Chapter Text
It is on a mundane Monday morning, after a weekend spent gagging at Suna and Osamu, that Atsumu’s world falls apart.
“Stop being dramatic.” His brother says, lips wobbling as if he is trying to hold back from laughing at Atsumu’s misery. Atsumu wants to rewind time to exactly 32 years 3 months and 5 days so he can swallow this bastard whole while they are still tiny granules on an ultrasound. He wants a brother, not a traitor.
“This.” Aran-kun heaves a sigh as he collapses on the chair, motioning at the two officers standing in front of him. “Shinsuke, this is a disaster. This will lead to catastrophe.”
Well, thank you Aran-kun.
At least someone understands.
Mirth dances in the eyes of their senior commissioner. Of course, he’s enjoying this considering he isn’t the one whose whole life is being fucked up right in front of his eyes. “I doubt that. Atsumu and Kiyoomi are our best detectives on field. Their records speak for themselves, and this mission requires the absolute best of our officers.”
Any other day Atsumu would have tripped over himself at the praise from Kita Shinsuke because damn. But not today.
Today, he feels like bashing his head into the table to give himself permanent head trauma. That way he won’t have to go into this mission. Kita-san continues; for a man who is so attuned to everyone’s emotions and mental state, he is surprisingly ignorant of the trauma he is assigning Atsumu.
“And anyways,” Kita-san’s lips press into a thin line as he looks away for a moment. “Anyways, this is a great opportunity for our best detectives to finally get along.”
“This is a horrible idea.” Suna remarks from beside the huge drawers holding all the case files. “I love this idea.”
From beside him Osamu snorts, giving up any attempt to stop the laughter that bubbles out of him. Now that one of them started, the rest soon follows. Michinari doubles over, clutching the edge of the chair where Kita is reclining and hiding his own quiet giggles behind the case file held up in front of his mouth.
The only people who aren’t finding any joy in this situation are Atsumu, who still can’t quite believe this situation, Aran-kun who looks as if he is one slight inconvenience away from throwing it all down and retiring, and Atsumu’s nightmare, the worst human being to ever exist known as Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Atsumu had a decent upbringing, and his mother has taught him that there is no such thing as hate. But Atsumu is pretty sure she was wrong because there is no other word to describe the feelings he holds for Sakusa Kiyoomi except utter, unfiltered hatred.
The feeling is mutual considering Sakusa Kiyoomi’s face is contorted in horror and disgust since the moment Kita explained the plan. Atsumu is horrified to relate to him, but well at least he isn’t the only one feeling miffed by the whole ordeal.
“Why can’t you and Aran-kun take this mission?” He finds himself asking once the laughter has dwindled down. “You are literally married. You won’t even need to act.”
“I am the senior commissioner; I need to remain available at all times.” Kita says nonchalantly. Given that Kita-san is not taking the mission, neither will Aran-kun.
“Why not ‘Samu and Rin then?” Atsumu presses, desperate.
“They are handling the Osaka case.” Kita responds, “We can’t withdraw from that case.”
Atsumu scans the room, “What about Michinari-san and Ren-kun?”
“They are going on leave starting Friday.” Kita’s blank façade gives way to a slight frown. “You know that Atsumu—in fact, you were the one who offered to cover for them so they can properly plan their wedding.”
Yeah, and now Atsumu regrets it all. He is disgusted at his own kindness and seriously, fuck Gandhi and all his teaching about kindness—wait was it even Gandhi? Well, whatever, it’s not like Atsumu cares. He hates that the one time he does something nice it comes back to bite him in the ass like this.
Note to future Atsumu: stick to the asshole act.
“What about—” He starts before Kita interrupts.
“If you succeed in this mission, you will be promoted to Superintendent—both of you.” Kita says, leaning forward as he gives him a meaningful stare. “Both of you.”
Superintendent—huh? Superintendent as in chief of a whole police station. As in he or Sakusa will be posted somewhere else in Hyogo, maybe even further, in some other prefecture in Kansai. As in he never needs to see those ugly masks nor those infuriating twin moles ever again. Huh?
