna keep ya waitin’, Omi.”

“Oh, right, like you didn’t keep me waiting every morning of All-Japan.”

The remark only makes Atsumu scoff, “Whatever, yer highness. If yer choosin' to come here I assume ya know what’s good here like ya did at the coffee shop, huh? Mind helpin' me pick somethin'?”

“And he can’t even make decisions for himself,” Sakusa throws a little side-eye to him. “It’s a wonder what I see in you.”

“My charmin’ wit and devilishly handsome face.” When Atsumu winks, Sakusa rolls his eyes.

“I’ll order for us, you egomaniac. Go get us a table.”

Even with the mask, Atsumu can tell the jab is somewhat in the realm of affectionate, so he heads towards a table tucked in the corner, out of sight from almost everyone. Each second that ticks by makes his heartbeat ramp up just a little—budding nerves making him fidget with anything he can get his hands on. Without anything to distract him, Atsumu's thoughts start running wild.

What if, after all of the loops and tears and puzzle-solving, Sakusa doesn’t even like him? What if he ends up saying something to offend him or, worse, makes him uncomfortable with germs? There are a million and one ways he could mess this up and for some reason, Atsumu doesn’t think he’d get a retry if he did mess it up.

Somewhere inside he knows he shouldn’t be nervous, not at all. Sakusa has seen him snot-faced crying, dealt with his slow mornings, and asked him to be here now in his own roundabout way. There isn’t really any reason that Atsumu should be shaking like a leaf when Sakusa puts a drink down in front of him. Cotton shouldn’t pack his ears for the first five minutes of their stilted conversation.

Yet awkwardness surrounds them. Atsumu seemingly forgets how to have a conversation, the practiced ease he normally showcases falling through the cracks in the face of those watchful eyes. He tries and fails to pick up various threads of conversation, nervous laughter or stuttering bringing each to a halt.

As Atsumu stumbles and mumbles through his questions and responses, making a muck of their conversation, Sakusa looks more and more amused and a little confused. Their drinks are low and the spirits are almost lower. When another conversation sparks and dies out, Sakusa’s brows furrow.

“You were so confident when you asked for my number, even more so a few minutes ago. I don’t know why you’re struggling so much now.”

An urge to protest bubbles in Atsumu’s but dies when he looks Sakusa in the eye. “Ya make me nervous, Omi.”

“I can’t imagine why.” That wry sarcasm makes Atsumu smile, one that Sakusa matches in his own little way.

“I just,” running a hand through his hair, Atsumu decides to go with the truth—it’s worked thus far, “I don’t wanna mess things up with ya.”

Sakusa’s tone is even enough that Atsumu doesn’t feel offended but he’s also not too keen on wholly exposing himself, “And how would you manage that?”

“I dunno. A myriad of ways. I just- yer so particular and it’s not an issue, I ain’t ever thought that, but I just don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable or- or-“

“Atsumu.” The call of his name, so beautifully articulated by Sakusa, makes him halt. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable yet.”

“Yeah, not yet.” Hearing the anxiety in his own voice is so foreign to him; having charged into everything without any hesitancy, the nervous shake in his voice almost makes him cringe.

When he looks up to see Sakusa’s reaction, he finds the other boy chewing on his lips, eyes down on the table where Atsumu’s arms extend towards him. A silence builds between them, not entirely unpleasant, and Atsumu just sits and waits while he stares at Sakusa’s thinking face. After what feels like minutes, Sakusa unfolds his hands and reaches one towards the place where one of Atsumu’s lay curled up. Eyes lingering on their hands, Atsumu gets to watch and feel the way the pads of their fingertips brush against one another as Sakusa just barely curls them together. While he’s busy being enamored by the lack of space between their fingers, Atsumu misses the way Sakusa becomes enamored with him.

“I’m not very good at saying things” Sakusa’s voice brings Atsumu’s eyes up, the lingering shadows of that enamored look fading into nothing, “but can I show you that I trust you?”

“Show me?” Atsumu’s fingers twitch, more securely linking into Sakusa’s own. With Sakusa’s nod, Atsumu threads their fingers together with more surety, “Okay.”

