Chapter Text
Onigiri Miya is a beautiful place most days. Wide windows allow the sunlight to pour in and drape itself over the chairs and tables inside, the smell of food wafts through the air in a way that makes customers wonder if they could fit seconds, and the staff with their bright smiles and lively chatter all come together to make one warm and welcoming place. Most days. Some days…
Atsumu dropped his head onto the cool metal of the table with a groan, phone clattering onto the surface along with it. “I’m never gonna escape this hell.” Some days Miya Atsumu, Osamu’s currently unemployed and currently suffering twin brother, shows up in a bad mood. In his defense, it was a slow day. At least.
The lump that is Atsumu stayed still for a good thirty seconds before he was lifting his head up slightly with a glare, staring down the unhelpful lump right across from him. “No comment, Sunarin?” He knows he sounds a little whiny. He doesn’t care anymore.
“Why would I comment on what sounds like a personal problem?” Suna quirks an eyebrow at him above the top of his own phone, probably scrolling through tiktok or playing some stupid game he found through an ad on Instagram. Atsumu wants to bite him, but he lets his head drop again instead. This time with a sound that sounds like something between a dying mouse and a car trying to start.
He’s never going to find a job that doesn’t make him want to jump into the ocean and hopefully morph into a mermaid, never to be seen again. So this means he’s never going to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life- he’s fucking 24, for gods sake- and he’s going to die unhappy and unfulfilled and only Suna and Osamu are going to be at his funeral because everyone else is going to leave him when he’s too miserable to be funny anymore. Ouch. Maybe that last part was a bit too much to admit out loud, but Atsumu unloads it all in the middle of his brother's restaurant anyway.
Suna pats his hand gently where it rests on the table and Atsumu can tell he’s stuck between wincing and laughing. “S’not funny, Sunarin. M’gonna die.” Oh, he sounds so pathetic. Like a kid after a good cry, all gravelly and kicked puppy-esque. “Not everyone can snatch a Miya that has a fucking life plan, y’know.” He sniffles. Suna just rolls his eyes.
“Let’s hope you aren’t trying to catch any Miyas, Atsumu,” Suna sighs, placing his phone on the table with a click “that aside- I have an offer for you.” He sounds serious, staring at Atsumu with those fox eyes like he’s been holding this back just to hear Atsumu suffer for longer than necessary. He had arrived four hours ago and the complaining had started instantly. Suna had all of those hours to bring this offer up.
Let the record show Atsumu is a very sensitive man- he feels deeply about certain things and he cares even more about his friends and their well-being. Usually, he only wants the best for them.
But right now? Right now, he wants to jump over the table and maul his childhood-best-friend-turned brother-in-law right here in the middle of Onigiri Fucking Miya . Also let the record show that he doesn’t, though. He simply kicks the shit out of Suna’s shin with a nasty-sweet smile on his face as his victim yelps and jerks, crashing his knee into the underside of the table.
“Tell me more, please, Sunarin.”
That’s how Atsumu ends up standing in front of his mirror on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, his room looking like a tornado had blown through and only decided to fuck up his closet and nothing else.
He had taken the number from Suna last week and the paper was crumpled somewhere in some pair of jeans, the ink probably running assuming that it’s one of the pairs that he just washed for the nth time out of anxiety. It doesn’t matter, anyway. The number, along with the two speeches he got from Suna and Suna’s friend Motoya, is burned into his brain.
“Don’t fucking kick me when I’m trying to help you, ass!”
“Don’t listen ta me cry about how my life is a dead end of my own making for four hours straight, withholding precious offers the entire time!”
A beat of silence.
“Okay. I was wrong for that. But listen, okay? I have a friend, Motoya, who has a cousin-“
“I told ya I’m not doin any weird fake datin shit again.”
Suna throws a napkin at his face- or attempts to. It gets halfway before fluttering down to the table, harmless.
“That’s not what it is! Just listen. Motoya’s cousin has two kids- two real easy kids. Who need a nanny. Live-in. Real nice neighborhood… real nice money.”
Atsumu had thought about it for a good day or two, trying to weigh pros and cons throughout each day. He liked kids enough- they were fun to talk to and easy to keep up with, cooking was easy cause they had such simple tastes, and he coached volleyball sometimes in the summer so it’s not like he didn’t have experience working with them. As for the other live-in duties… he could cook fairly well, cleaning wasn’t the worst thing in the world, and he’s always been a flexible person for whatever else was thrown at him.
