Chapter Text
Mornings taste like sunlight and smell like fabric softener – specifically, the luxury brand he insists on buying ever since they sponsored him last year (“Omi, if they’re so rich, why’s the label all white in lower-case black letters?” “It’s called minimalism.” “It’s called increasing the profit margin, bastards.”).
Mornings feel like strong arms gently disentangling your legs from his waist (“Hm, how’d those get there?” “Right, like I’d know.”). They feel like cold hands that caress your neck, making you squirm from the temperature difference against your sensitive skin. But the more you wriggle around, the more he laughs, and when he laughs, you feel it in the stretch of his lips as he lays kiss after clumsy kiss on your mouth, your nose, your cheeks. He’s always the most affectionate in his sleep-addled consciousness, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Today’s a little different though.
“Up already?” You sit up with a yawn, brushing back the hair from your face as you peer over at Sakusa. He looks… nervous. A little too stiff, a little too alert, even as he swoops in close to greet you good morning. The kiss is chaste and leaves you wanting more, but he speaks up before you have a chance to complain.
“So we’ve been dating for a while.”
“This is true.”
“And we take turns sleeping over.”
“Also true. Every day’s a slumber party when you’re dating your neighbour.”
“Right. And I was thinking… since we sleep over at each other’s places all the time anyway, should we maybe… move in together?”
Your eyes go wide, the last traces of your sleepy fog vanishing at his words. It’s something you’ve considered, of course it is. It would save money on rent, you’re here half the time anyway, and you love being around him. Of course you do.
It makes sense. It does. Mornings feel like him, evenings too, and all you’re doing is throwing afternoons in the mix now also. 24/7, Sakusa Kiyoomi in your heart and your home.
How could you ever ask for anything more?
Your grin threatens to split your face in two as you jump on him, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as he lands back-first into Egyptian cotton.
Thump!
Once the initial shock passes, he lets out a chuckle that resonates against your chest, arms circling your waist to hold you tight.
“I think that’s a terrific idea,” you say, voice muffled from where your face presses into the crook of his neck. His fingers slip beneath your sleepwear to stroke the skin of your back.
“I can tell,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “So… my place?”
You stiffen. He notices, and the hands on your back immediately stop in their tracks. You sit up so you can look him in the eye, and after a moment of silence, he does the same.
“...If that’s okay?” he continues, looking genuinely concerned.
“…What, just by default?”
“I mean… with my… ‘quirks’, it’ll be easier, yes?”
“I… know that, and I want you to be happy. But I mean… I’ve spent the last eight years at my apartment, it’s meaningful to me.”
“My place is cleaner though.”
“My place isn’t dirty!”
“Right, it has ‘character’.”
“Yes! And yours looked barely lived-in until I got here, freakin’ surgical suite.”
“And just imagine how much better it’ll be once you move in for real.”
He gestures around his bedroom, the one you’ve slept in for the past four nights this week. Traces of you are evident in every inch of the place – the old-school manga volumes, the hair ties on his nightstand, the Volleyball for Dummies handbook that Atsumu got you as a gag gift last year.
You feel your heart melt and curse yourself for being too easy.
“…I just don’t like you automatically assuming that we’ll do what you want. I get to have a say too.”
His eyes soften as he takes your hand in his and squeezes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“So you want us to move into your place?”
You hesitate, then nod. “If it were completely up to me, yes.”
“And if it were completely up to me, I’d want you here.” He goes silent for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. “When does your lease end? Same as mine, yeah?”
“Yeah, in three months.”
“Why don’t we do a trial run then? And after that, we can decide.”
“Trial run? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You live here with me the next two weeks, and I live with you for the two weeks after that. And whichever works better will be our permanent living arrangement.”
“‘Whichever works better’? Won’t both of us be biased?”
He gives you a wry smile.
“I’m sure it’ll be an obvious choice.”
The day after your conversation in bed, Sakusa helps you pack all of your things from your apartment (“Everything?!” “The simulation has to be authentic.”). It’s silly yet endearing, the way he oh-so-carefully sorts your belongings into neat little cardboard boxes, as if you’re moving anywhere farther than the unit next door.
It takes just under two hours to clear everything out. Only your furniture remains, and as you scan your barren apartment from the open doorway, you feel Sakusa’s arms loop around your waist from behind.