“Come on, then.” Sakusa pulls his arm a little, allowing their fingers to stay intertwined and the palms to rest against one another when they climb out of the booth. With their hands connected, Sakusa pulls Atsumu even closer, shoulder to shoulder as they navigate their way out of the cafe and into the street. They don’t get very far, just around the corner of the shop down an alley that Atsumu would never imagine Sakusa willingly sauntering down. The darkness is almost overwhelming even with blaring city lights coming from the opening of the alley, but Sakusa parks them a respectable distance from a dumpster.

“You want to see how much I trust you?” A little too stunned, Atsumu just swallows and nods. “Alright.”

Without any further preamble, Sakusa leans himself against the brick of the building behind him, yanking Atsumu forward so he cages Sakusa against the brick.

“We’re in a dark and frankly disgusting alley,” Sakusa’s voice lowers now that their faces aren’t very far apart at all, “I’m letting you pin me against the wall of said alley, completely crowding my space, and I’m still desperately wanting you to kiss me. Even with germs everywhere, with no way out unless you let me, I want you.”

Honey eyes flick between each of Sakusa’s, almost not believing the blatant admissions falling from his mouth. The words soothe a part of him though, the corners of his mouth finally twitching into a smile. “Ya still want me?”

“Yes, Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice curls around the syllables of his name like wind rustles the leaves—the sound is so soothing it makes his eyelids droop. “Now are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to do it myself?”

“Say no more.” And with a smile, Atsumu finally leans in for a kiss, quick and tender until Sakusa grips the front of his shirt to pull him even closer.

So he wasn’t lying when he said he trusted Atsumu, even in this germ-filled alley.

Each kiss is a little red bloom unfurling, delicate but burning in its passion. Little explosions of wildflowers pepper among their little garden as Sakusa kisses along Atsumu's jaw, brilliant carnations sprouting up at the pass of a tongue. In the prime of their youth, it's invigorating and suffocating and anything they could ever hope for.

When they pull apart, Sakusa all but pants out, “Do you think we could do this more regularly?”

“What,” he presses a couple of kisses to Sakusa’s jaw, “ya mean like meetin’ up to make out?”

“No.” Atsumu draws back to watch Sakusa’s brows tug together, something like frustration in his eyes, “I mean, yes but no.”

In the silence that follows, Atsumu tries to piece it together—really, he does—but all he’s getting is that Sakusa likes kissing him and wants to do it more. Maybe it’s something about the germ thing and he’s comfortable with Atsumu after all. The line of Sakusa’s brow urges Atsumu to connect the dots himself, but there’s not a whole lot for him to go on. Instead, he simply watches Sakusa, twirling a finger through those dark waves as Sakusa’s eyes pour over his face.

“What I mean is I don’t want to do this with other people, just you Atsumu.”

One, two, three slow blinks and Atsumu still feels like he’s dreaming, “Ya wanna be, like, exclusive? Don’t wanna be with anyone else?”

“That is what I just said, yes.” Every nerve in his body wants to shriek, to pull Sakusa into the tightest embrace until their skin melds into one.

“Yer serious?”

A frustrated little breath slips past that pout, but Sakusa’s eyes still dance with mirth, “I wouldn’t have said something if I wasn’t.”

“And just to be sure,” Atsumu runs a thumb, tentative and slow, along Sakusa’s cheek, “ya wanna be committed?”

Thin, long fingers wrap around his wrist, a gentle squeeze reassuring him, “Seems like you have a good handle on what I’m looking for.”

“Ya know exclusivity and commitment are gonna take a lotta work for us,” he scans Sakusa’s eyes to make sure he’s serious about it.

Those dangerous lips curve into a smirk, one brow raising, “Miya Atsumu, afraid of a little challenge?”

“Oh, ya think that’s what this is, huh?” His small smile devolves into short, sweet kisses before he pulls back, lacing their fingers together, “I’m not scared of any challenge. Especially when it comes to ya, Kiyoomi.”

It’s the very first time he’s ever let the name curl around his tongue and he almost thinks about calling him nothing but Kiyoomi. Even in the low light of the alley, Atsumu sees how those dark eyes shine with the use of his full given name, feels the swell of his cheek as he smiles.

“Come on,” Kiyoomi squeezes their laced fingers, “it’s cold against this wall and we have to figure out how we’re doing long distance.”