The cons? Well…
“Okay, Miya-san. Suna told me you had some interest in my cousin’s job offer?”
Motoya wasn’t exactly a stranger, but Atsumu didn’t really know him either, they only ever really saw each other at Osamu and Sunarin’s get togethers.
“Ah, yes… he told me ta call you for more details?” He was so fucking nervous, that stupid habit of picking at his nails coming back with a vengence.
Motoya was silent for a beat or two. It was driving Atsumu up the walls.
“Yeah, it’s great that you’re interested! There’s just some um. Conditioning. That needs to happen.”
O… kay? Conditioning? Jesus, what was this? The military? Atsumu stayed silent, letting Motoya continue before voicing any questions.
“Don’t take this the wrong way. My cousin- Sakusa- is just a really clean person. So here’s a checklist of things we’re asking each applicant to do before they show up.”
That checklist was engraved into his brain. It was simple enough, most things being common sense, but it made Atsumu wonder what type of person would feel that things like “NO (underlined three times) shoes on inside the house” and “please shower before coming” needed to be on a list for nanny applicants. Or what types of people Sakusa-san has met before.
It didn’t matter in the end- Atsumu made sure his shoes (that weren’t to be worn in the house) were squeaky clean (even though they weren’t going to be worn in the house) and that he brushed so thoroughly he felt like his teeth were going to start falling out. He made sure his clothes were freshly washed and that his hair dried out completely, that his bag didn’t have any crumbs in it and that his paperwork was safely secured in a pretty purple folder (not part of the list) slipped into a plastic sleeve (part of the list), before he was heading out the door. He was going to drive- something he rarely did- because he had a feeling that Sakusa-san would faint onto a chaise lounge if he caught the scent of subway air on Atsumu at all.
Atsumu was so glad he didn’t take the fucking subway and or bus. First off, he wasn’t even sure any bus ran in this rich ass neighborhood. Second, Sakusa-san definitely would’ve fainted, judging by how clean even the outside of the house looks. All two storey white-brown rock and perfectly clipped grass, it looked like something from the front of a better homes & gardens magazine.
He’s greeted by a pretty blonde assistant a few seconds after ringing the doorbell, giving him absolutely no time to flounder over the fact that this house (even from the outside!) was giant. Massive. So elegant he felt like dirt just looking at it. Here he was, in some black slacks and a white button up feeling so fucking underdressed. And it only got worse when the assistant- Yachi, apparently- lets him in and he has a second to take in all the decor as he takes off his shoes in the genkan.
Yachi leads him through the house- mansion, more like- and goes on her spiel about being so delighted to meet him, Sakusa-san will share the sentiment, and that she’s sure he’ll do great. She’s nice, really, but Atsumu is a little too busy being assaulted by the feeling of not belonging next to her in her perfectly pressed business casual that isn’t far from his outfit but feels like it is, in this giant house that probably costs more than he’ll ever make in his life. Even if he does land this job. The bright flashes of kids' toys tucked into random corners next to the priceless vases and one of a kind artworks do take the edge off a bit, at least.
He’s left in an office towards the back of the house with a glass of water and a promise that Sakusa-san will be around soon, he’s just finishing up some business in another home office at the moment. Because of course. Two home offices. Why not! Atsumu needed an advil. Or a tequila shot, for the liquid courage.
What was he doing here?
The office was nice, plush leather chairs in front of a sturdy wood desk and bookshelves lining most of the walls. It felt… lived in, oddly. Warm. The entire house did. Sakusa-san may be a very rich and clean person- the walls were practically shining- but he was still a person. Atsumu took a sip of the water and steeled himself, trying to slip into that bit of confidence that his thoughts had provided. This was going to be fine. Worst case scenario was that he didn’t get this job- which is fine too! There are plenty of other jobs, 24 isn’t even that old, and he’s always been full of potential. His life wasn’t going to end if he bombed this.
All he had needed was a moment alone, it seemed, because now Atsumu was in full Miya Atsumu Mode. Charming and smooth Miya Atsumu, who could conquer the world. That’s why it was so easy for him to get up from his seat and hold a hand out for a firm shake when he heard the door swing open, a million dollar smile sliding over his features.