“How long?” Sakusa Kiyoomi speaks finally—ugh that despisable man and his infuriating voice. It makes Atsumu want to punch something. Not to mention the fact that while Atsumu was fighting for his human rights just now, doing a favour for this bastard by extension, he stayed silent and did not even think to back Atsumu up when clearly Atsumu was being magnanimous enough to argue their case. “How long do I need to tolerate this abomination?”
You know what, Omi? Fuck generosity. Atsumu is gonna take this fucking case now. He is gonna fucking act like his goddamned itty-bitty husband now. He’s gonna leave this bastard is wishing Atsumu was his real husband. And then when the case is done and he gets that fucking promotion, he’s gonna spit in his fucking face and leave for his new position.
“At minimum a month.” Kita replies. “Depends on your progress though; if there isn’t sufficient intel to take action within this time, we will be pulling you from the case.”
“What?” Atsumu exclaims, “Why?”
“This is a sensitive case and Hyogo isn’t the only prefecture that’s being affected. This group split from Yamaguchi-gumi seven years ago, so we can’t undermine their influence in Japan. And one misstep could cause disaster for other police branches working on the case.”
Kita lets the stilted silence fill the room for a moment before he sighs. “Your case records speak for your capabilities and that’s why Commissioner General assigned you two to the case. I trust you to keep your personal problems separate from your professional life. Don’t disappoint me.”
In the face of Kita’s gentle scolding, Atsumu can’t really find himself to argue anymore. After all, it is true—he and Sakusa are the best officers Hyogo has to offer. Even without their spotless record while in the forces, their grades in the Academy as well as how fast they climbed the ladder of hierarchy were proof enough. Not many people can say they became Chief Inspectors before they were 30.
Atsumu can.
Unfortunately, so can Sakusa Kiyoomi.
And if this mission succeeds, they will both be promoted and Atsumu can brag about becoming a Superintendent before 35. Another plus point is that he will finally be free from this bastard’s relentless grip on his life that he’d had since they both entered the Academy as Cadets at 20. Only God knows how Atsumu had put up with him for the past twelve years.
“Fine.” Atsumu forces out. “Understood.”
Suna snorts from his spot, hiding his face in Osamu’s shoulder. He has popcorns in his hand—how the fuck did he get those? His traitor of the brother coughs, hiding another laugh. Osamu bites his lips, putting his hand up as if in surrender when Atsumu sends a glare in that direction.
Bastard. Atsumu needs a better twin. He really should have eaten the fucker in the womb.
“A whole month of these two living together.” Aran-kun seemed to have finally regained his composure after a very public, head-in-hand mental breakdown right in front of the entire police force that is gathered in Hyogo Police Headquarters. “A whole entire month of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu living together.”
“An entire month of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu being married to each other.” Suna chips in, popping a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Atsumu and Sakusa both turn to give him twin withering glares. “What? I’m right.”
“Never.” Sakusa growls, “Never use this moron’s name in the same sentence as mine. Especially if that sentence contains any word pertaining to a relationship.”
Aran-kun groans, hiding his face in his hands again. Muffled, he refers to his husband. “I’m gonna die, Shin. I’m gonna die of stress before I am even 40.”
Kita-san’s face softens slightly as he extends a hand to pat his husband’s bowed head. He sighs. “I wish I could change it. But orders from Tokyo are orders I can’t disobey.”
“So,” Atsumu begins, unwilling to stretch this unpleasant moment any longer. “What do we do?”
Kita extracts his hand, reaches down to one of the drawers and brings out two small boxes. Atsumu’s guts are immediately against ever opening either. He knows those are bad news.
Sakusa, unfortunately like the moron he is, clearly lacks any self-preservation and so he reaches out to take the box Kita extends toward him without any hesitation. Kita looks at him expectantly and Atsumu’s shaking self-restraint crumples. He takes his box.
Inside is a ring.
A ring.
A wedding ring.