So, they retreat into the warmth of the café once more, a wry smile on the face of the barista behind the bar accompanying their return. For the next two hours, they work out how they’ll be able to travel to see one another, how they’ll manage time with one another at games, when they’ll work in video calls to catch up. Giddiness charges the air around them, an entirely foreign look on Kiyoomi. All too often, Atsumu looks up to see charcoal eyes on him, just a little crinkled with the barest hint of a smile.

When they’re too tired to talk straight and laugh at each other more than talk, they decide to part ways, Kiyoomi walking Atsumu back to the inn and lingering a few moments longer for lazy kisses before Atsumu forces him to go home.

Beat as he is, Atsumu lies awake until Kiyoomi sends him the text that he got home, drifting into oblivion the moment after he replies.

And so it goes: they manage to squeeze in short trips on weekends when they’re lucky, longer trips over the break. But they talk constantly—something Osamu constantly rags on him for. From early morning until the last moment he’s conscious, Atsumu is checking his phone. Any time he’s not actively practicing for volleyball, he’s checking and responding to something from Kiyoomi.

Distant as they are, the pair seem to thrive as their third year goes on. Somehow, they manage to plant more seeds in their little garden, watch them grow and thrive. Each plant takes root and makes itself seem so at home there, unshakable in their placement as if they aren’t fickle little things.

Certainly, the arrangement isn’t ideal for them, but they savor the moments they are able to lay next to one another, laughing and teasing. Each kiss becomes something to savor, an added value to the novelty of being in the same vicinity as one another. For the most part, everything is smooth sailing. But there’s always calm before a storm.

The clouds get darker and darker as Nationals looms over them—of course, they’ll both be there, but that’s not the issue. Atsumu and Kiyoomi will compete until they’re blue in the face, but they never let that seep into their romantic life (excluding their ongoing competition about who can make the other more nauseated with adoring messages, but that’s a mockery of others). No, the tension rises because the semester is coming to an end, with graduation just on the horizon.

At any given opportunity, Atsumu revels in his future plans, flaunting the teams that have reached out to him to discuss possible plans after graduation. When the conversation turns to Kiyoomi, however, he dodges the question, claiming he’s received offers but isn’t making any hard decisions until he’s fully graduated. Evasion makes Atsumu nervous, especially when it’s coming from Kiyoomi who always comes at things related to volleyball head-on.

With the storm clouds rolling in, losing finals to his boyfriend probably doesn’t help the tension that’s rising in Atsumu, even if Kiyoomi ended up losing too. Still, he basks in being able to lie next to Kiyoomi for even one night past that final game. Basking in that warmth starts to burn, though, when the conversation circles back to the big question about post-graduation plans.

“Ya really have no clue what yer doin'?” Atsumu’s tucked up into Kiyoomi’s space which means he can feel the way Kiyoomi tenses at the question.

“I have,” he pauses, “decided, I mean. On what I’m doing.”

Atsumu has gotten good at reading the silences between them; this one feels especially heavy, Kiyoomi’s anxiety seeping into the air around them. “Care to share?”

“I’m getting there.” Though he’s not known for his patience, Atsumu waits. Because it’s Kiyoomi. And Atsumu would wait until time faded into oblivion for the boy beside him. “I’m not going pro. Yet, at least.”

“Not goin’- Omi, what?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi, one of the top aces in the entire country with prospects from some of the most nationally acclaimed teams, isn’t going pro. The shock of it settles over his body and he rips himself out of his boyfriend’s hold to look Kiyoomi in the face.

“I’m staying in Tokyo and going to university.”

“University?” Disbelief doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Storm clouds lead to thunder—Kiyoomi lets out a deep sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Yes, Atsumu, higher education, college, university. I’m studying sports management.”

“So- so what? Yer just gonna give up volleyball?”

“No,” that normally neutral voice spikes in anger, “were you not listening? I said I’m not going pro yet. I still have things to learn before I join you.”

There’s nothing to really explain why his decision makes Atsumu so angry. “Bullshit.” A strike of lightning.

“What do you want to hear, Atsumu?” And all too suddenly Atsumu realizes that this is their first fight. Honest to god, real conflict spreading out before them before Atsumu can do anything about it. “That this is the last thing I want to do? That my parents are forcing me to do it? Because they don’t trust that I could actually make a living off of what they think is a hobby?”