Nobody had said much about Sakusa-san himself- just that he liked cleanliness, needed a nanny (desperately), and that he had money. Atsumu hadn’t thought to ask and he frankly didn’t think it mattered too much since the interview was one on one with Sakusa-san himself. He’d find out enough about the man in that hour or so. But… he was still a little excited and nervous to finally put a face to a name, and to see what Mr. “Please Put Your Resume In A Plastic Sleeve” looked like.
and oh.
Atsumu was going to fucking faint. There was no chaise lounge to save him, and he was going to faint and hit his head and die a horrible death right in front of Sakusa Fucking Kiyoomi. Because of course he would. And of course Sakusa-san, insanely rich and clean and handsome was Sakusa Kiyoomi, retired MSBY Black Jackal. The universe was laughing at him. His mouth was so damn dry.
And Sakusa was speaking to him, black mask firmly over the bottom half of his face. Some things never change, it seems. Atsumu had stared at enough MSBY content in the past to have the image of Sakusa and his mask burnt into his retinas. He had a poster above his bed, at some point. God, was the room spinning? Or is it just his head?
“Hello? Are you alright?” Sakusa sounded slightly worried, completely ignoring Atsumu’s outstretched hand in front of him. Oh god, he was speaking. Atsumu had acknowledged that words were happening, but he hadn’t been listening at all- no, if he bombed this, his life would absolutely be over.
So he dropped his hand and changed his tune, bowing respectfully with an embarrassed laugh. “Ah, I’m so sorry- I was just… caught off guard.” Atsumu winced inwardly at how awkward he sounded even to his own ears, praying that his blush wasn’t all that noticeable. “It’s a pleasure to meet ya, Sakusa-san.” Okay, okay. Not a horrible save. A nice save, even. Sort of.
Sakusa waved off the apology and invited Atsumu to sit back down in the chair, rounding the desk to sit behind it. Something about the set up vaguely felt like being in the principal’s office.
“So, Miya-san,” he flipped open the folder that Atsumu provided, slipping glasses onto his nose as he began to read. “You seem to be well connected.” Atsumu winced inwardly again- hadn’t he been so attracted to how blunt Sakusa was when he was just a fan thirsting over him? Yes, he had absolutely been. Feeling it, however… hurt just a bit.
But Miya Atsumu was not one to back down in the face of someone else’s bluntness. He smiled again, maintaining eye contact as he spoke. “Well yes, but I don’t expect ta get this position just because I happen ta know somebody who knows somebody. I’m grateful ta even be interviewed at all.” Oh fuck yeah, that one was good. Sakusa seemed to think so too, if the slight quirk of his lips was anything to go by. It was like the bricks had fallen off of Atsumu’s shoulders.
They fell into an easy interview after that, Sakusa firing questions at him as he read through Atsumu’s resume and listened to each answer carefully. Most of the questions were surrounding children and Atsumu’s ability to care for them and essentially raise them- some were about his schooling, previous jobs, and what he had been doing this entire time. It was a bit of an existential crisis waiting to happen, really.
But Atsumu enjoyed talking about the kids he would coach the most. He had been shy to tell Sakusa about the volleyball part, but the man had just hummed thoughtfully and penned something into his own folder of papers, letting Atsumu continue. At some point it didn’t even feel like an interview- maybe it was the point where Atsumu started talking about one of his proudest moments that he had with the children he coached.
It was years ago. There had been a kid who was struggling pretty badly because of his home situation making it hard for him to make it to practice and also an injury that left his leg hurting occasionally on the court. At some point, his frustration towards life had started to build up and up until he couldn’t hold it in his little kid body anymore- so he started to act up. He hit other kids. Bit someone, once. Tried to bite Atsumu, too. But Atsumu just kept working with him.
They hashed out a plan one day, after Atsumu had found him crying under the bleachers. Atsumu would come pick him up for practices, they’d eat breakfast together, and he’d help him learn some exercises and stretching techniques to help that leg out. But only if the kid agreed to start using volleyball as his outlet, not violence. It worked beautifully. The kid’s mom cried a few times when Atsumu dropped him off, thanking him like he had hung the stars in the sky. She had tried hard, but sometimes no matter how hard you try, life just fucks you over until you can’t get back up.