“How’s it feel?” he asks.
“Weird. I still remember signing the lease for this place in my senior year of college. It’s like a piece of history now.”
He hums and you sigh, relaxing into his hold.
“That kitchen table’s where I first got the call to intern at Matsumoto & Co. I binged all six seasons of Hunter x Hunter on that couch, and the bedroom has a permanent dent in the wall from when I tried to mount a TV there by myself…”
He nods along, soft curls tickling the nape of your neck.
“Sesame, the six-foot-tall Black Jackal plushie used to sit right there–”
“You named him?”
“And most importantly… this is where I lived when I first met you.”
You give the space another once-over and something tugs at your heart. You turn around in Sakusa’s arms to face him, smiling tentatively. A little sad, a little hopeful.
“…And now I get to live together with you, even if it’s not here. And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”
He breaks out into a wide grin, kissing you senseless between mutual bursts of giggles.
The first few days are glorious.
After you move in with him – as temporary as the situation may be – something changes. A switch is flipped, or maybe he finally taps into his hidden craving for domestic bliss (it wasn’t there already?). Suddenly, every waking moment together is spent showering you in verbal and physical affection.
You wear an apron too big for you as you scrub the dishes left over from another home-cooked meal à la Sakusa. He approaches you from behind, pressing his chest flush against your back as his arms wrap themselves around your shoulders.
With his chin resting atop your head, he whispers, “Wear my apron all the time. It looks better on you.” A nip to your ear, and then, “You don’t even have to wear anything underneath.”
The next day, he hums as he folds laundry with you. Hums. And when you divide the remaining load in half to ‘make things fair’, he makes a bet.
“First to finish folding their side gets anything they want from the loser.”
“Getting a little cocky there, huh?”
“Not cocky, just self-aware.”
And it’s true. He’s done in a fraction of the time it takes you, and for his ‘prize’, he asks for a kiss. Just a kiss. And through exasperated laughter, you’re more than happy to give him what he wants (“You could’ve just asked.” “There’s more satisfaction in knowing I earned it myself.”).
Your nightly routine is intertwined with his now. You always thought his clear skin was the result of regular hydration and a diet designed by the nation’s top nutritionists, but when he opens the upper bathroom cabinet, there’s at least a dozen skincare products staring right back at you.
“No matter what dirty jokes Atsumu makes, the skin is the largest organ in the body,” he says, applying small dollops of moisturizer to his face before turning to do the same for you. His fingers are a little rough from calluses, but that just means he touches you with extra care.
It’s the picture of domestic bliss. It’s glorious.
…Until it’s not.
All it takes is a week.
“(Y/N), you left your office stuff in my workout room again.”
“Sorry love, I was just dropping it off there for a moment while I took this call.”
“Okay, well that ‘call’ ended an hour ago, which is why I didn’t say anything until now. I was waiting to see if you would get it yourself. You know, like you promised the last three times this happened.”
“I was getting to it!”
“Were you?”
“Yes! I’ve been emailing back and forth with JVA’s HR department for that new job. Kuroo got back early from his business trip, so he wanted to move my interview up to this week. It was important, it’s not like I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Sure, but it wouldn’t be a problem if you just kept your stuff in your own space to start with.”
“And what exactly is my ‘space’, Omi? I have half a dresser, the kitchen table only until 6PM–”
“That’s when I cook dinner!”
“–then I’m banished to your bedroom which, hey, doesn’t even have a desk!”
“I already told you, we’ll get a desk in there if you decide to move in with me for real.”
“I have one already! It’s collecting dust in my apartment because you said I couldn’t bring it with me!”
“It’s way too big for the space, we’d have to get rid of my display case!”
“You’re saying your Ushijima fanboy merchandise is more important than my work?!”
“I, that’s… My stuff is in there too! That case is important to me, it has all my awards from high school and college.”
“Vanity collection much?”
“That isn’t true and you know it.”
“You’re saying you still rely on that stuff to give you a boost when you’re in a slump? The guys and I aren’t enough of a support system?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, the same way you don’t understand that I’m in the middle of moving jobs?”
“That was your choice!”
“Yes! Yes, it was! And I would’ve thought you’d be a little more supportive of that, considering we’re dating! ”
He opens his mouth to say something, then presses it into a tight line.