A black titanium band with a centre cut in a mobius cut with a gem engraved in the middle where the mobius ends meet. Simple yet elegant.
Atsumu stares at the ring until his eyes itch. Then he looks up. Looks down at it again. He wants to punch something, and he doesn’t understand why a fake wedding ring makes him want to choose violence, but his heart feels like it’s about to break through his ribcage. He swallows.
The moment is broken with Sakusa’s hiss. “Are these our initials?”
The quiet, anticipating silence in the room bursts as Suna, Michinari and Komori cackle. Atsumu snatches the ring from its sitting, turning it slightly.
His initials MA sits beside SK separated by a heart with a date engraved.
What the fuck?
“What the fuck?” Sakusa and him chorus, turning to glare at the offenders.
“Kita-san asked us to pick the rings.” Komori says, nonchalant as if he doesn’t have two life-threatening glares aimed at him. “And it’s not every day you get to pick wedding rings for your colleagues who hate each other to death.”
“So, we had them custom made.” Michinari smirks, “The mission budget is huge, dropping a few thousand on these did nothing.”
Atsumu’s face twists in disgust, and his glare intensifies.
Suna, that bastard, Atsumu is willing to bet that he was the mastermind behind it all, speaks up as if to justify their actions.
“The rings must be authentic and meaningful.” He grins, “And they must suit our beloved Chief Inspectors.”
“If murder wasn’t illegal.” Atsumu hisses. He looks down at the rings clutched in his hand. Looks to the side to where the one for Sakusa is still in its box.
Sakusa’s ring is the same black titanium as his but instead of a mobius cut, a thin line runs through the middle leading to the centre of the ring where sits a gemstone that is different than the one on Atsumu’s. Despite their different styles, Atsumu looks down at his ring and looks at Sakusa’s, they are strangely complementary.
Kita clears his throat and Atsumu snaps out of his daze. Kita looks slightly worried and a bit hesitant. It raises Atsumu’s already highly raised shackles.
“We need pictures of you two.” Kita says, voice wavering slightly, “Together.”
“No.” Sakusa responds.
Atsumu is confused. What’s wrong with some photos together. Even he is mature enough to set aside his hatred for the sake of professionalism.
Sakusa continues. “I will wear… these. But no pictures.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion, Kiyoomi.” Kita scolds.
“Tomorrow 9 am.” Suna pipes in, tapping away at his phone. “Bring a few casual clothes and a suit.”
“No.” Sakusa repeats. “I am—I am not taking pictures.”
“You need pictures for the cover.” Michinari argues. “You need to seem as authentic as possible. You are newlyweds in love. Normal couples have trinkets of each other and of them together all around their home.”
Oh. Yeah, you go Sakusa. Don’t give in. Atsumu is on your side.
“No.”
“Either you come to the studio at 9 am tomorrow morning or you hand in your resignation.” Kita says firmly, frowning. “This is a sensitive case, and any—any plot holes, however small and insignificant might cost us.”
“Can’t you…” Atsumu hesitates, trying to find an excuse. “Can’t you just take separate pictures and then photoshop them together?”
“No.” Kita sighs at the same time as Komori and Michinari yells, “Authenticity!”
“Fuck your authenticity.” Atsumu snaps, “Seriously, why is some stupid picture more important than catching Nagasaki Yamato?”
“Because I said so.” Kita scowls, scowls. “And I’m your senior and the one in charge of this mission. I am saying we need authentic pictures, and we are getting those pictures. Get to the studio by 8. AM tomorrow. You are dismissed.”
Sakusa glares at him as they leave the room and Atsumu scowls in response.
“I can’t believe Atsumu’s getting married before us.” Akagi fake-sobs, dramatically falling into his fiancé’s arms. Ren, a dedicated fiancé as always, dutifully supports his betrothed’s weight without any comment, although the smile tugging at his lips say if he were to be a lesser man, he would have joined in to mocking Atsumu.