“If it’s the last thing ya wanna do, then why are ya doin’ it?” Another streak of lightning. “Yer just gonna roll over and do whatever they say?”

And there’s another rumble of thunder, far darker and scarier than before. “Yes, Atsumu, I am!”

“I will never fuckin’ understand why yer so obsessed with livin’ up to their standards.”

“I’m not.” Atsumu’s scoff turns Kiyoomi’s eyes into knives. “You know I don’t care what they think about me, but I cannot go against what they ask of me.”

“And why the fuck not, Omi? Ya got nothin’ to prove to ‘em, owe ‘em exactly nothin’!” Those dagger eyes shift away from Atsumu, moving instead to his fingernails. Lowering his voice, Atsumu tries to go for something gentler than the harsh cut of his voice earlier, tilting Kiyoomi’s face to look at his “Ya should be able to live the life ya wanna live.”

“It’s not that simple.” Condescension pours out of Kiyoomi’s mouth and makes Atsumu feel like he’s been slapped, ripping his hand away and fanning the flames of his anger.

“Like hell it isn’t.”

But if there’s one thing Kiyoomi is good at, it’s poking an already aggressive bear. “Not everyone can have a life as uncomplicated as yours, Atsumu.”

If only Kiyoomi knew the hell Atsumu has been through just so they could be at this very moment. The flippant accusation makes his blood boil—what does he know?

“Oh, fuck off,” moving off the bed, Atsumu puts as much space as possible between them, “ya know that’s not what I meant. Yer just as capable of persuin’ yer dreams as I am. Yer the one choosin’ to accept someone else’s vision of who they expect ya to be.”

“Do you ever listen?” It looks like Kiyoomi runs his fingers through his hair hard enough to pull locks out. “That is not why I’m continuing school.”

“Then quit dodgin’ the fuckin’ question and tell me why yer really goin’!”

“If I don’t, I’m getting cut off from the family. Everything just gone.”

When silence falls over them, the small laugh that comes out of Atsumu’s mouth sounds like it’s being broadcasted through a microphone. He should have expected this really, having been dating a rich city boy. “So this is all about money?”

“Really?”  Kiyoomi almost has the audacity to look offended. “You think I’m concerned about money in all of this?”

“Well, what the hell else do ya have to be concerned about?” It’s not a fair question—Atsumu knows this—but it’s the truth. The Sakusa family is, generally, full of shitty people who don’t really care about Kiyoomi, at least not in the ways that matter. With each injustice, Atsumu has vocalized his disdain for the way they treat him.

“Atsumu,” he really should be concerned by how quiet Kiyoomi is getting, “I might fucking hate my family most days, but they’re still my family. Would you want to be cut off from yours?” That avenue is a nonstarter, another scoff and cutting glare coming from Atsumu.

“Mine don’t wanna hold me back from doin’ the thing that makes me happy.”

“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t want them to even threaten to cut you off for something. So no, I’m not going pro because I would like to at least see my family once a year when I move out.”

“I will never understand that.” Atsumu’s voice gets that husky quality that only comes out when he’s the most perplexed and vexed. “They treat ya like shit, Kiyoomi.”

As if he’s been through hell and back on no sleep, Kiyoomi shuts his eyes with a deep sigh. “And they also pay my rent. Put food on my table. Make sure I have everything I need to be comfortable.” He opens his eyes, those eyes that Atsumu adores so much, and looks almost pleading in his search for acceptance. “As much as I hate to admit it, I need them, Atsumu. Until I can support myself on my own, I need them.”

Still, Atsumu is stubborn. “Ya wouldn’t if ya went pro.”

“No.” Kiyoomi gets out of the bed too, moving for the door. “I’m not doing this.”

“Doin’ what?” And sure, Atsumu probably sounds more upset than he has any right to be over a spat as small as this.

“Getting in this stupid roundabout argument.” Kiyoomi glares at him from the door. “I’m not going into the V League. I’m getting a degree and playing in the collegiate circuit. If you can’t support that, then this is it.”

The words feel like an anvil being dropped right on top of his head. Voice smaller and quieter than Atsumu anticipates, “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” There’s a hint of pain behind that resolution—the faintest note of apprehension in Kiyoomi’s eyes and voice.