“I already told you,” you continue, grateful for his silence, “Soushi’s evolved into a total prick, JVA offers better pay for the same type of work, and the whole reason I applied in the first place was so our schedules wouldn’t be so incompatible. I wanted to spend more time with you, but based on how… this is going, I’m starting to think you might not want that.”
As your last words roll off your tongue, the icy look in Sakusa’s eyes softens. You see the tension physically fall from his shoulders, and suddenly, he’s crossing the living room in three long strides to take you into his arms.
“…You’ve become very clingy,” you murmur into his shoulder half-heartedly, but your fingers are already reaching up to card through his hair.
“Of course I want that,” he sighs, “and I know this job is important. I know you’re stressed about moving companies, and I know that right now should be all about you. I’m sorry.”
“…I’m sorry, too.”
He pulls back with a wry smile, and you place two feather-light kisses on the moles above his brow. One of many secret codes for three very special words.
“I love you too,” he whispers. “And hey, even if my apartment’s not the winner, we move into your place starting tomorrow. Maybe a change of scenery will help.”
Maybe indeed.
…A change of scenery does not, in fact, help.
If anything, it might be making things worse.
“Kiyoomi! I left a stack of papers here literally two minutes ago, why is it gone?!”
“I thought you could use some help cleaning up.”
“Well, I don’t! I thought we’d been through this, love, first it was the hard drive, then my company stationery, then my accounting books–”
“You can’t do good work in an environment that’s so cluttered!”
“In. What. World. Is that for you to decide?! It works for me, it’s organized chaos and it’s how I’ve been doing this job for eight frickin’ years!”
“Well, maybe you were doing it wrong!”
“That’s bull and you know it!”
“Ha! I’d like to point out that not once – not once – did I hear a ‘thank you’ for cleaning up after you!”
“I didn’t ask you to! I’m telling you to leave me alone, don’t even come into my home office anymore!”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
You slam the door shut in his face so hard that it rattles on the hinges. The silence that follows creeps into your skin in icy tendrils laced with regret, making your whole being feel empty. You slump forward into the door, forehead resting on the cool wood as both hands reach uselessly to feel him through the other side.
No footsteps, just silence. He’s still there, separated by three inches of wood and an unspoken apology.
“…I’m sorry, baby.” Your voice is timid in the empty office, swept clean of dust and dirt and the grime you’ve been ignoring on the window pane for the past six months. Your washy-tape mugs of pens, highlighters, and lollipops sit in a neat row along the top right of your oak desk, wiped down this very morning so thoroughly that the wood shines.
“And thank you,” you add, smiling regretfully, “for caring so much. But this, all of this – it’s not working. Not at the moment, at least. And I think right now, we both just… we might need a little space from each other.”
“…Are you breaking up with me?” His voice is whispered and gravelly through the door, as if he’s holding back tears. The words shatter your heart into a million pieces, and before you know it, you’re ripping the door open to take him into your arms.
“No! No, oh my goodness, of course not, no baby, no…” you repeat in a frenzy, stroking his back as he clings to any part of you he can find. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, as if to hide his own shame, but a lone tear manages to drip onto your neck and you break.
“I’m so, so sorry…” you whisper, peppering the side of his face with kisses. “It’s okay, it’s okay… Sweet boy, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
The nickname you reserve for him in private seems to take off some of the edge, and you breathe a large sigh of relief as you feel him relax in your arms. He still refuses to lift his face from your shoulder, even when you give him a gentle nudge, but you figure he just wants to be close to you for a while longer.
(And you haven’t the heart to push him away.)
“…All I meant was maybe we sleep in our own apartments tonight,” you say softly, rubbing large circles into his back. “And maybe we cut this little experiment short for the time being, have you move back to your place sometime tomorrow. I’ll help gather your stuff, don’t worry.”
“I just…” His voice comes out in creaky wisps, and you pull him in a little tighter. “I just really wanted this to work.”
“I know. I did too.”
“I love you. And you love me, so why is it so hard?”
“We’re not used to it, I guess. (Y/N) has her place, Omi has his, but put them together and what do you get?”
“A spotless home office and an angry girlfriend.”
“Ha. I’ll take it over sharing my workspace with your Ushijima body pillow.”