The only reason Atsumu doesn’t comment is because over the last fifteen hours, he has pretty much become immune to all the jabs and have all but accepted his unfortunate fate. Still, it doesn’t stop him from smacking his twin when the other snorts as he fixes the lapels of Atsumu’s white tux.
Suna, who somehow has managed to convince everyone that they should have a fake wedding ceremony in the dingy studio and secured the role of the officiant, fortunately ignores Akagi’s dramatics for once as he pours over the speech he had supposedly prepared.
He doesn’t exactly know how having an entire wedding ceremony in a shitty, crowded art studio is supposed to convince their targets about the ‘authenticity’ of their fake, sham marriage, but here he is dressed to the nine, hair and makeup done as if he will be walking the runway of Tokyo Fashion Week with his brother fixing the family brooch on the lapel of his tux.
Really, why are they even having a ceremony? Atsumu is pretty sure that wasn’t anywhere in the huge file he was given yesterday. How is having a ceremony supposed to convince any curious souls considering none of them are here and will only have photographs as the proof of their supposed matrimony.
Atsumu heaves a miserable sigh as his brother’s hands wander from the lapels of his suit to his hair, brushing out the stray bits of here that fell from its perfect arrangement. Its almost like he is actually getting married, but then he remembers who it is to and immediately quashes that thought.
It is only a fake wedding. When the mission in over and Atsumu gets his promotion, all of it will be forgotten and left behind. Nothing happening today or in the next four to six weeks hold any significance in the course of Atsumu’s life and if Atsumu has his way, it never will.
“Sorry, sorry.” Komori Motoya rushes in through the door, huffing, “Traffic was insane, and my stubborn cousin is a bitch.”
Ah, Atsumu relates to that sentiment. Motoya’s stubborn cousin is indeed a bitch. A bitch that he will unfortunately be calling his husband for the next month or so.
“We have fifteen minutes before the auspicious time, get your cousin all prepped up.” Osamu says, frowning threateningly, “If he looks anything like he usually does when he marries my brother, I will kill him before he can say his vows.”
Atsumu faintly wonders whether he should be touched with how sincere Osamu sounds; then he remembers how his bastard of a brother laughed at his misery yesterday and he throws that sliver of positive feeling before it becomes any larger. That bastard doesn’t deserve Atsumu’s niceness.
“Aww,” Ginjima coos, “Osamu loves his baby brother so much~”
“I am the older twin.” Atsumu spits, glaring at the offending male. “By fifteen whole minutes.”
“Semantics.” Ginjima chuckles, taking a swig from the bottle of wine in his hands. Where did he get that? Atsumu wants it—needs it more. Atsumu beckons the man closer and when he’s close enough, snatches the wine bottle from him, chugging the remaining wine at once.
Osamu smacks him as soon as he lowers the bottle, hissing. “What if you spilt it?”
Atsumu shrugs, tipping the wine bottle more, trying to get every drop of the wine. Right now, alcohol is his only ally and Atsumu will riot if his stupid brother and traitor friends stop him from indulging in the sweet reprieve the burn at the back of his throat gives him.
Maybe Gin feels a little sorry for him because he passes him a glass full of wine when he puts the bottle down, and ok, Gin you can be taken off the traitor list. Thank you for your consideration.
He has taken only two sips of his wine when River Flows In You by Yurima starts blaring from the Komori’s shitty speakers that he brought in today morning before going to fetch Sakusa. Immediately the wine glass is taken from his hand and Osamu is tugging him away from his spot near the green screen. Atsumu lets him be pulled into the small makeup room before he snatches his wrist away.
“What the hell, Samu?” He swears, glaring at his brother. “Give a man a warning.”
Osamu looks at him with a strange expression. And keeps looking. And looking.
Atsumu shifts in discomfort. He doesn’t know what to make of that look in his brother’s eyes. “What?”
Osamu sighs, rubbing his face. “Listen.” He says voice grave. “I know this isn’t a real wedding but—” He hesitates, “But—”
Osamu cuts himself off. Looks away and then back to Atsumu again before shaking his head. “Nothing, nothing, this isn’t a real wedding, but you gotta treat it as one for the next few months. Don’t let your stupid hostility fuck up this mission.”