Silence falls between them. Another crossroads comes before him: does he up and end this with Kiyoomi? Or does he relax, wait until the morning to calm down? When it comes down to it, does he really want to lose Kiyoomi over something as stupid as this? As dumb as an argument about what his parents are making him do?

“I need to sleep on it.” The words fall out of their own accord.

“Sleep on it?” The incredulous tone flames the lingering embers of Atsumu’s frustration. “It’s my future, Atsumu.”

“Yeah, and I care about it, Kiyoomi.” The truth slips out like it’s nothing—like they’re not Atsumu putting his heart on a platter for Kiyoomi to do whatever he pleases with. “Yer future is mine too and I ain’t tryna watch ya flush it down the drain.”

The energy in the room loses its edge when the words settle over Kiyoomi. There’s such confidence in the way Atsumu supports Kiyoomi and wants to be part of his future that Kiyoomi can’t keep up the fight much longer. Softness returns to Kiyoomi’s eyes before he nods, “I’ll sleep in my room tonight—to give you space.”

“Can I-“ Atsumu stops, sighing in defeat, “can I still get a good night kiss?”

“Insufferable,” Atsumu hears before Kiyoomi leaves the doorway. “We’ll talk in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

Kiyoomi hums before giving him a gentle kiss, lingering for just a moment before pulling away, “Good.”

“Night, Omi.” Atsumu smiles at him, even with those nerve edges frayed and alight with the energy of their fight lingering over him.

“Good night, Atsumu.”

And then Kiyoomi is gone and Atsumu is pacing back and forth wondering, wondering, wondering if he did the right thing. Fretting over whether he’ll wake up tomorrow or wake up to relive this fight again and again until he finds the right solution. Have the leaves in his garden withered away and died as they did when he’d snapped at Kiyoomi during the training camp? Or was he helping maintain the order, helping the blooms thrive in a twisted way?

When he finally drifts off, the sound of knocking wakes him up, a tentative “Atsumu?” that sounds a whole lot like Kiyoomi soothes his anxiety. The right choice, then.

Wrapped in a robe, Atsumu welcomes the other into his room with a chaste kiss. “Mornin’ Omi.”

“Morning?” Kiyoomi slips past Atsumu and flops himself onto the bed, “It’s almost noon. But good morning to you too, Atsumu.”

When Atsumu settles in next to him, he makes sure he’s able to see Kiyoomi’s face when he speaks, “I’m sorry.”

A hundred different emotions seem to pass through those eyes—disbelief, wonder, curiosity, joy, suspicion, surprise, and a whole host of others. If there is one thing Miya Atsumu never does, it’s apologize. But here he is, looking Kiyoomi in the face with no hint of mockery in his tone, showing genuine remorse.

“I’m sorry for not supportin’ ya when ya needed it. I know I don’t understand yer family dynamic, but I do understand you. And I wouldn’t ever wanna do somethin’ that would make ya feel like I ain’t in yer corner.”

Kiyoomi looks up at him with those endless pools he calls eyes and smiles, “I’m sorry too, Atsumu. I know I sounded like a pretentious asshole last night.” That makes Atsumu laugh just a little. “But I want your support, if you’d be so kind as to lend it to me.”

“Of course,” he presses a kiss onto Kiyoomi’s forehead. “I’d do anythin’ for ya, Omi. Go to the ends of the earth and allathat.”

“So we can stay together?” And his voice is small in that way Atsumu hates—the way it gets when Kiyoomi’s talking about some of the shittier things his parents have done.

As if to wipe that thought away, Atsumu leans down to kiss Kiyoomi properly. “Omi I’ll have ya as long as ya’ll let me.”

“That’s a dangerous game, Atsumu.”

The shrug Atsumu attempts is terrible, but it makes Kiyoomi smile, so Atsumu thinks maybe it’s worth it to make a fool of himself, “I like a little danger, don’t ya know.”

The hours they stay together that day feel more precious than any other before that. Even if they always knew they’d be apart, there was always the certainty of them being able to see each other once a month, without fail. When they slip into these new lives, Atsumu isn’t entirely sure they’ll be able to keep the same schedule, an anxiety he can sense in the way Kiyoomi clings to him a little more than normal.

But they’re willing to try—for one another, they would try just about anything. And try they do.