“Inaccurate, you know they sold out before I could get one.”
“I wasn’t being serious!”
“Anyway,” he says, finally raising his head from your shoulder to look at you, “do I really have to go home? I promise I won’t touch anything else in your office, I just… I don’t like sleeping by myself anymore. I need you, Nightlight.”
Nightlight. Named after the childhood object that got him through his brother’s ridiculous ghost stories on dark, cloudless evenings (“You still believe in that stuff?” “Of course not.” “Then why Nightlight?” “Because now I can’t fall asleep without you.”).
You heave a fond, albeit exasperated sigh. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Hm?”
“I really wanted to move in with you too, Omi,” you admit, heart a little heavier now than it was this morning. You brush an errant curl behind his ear, allowing your thumb to linger over the apple of his cheek. “If we finally get our act together, maybe we’d be better off at your apartment after all. I know it’s hard for you to adjust to new places, so if we move your trophy case to the living room, then I can take over the bedroom as my office and make it work.”
“No, that’s not fair to you. We should stay at your place. If I move all my exercise equipment to where your coffee table is, I won’t be anywhere in your vicinity during your work hours, and I swear the mess won’t bother me if I don’t physically see it so–”
“Oh my god, Kiyoomi, stop.”
“You stop.”
“You clearly want us to move into your apartment.”
“And you want us to stay here.”
“But I don’t want you to be miserable.”
“I don’t want that for you, either.”
The unwavering resolve in his eyes leaves little room for argument, and not for the first time, you feel your heart beat a little faster looking into endless pools of obsidian. You swallow thickly.
“…Sleep over tonight. Then we’re moving you back to your apartment tomorrow morning. We could use the break–”
His brows knit together in a frown.
“Ahem, alone time, to plan our next move,” you finish, giving a little pat-pat to his chest in a show of appeasement. He presses a lingering kiss to your lips and you smile through it. The silence that follows is content, warm, full, and you savour it as long as you can.
“…I hate to ruin the moment,” he murmurs eventually, pulling away, “but you still need those papers, don’t you?”
“I– Yes! Oh my God, give them to me!”
“Okay, okay, they’re right over here, just take them and we can– Aaand, she’s gone.”
The door to your office shuts in his face again – gently this time, but just as abrupt – before he can even finish his sentence.
“…Come to bed soon, Nightlight,” he calls, but you’re too far gone to hear.
Sakusa Kiyoomi has lived in unit 602 of Kohaku Plaza, Shibuya, for the past three years.
The first year he spent desperately clinging to any semblance of routine and solitude he could find – the things he’d sought since he was a child, the things that (used to) make up the very fabric of his being.
And then he met you. And you promptly tore the fabric to shreds, slowly but surely inserting yourself into every crevice of his life until he couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t in it. Imperfect you, who taught him the messiness and pain and beauty of human emotions until he was suddenly entangled in the lives of friends, old and new, and weaving together a different sort of fabric – a twisted, richer, more colourful fabric than any he’d ever hoped to create.
The second year was the hardest. It was the year you left him; the year his apartment suddenly felt too quiet without you in it, to the point he’d enter your unit on particularly lonely nights and sleep on your couch just to exist in a space that embodied you. A space that you called home.
And through the phone, through video calls, through a hastily planned surprise trip to Hong Kong that he still wishes had lasted longer – he made it to year 3. His favourite so far.
It’s the year he’s spent waking up by your side more often than not, cooking bentos for you every weekday, and staying up together binge-watching movies and TV shows and dumb YouTube videos that have you cackling until 3 in the morning (he’ll never understand the appeal, but your laughter is contagious and it always makes him smile).
It’s the year he finally gave himself to you, mind, body and spirit, as you lay bare beneath the covers together whispering I love you in the dark. You fell asleep before him that first night, he still remembers; and secretly, he traced a single word into your skin with the tip of his finger.
( “Mine. As much as I’m yours.” “Hm?” “Shh… Go back to sleep…”)
And now the third and final year of his time in unit 602 is drawing to a close.
It’s a month after your failed cohabitation simulation that he finds himself sitting across a desk from his (very confused) landlady, you by his side.
“Neither of you are renewing your leases?”
“That’s right,” you reply. “We wanted to let you know so you’d have time to find new tenants.”