Atsumu has a nagging feeling that was not what Osamu wanted to say—he knows his brother—but he lets it slide. He rolls his eyes.
“I’m not a newbie ‘Samu. Personal feelings have nothing on the field, and I’m not letting that bastard ruin my promotion.” He huffs, pouting when his brother gives him an unimpressed look, “Listen, I don’t even remember why I started hating that fucker when we were in the Academy. Hating Sakusa Kiyoomi is a part of my personality now and I can switch it off for a month if I want. I know how to be professional when it’s needed, even if the fucker I’m workin’ with is Sakusa Kiyoomi. I did graduate top of the Academy y’know.”
“Joint first.” His brother reminds him smugly, and any positive feelings Atsumu felt about his bastard of a twin evaporates.
“Shut up.” Atsumu groans, “Why am I here and not in front of that shitty green screen?”
“Cuz, I wanted to speak with ya before you get married off.” Osamu snorts, paying no need to Atsumu’s glare. “Tsumu, I know this ain’t real but ya gotta treat Sakusa nice. And tell me if he treats ya bad. Fake marriage or not, I’ll punch his teeth in.”
Atsumu faintly wonders if this is Osamu’s attempt at a pep talk before the imagery of Sakusa Kiyoomi without his teeth takes up majority of the space in his brain and Atsumu crumples into a guffaw.
Osamu gives him an unimpressed glare, lips pressed in a thin line as Atsumu laughs and laughs.
When he’s calmed down a little, Osamu extends a tissue at him, reaching out to fix Atsumu’s tie as Atsumu wipes his face.
“Be gentler fucker.” Osamu reminds him, “That makeup took an hour.”
Atsumu sticks his tongue out.
Osamu sighs.
“Guys.” Suna huffs, annoyed. “Expressions.”
Atsumu would throw him a middle finger, but his hands are intertwined with Sakusa’s, getting sweatier by the moment. He wants to pull them back, away from Sakusa’s grasp, a little voice in the back of his head reminding him how Sakusa dislikes skin-to-skin contact and how grossed out he might be feeling because of Atsumu’s sweaty palms.
Atsumu too, feels out-of-depth, stomach twisting the longer his hands are holding Sakusa’s. It’s a weird feeling. Something he hasn’t felt before.
He wants to punch something.
Sakusa’s grip tightens, thumb sweeping the back of Atsumu's when Atsumu does make to pull his hands away, brows raised in question.
Atsumu shrugs, making a more forceful attempt to remove his hand. Sakusa’s grip tightens more. Atsumu glares at him, putting as much strength as possible into squeezing back.
Sakusa winces but doesn’t let up. Tightens his grip even further even.
Suna lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“Can you at least let us take one picture where you don’t look like you are gonna kill each other?”
“No.” Atsumu and Sakusa choruses, still trying to out-grip each other’s hands.
“Atsumu. Sakusa.” Kita calls out from his seat when Suna sends him a helpless glance. “Get this over with and you’ll be free of each other sooner.”
Atsumu and Sakusa glare at each other for one long moment before they collectively let go of each other’s hands, snatching theirs away as if burnt.
“Get closer.” The photographer guides. “Sakusa hand on his waist. Atsumu arms around his neck.”
Sakusa’s expression immediately becomes pinched.
“You guys are married, remember?” Komori yells from his seat, phone held up in one hand and a onigiri in another. “Married couples have romantic poses.”
If Atsumu were yesterday’s Atsumu, he’d have started a fight, probably punching the male. Alas, current Atsumu has already had a 18 hour crash course in dealing with people mocking his misfortune. He simply rolls his eyes, lips twisted in disgust as he flings his arms around Sakusa’s neck, ignoring the other’s irritated huff.
“Sakusa, arms around his waist.” The photographer instructs, tone strict and not leaving any space for argument.