“I was about seventeen when this all happened, so he’s all grown up now.” Atsumu felt his eyes burning a little. “He still plays, actually! Considered one of tha best spikers in his prefecture,” He reached out to grab a sip of his water and noticed Sakusa staring at him, pen pressed lightly against his paper “I still go ta all his games.”
“That’s beautiful, Miya-san. You obviously care very deeply about him.” Sakusa sounded softer than he had a moment ago and Atsumu guessed it was the fatherly instincts shining through. It made a little smile make its way to his face. Maybe he was worried for no reason.
The interview is short after that. At some point, both men stop what they’re doing and everything goes deathly still- due to the two voices giggling through a crack in the door. Sakusa smiles, looking tired and overwhelmingly fond at the same time. Atsumu has to look away.
He clears his throat and smiles again, laughing a little. “Either this house is haunted, or they’ve figured out we’re talking about them.” Yes, Atsumu celebrates inside when Sakusa cracks a smile that’s a touch more noticeable than the slight mouth tilts he’s been getting for the last hour. The mask is still present, but he watched enough MSBY interviews when he was a teenager to pick up on when Sakusa was smiling. He feels like a creep. “Or is meeting them part of tha interviewing process?”
Sakusa closes both folders at that. “No,” he doesn’t sound cold, exactly, but there is a note of finality in his voice “I won’t allow them to meet any of the applicants until after I’ve made my decision.” He’s straightening everything out and standing up, leading Atsumu to do the same. “They don’t need a revolving door of people in their lives.” God, he’s a good father, too. Miya Atsumu has died. Leave a message after the beep, or whatever.
Two pairs of feet start running down the hall, laughs fading as they get further away. Atsumu bows again to hide his stupid smile, a question about the call back timeframe on his tongue when the door bursts open and he startles. Well, this has been an eventful end to what was hopefully a not bombed interview.
“Where- Oh god, I’m so sorry I thought- I thought this was over-“ It’s Yachi, and she looks… way different than when Atsumu came in. Her hair is sticking up in places, the blazer is gone, and she’s just a bit sweaty. He tries to muffle a laugh. Her glare tells him he’s failed.
Sakusa, though, seems used to this. “Down the hall, Yachi. Please make sure they aren’t writing on the walls again.” The words are firm, but Atsumu knows he’s smiling.
Yachi had run off after the girls, heels ditched by the office door as she yelled about red and blue markers. So naturally, Sakusa had to see him out. Which was… not exactly awkward? But definitely leaving Atsumu reeling a bit. If he was still sixteen, he might’ve passed out already. Even if they were just walking in a comfortable silence through the rest of the house, both of them pretending they didn’t see the red, blue, and purple spots on the walls that depicted everything from flowers to just scribbly lines everywhere. No amount of paper in the world could satisfy these girls, it seemed. Atsumu had to hide a smile every time by pretending he was very interested in something to his right. Sakusa was walking on his left.
When they got to the genkan and Atsumu was putting on his shoes, Sakusa spoke again. “I forgot to ask if…” He cleared his throat, seeming to ready himself. “I forgot to ask if you had any questions for me. Since I just spent an hour throwing them at you.” Ah, yes. Atsumu had a feeling that Sakusa wasn’t all that familiar with any interviewing process, now that he could see the slight nervous lines around his eyes more clearly. He just smiled reassuringly.
“I think that all my questions were answered back during the interview,” they had talked back and forth at some points when Atsumu had asked for a bit more explanation on some of the questions “but.” There was always a but, of course.
“But I do have a confession I’d like ta make, Sakusa-san.” His shoes were on, so he could run out if he needed to. The door wasn’t too complicated to open. Sakusa just raised that damn eyebrow again. “Well. M’sort of.. or I was sort of really into volleyball, in the past.” He lets Sakusa put two and two together, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
“Black Jackals fan?” Sakusa doesn’t even sound annoyed- or anything, for that matter. He’s just stating a fact, looking at Atsumu with no specific emotion in his eyes. Well. If it wasn’t bombed before, it is now. So Atsumu just nods, laughing a little.
He may as well be relaxed during his death. “Yeah.” Sakusa opens the door for him and he grabs his bag, blush burning up his body. “I didn’t want ya to think that I was hidin it, for any weird reasons-“ Atsumu clears his throat and looks Sakusa dead in the eye again, smiling like he doesn’t want the Earth to open up and swallow them both. “And I hope that this doesn’t impact my chances too badly.” Strike him down now. Sakusa doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then.