“Oh my… I’ll miss you both too much. Is there nothing I can do to make you stay?”
“Oh, we’re not leaving completely,” you assure her with a laugh. “Just… upsizing.”
“Oh… Oh! I see. Some lifestyle changes, hm? Took you two long enough.” Mrs. Takahashi chuckles to herself, even more so when she notices the red blush staining Sakusa’s cheeks. He clears his throat awkwardly.
“We’ve been looking at a few of the bigger suites on the ninth floor,” he says, glancing at you briefly with a twinkle in his eye. “Saw the listings up a few weeks ago. Mind giving us a tour sometime soon?”
“We can do it as early as next week, dears,” Mrs. Takahashi replies, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. “Might be some growing pains, but it’ll all be worth it in the end.”
“That’s what we’re hoping for,” you laugh, taking his hand in yours beneath the table and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Thank you so much, Takahashi-san.”
It’s another round of jittery small talk between you and her – congrats on the new job, the latest gossip at the pilates studio, a question involving marriage that makes him turn beet-red, even more so than before – until you’re walking out of her office and into the elevator, intent on spending the night at your place for a Jurassic Park marathon.
The floors tick by. G, 2, 3…
“Are we making the right decision?” you ask suddenly, just like he knew you would. Certainly, knowing you for the past three years has made you easier to read. He smiles.
“Of course we are. We thought of everything.”
“I know, I just… I really liked… our old place…”
“Oh, really? Which one, mine or yours?”
“Mine? No, both. Wait, neither? I… I don’t know. There were just a lot of memories there, and… and now those places will be gone soon. Or at least, they won’t be ours anymore.”
“But they weren’t ours to begin with. Remember what we talked about?”
You nod. “I know… Your place was yours, my place was mine. But neither of them was ours .”
“Mm.” He strokes your hair in the elevator’s silence and you relax into his touch. “I know it’s hard to let go, but our old apartments weren’t something we built together, they weren’t our home. It was just your space and mine, and I don’t want that anymore.”
“Neither do I.”
“And now we get to pick a new place, which is exciting.”
“Oh? Even for Sakusa ‘I hate change’ Kiyoomi?”
The smugness radiating off you makes him frown, but before he can say anything, the elevator dings and the doors open onto the sixth floor.
Home, for now.
“It’s exciting because I get to do it with you,” he says, leading you by the hand to the familiar east wing. You chuckle.
“Aw, I’m flattered. While we’re on the topic, unit 907 caught my eye.”
“Ooh, the one with the granite countertops?”
“Mhm, thought that’d be a plus for you.”
“It is.”
Units 602 and 603 come into view, for what he knows won’t be the last time, but it’s getting increasingly close to that point. Bittersweet, perhaps.
“And at our bigger place, you’ll have your workout room and I’ll have my home office,” you chime, already pulling out your keys. As soon as you get the door unlocked, he reaches from behind you to hold it open, like the gentleman he is. The action is practiced, routine now.
“Yes to both those things,” he replies.
“Two bathrooms?”
“Out of budget, but we’re getting a hair catcher for the shower drain and that’s final.”
“Fair enough.” You collapse onto the couch as soon as you see it and he closes the door behind him before joining you.
“Chore wheel?” you continue. “We rotate every week?”
“…I’m a better cook than you are.”
“…Ouch, babe.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Fine. Then to make it fair, I’ll do the dishes Monday to Saturday, but you get Sunday cause that’s my day to cook. I like making brunch. And eating brunch leftovers for dinner.”
“There’s no way my nutritionist will let me eat bacon and waffles past 6PM every Sunday.”
“We’ll cook Sunday dinners together then. Rotate laundry, garbage – vacuuming too, but you deal with your workout room the way you want to and don’t even think about touching my office space – and bathrooms we’ll do together to give you some peace of mind.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you–”
“I get it, babe, you don’t need to recap all the species of microbes that live on damp surfaces.”
He drops a kiss to your forehead as he turns the TV on.
“Guess this is the end of an era,” he murmurs. “No longer neighbours.”
“And they were roommates.”
“Stop.”
“You stop.”
“Is it too late to renew my lease?”
“If you do, I’m moving into 907 with Atsumu.”
“Meanie.”
“You started it.”
“...I love you.”
“I love you, too.”