Sakusa lets out the most miserable sigh since the day started though he does as told, most definitely not wanting to prolong Atsumu’s touch on him.
"C'mon pull him closer Sakusa." The photographer asks and Atsumu is just about another demand away from combusting.
Deep in the throes of his misery, he shrieks when he is suddenly reeled in, against a study chest. Oh god, he will actually throw up and ruin his suit.
He glares up at Sakusa, head tilted due to their proximity.
"What?" Sakusa grumbles, face twisted, "I can't stand his whining anymore."
Before he can retort, the photographer calls them again, "Good, good. Now look at each other."
With a sigh they do.
“Give me your best smiles, guys!”
Atsumu forcibly pulls his lips upwards. Sakusa’s face remain stony.
“Sakusa.”
Sakusa rolls his eyes, his expression contorts a few times, before he gives up and whispers to Atsumu conspiratorially, “I forgot how to smile.”
Nerves already frayed, he didn’t need much to absolutely lose it. Atsumu can’t help the cackle that bubbles out of him at that. He bends over, but with his arms around Sakusa’s neck, there is nothing he can do except lean on Sakusa’s shoulder.
He looks back up at Sakusa. His now fake-husband’s eye-brows are pulled up in his classic unimpressed look, lips pressed thin.
Atsumu loses it again.
Unbeknownst to them, the camera shuttle goes off.
“You are husbands!” Motoya throws his hand up.
Sakusa and Atsumu gives him a middle finger in unison.
“It’s literally just a kiss.” Osamu hisses. “My feet hurt, hurry the fuck up.”
Atsumu almost gives into the urge of knocking his brother out.
“I’ll break your fucking legs; we’ll see how it hurts then.”
“I will not be kissing him.” Sakusa all but growls, curled at one corner of the room. “I will not.”
“I am a pleasure to kiss.” Atsumu declares, scowling at Sakusa, “Too bad you are never gonna experience that huh.”
“With all due respect—which is none by the way—I don’t give a shit.” Sakusa scowls. “Shut the fuck up now.”
“I will not.” Atsumu glowers before he turns to Kita, glower deepening into a permanent frown. “I’m not kissing him.”
They kiss.
No, they won’t be expanding on it.
Okay, maybe some details can be spared: blackmail is most certainly involved. Atsumu’s pockets are now ten times fuller than it was at the start of the day. Sakusa may have lost ten years off his life.
Also, Atsumu tastes like peppermint. Of course, he would when Sakusa forced him to brush his teeth right there in the studio, three times before he was satisfied. But it's nice either way.
They kiss.
Five times.
In different outfits.
Atsumu’s lips tingle, ghost of a cold palm on his cheek.
They kiss.
And after the third, they forget to wipe their lips.
His ring finger feels heavy.
Of course, it would. A titanium ring now sits there when not five hours ago it was empty.
Sakusa doesn’t really mean to stare but he can’t help it. His eyes, transfixed on the ring, on how it fits his finger and how it complements his skin.
It’s weird.
Sakusa doesn’t want to stare but he can’t take his eyes of his hand.
“What are you thinking about?” Motoya’s voice breaks him out of his haze.
Sakusa scowls, although with his mask back in place it can’t be seen. However, he’s sure his cousin already knows.
“Nothing.”
Komori doesn’t take the dismissal, taking a seat beside Sakusa instead. He doesn’t say anything for a while and Sakusa’s mind and eyes drift back to his ring.
“You like the ring, huh.” It’s not a question.
Sakusa deigns it with a shrug anyway.
Komori hums, reaching over to the table to snatch away Sakusa’s half finished wedding cake. Fake wedding cake.
“It’s nice. Osamu has good taste.”
“Osamu picked it?”
“You could say that.” Komori says, “I picked Atsumu’s, so we are even.”
Sakusa doesn’t may much mind to that, eyes once again on the ring. In the back of his mind, a small voice wonders if Atsumu would have picked this same one if given the choice. He squashes it with gleeful violence.