“It doesn’t, actually. Thank you for coming today, Miya-san. I’ll be getting in touch with everyone once I’ve made my decision.”
At least this time, Atsumu shows up before Onigiri Miya opens.
“S’been a week Kita-san! How long does it take ta let someone know if they’ve got the job or not?” Kita is his chosen target today- mostly because he’s the one wiping down the tables, even though he doesn’t work here- and he’s already been whining for twenty minutes. Atsumu’s phone sits on the table, text app open but not open to Sakusa’s number so he doesn’t seem weird and desperate if a text comes in. He’s overthinking this, isn’t he?
“Yes, Atsumu. You are. For no reason, may I add.” Atsumu didn’t even realize he had voiced that thought, but of course he did. And of course Kita had to be his calming and straightforward self with it. Atsumu threw his head back with a long, painful sigh.
But didn’t he have a reason? “It’s Sakusa fuckin Kiyoomi, Kita-san.” He waves his hands vaguely and aggressively, placing his heel on the edge of the table so he can lean the chair back. So what if he falls. It’ll be a merciful ending. “You know how big that is for me! Workin with him would… would be a dream.“
Kita doesn’t get to answer that. A towel had flown from the front counter area and smacked against Atsumu’s face, an annoyed Osamu smacking the counter gate open to walk over and karate chop Atsumu’s ankle so the chair falls forward. It happens so fast and all Atsumu can do is blink and let the towel fall into his lap, thoroughly silenced.
“Wouldja stop puttin yer damn feet on my tables and help for once!” There's no bite to Osamu’s voice, even if he just assaulted Atsumu with a dish towel. “Tsumu, yer gonna be fine. Stop whining in my restaurant about life and death unless you’re gonna start wipin down tables like Kita-san.” Samu is exhausted already, smacking a hand down onto the table with another clean rag in it, not even letting Atsumu get a word in. “Maybe it’ll get yer mind off that interview.” He tacks on, sounding softer this time.
Atsumu knows he’s worried. And maybe he should be, considering Atsumu should’ve jumped out of his chair and started defending his honor the second the grey towel grazed his face. This waiting game was killing him. He tells Osamu that, fingers curling tight around the rough cloth and loving the scratch against his skin. They had grown up hating soft towels- never got the job done right.
Osamu just rolls his eyes and flicks his forehead, even though he’s smiling a little. “Yer not gonna die. The universe isn’t allowed ta take you away until ya make good on all the promises we made as kids.” Now it’s Atsumu’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Well now yer gettin all sappy, Samu.” He pinches his twin’s wrist, laughing when it earns him a swat.
“Ya little shi-“
Atsumu’s phone rings. It vibrates, shaking against the table.
They all go silent and stare at it. The caller ID says “Sakusa-san” in all caps, because of course Atsumu put his number into his phone immediately. He’s going to throw up on this clean table.
“Answer it!” Kita and Osamu yell at the same time, startling him so violently that he manages to bang his head on the table in his scramble to get his phone. Fuck. Osamu just laughs- which turns into a noise of surprise and betrayal as Kita pinches his arm on his way to get Atsumu some damn ice.
Atsumu answers it with a faint hiss through his teeth at the pain in his head, trying his best to put on his “I Haven’t Been Biting My Nails And Tearing My Hair Out For The Last Week Waiting For This Call” voice. It works. A Little. “Hello, Sakusa-san! How are you!” Fuck, he sounds too enthusiastic now.
“Miya-san, hello. I’m doing well, I hope you are too…” He trails off, voice sounding awkward through the phone. It sounds a bit deeper, also. Atsumu closes his eyes. “About the job.” Nope. His eyes pop open again, right as Kita slaps a blue ice pack into his open hand.
Ice against the throbbing pain in his head, Atsumu tries his best to stay calm and collected. Because he’s so good at that. “About the job?” He presses gently, teeth worrying his lower lip. About the job.
There's some paper shuffling on the other side and then Sakusa is clearing his throat- Atsumu wants to tell him to spit it out already. Please. For the sake of his sanity. Or for everyone’s, with the way Osamu and Kita are watching and waiting for a reaction.
“How would you like to start Thursday?”