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A bowl of mikans sits in between them.
“Atsumu,” Shinsuke says. He lets out a hm in response from where he is sprawled out on the floor. His lower half is underneath the blanket-less kotatsu. His upper half is sprawled out on the living room’s tatami floor. He keeps bumping one foot against Shinsuke’s knees. “That is not how ya get my attention.”
Atsumu lets out a huff of laughter, followed by a groan, as he sits up and presses his palms into the floor for support. “It still worked,” he replies.
Shinsuke doesn’t say anything, as he precisely peels a mikan. It’s like he’s holding a miniature version of the sun. Outside, the actual sun is slowly departing for the evening behind the mountains and sea of grass. Atsumu watches as Shinsuke is bathed in golden, orange- yellow light. He could wax poetry about this.
Clearing his throat, he says, “I’ll get us something to drink– do you want tea?”
“Water is okay, thank you.” Shinsuke says, from across the table. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows due to concentration. Atsumu’s fingers itch to reach across and smooth it out.
Atsumu pushes himself up to his feet. He walks into the kitchen, and goes to the cupboard where the glasses are. Thank Bokkun and Akaashi-san for the mikans, says a post-it note on the refrigerator, in Shinsuke’s handwriting. He carefully peels it off the freezer’s door and slips it into the pocket of his sweat shorts. It has nothing to do with him, but it still makes his chest feel fuzzy.
The ice clinks against the sides of the glass as he sets both down on the coasters at the table.
“Here,” Shinsuke says, before Atsumu sits opposite of him. “You can have the first one.” He takes the mikan into one of his hands, and carefully lowers himself to the floor.
The sun has disappeared completely from the sky already, but the room is warm.
***
The radio plays lowly in the kitchen one evening as the two do the dishes. Atsumu washes them, and Shinsuke dries them.
Shinsuke is humming quietly. He does this often. Whether it is when he does their taxes, or doing his skincare routine before he goes out to the fields or to bed. It’s private moments that only Atsumu witnesses.
He bumps his hips into Shinsuke’s side to get his attention. “Yes?” he says, looking up at him as he sets the plate down on the marble counter.
“Will you dance with me?”
The previous song has already reached its final note. With Shinsuke, he would dance to advertisements about cleaning products.
“I’m bad at dancing, Atsumu,” Shinsuke says. Atsumu reaches over and shuts off the sink, then glances over at Shinsuke. I already know that and I love that about you. The first few notes of the next song filter through their kitchen.
“And so am I,” Atsumu says, easily, then reaches over to turn up the volume. And you love that about me, too. Then, he reaches over, and takes his hand.
“I warned ya.” Atsumu nods, then pulls Shinsuke in.
They begin to sway in the space between the sink and kitchen island, which doesn’t make for a spacious dance floor. They have the sunlight as a disco ball, though, and that’s enough.
“See? It’s not that bad.” Atsumu says, quietly.
“We’re just swaying,” Shinsuke says, cheek squished against where Atsumu’s neck and shoulder meet.
Atsumu lets out a chuckle, “It’s still dancing, Shin.”
Shinsuke mutters against his skin, “We need more space.”
“Let’s go to the living room, then.”
Atsumu turns up the radio, then Shinsuke pulls him into their living room. They both stumble over their footing, and Atsumu laughs. It’s loud and beautiful. The sunlight shines on them, and at that moment, it seems as if Atsumu and Shinsuke are the only ones in the world.
***
Shinsuke’s alarm goes off at 4:30 AM.
Atsumu also wakes up because he’s a light sleeper. “Have a good day at work,” he tells Shinsuke, voice scratchy from sleep.
When Atsumu glances over to the left side of the bed, Shinsuke is outlined in soft blue light. “Go back to sleep,” he says, presses a kiss on his cheek, then shuffles out of bed.
Atsumu falls asleep shortly after, but he stirs a little when he feels the softest kiss on his forehead, and the softness of a stare before the bedroom door slides shut.
***
It’s been twenty minutes. Atsumu has no clue how watching him folding their laundry is interesting. His stare is nice, though. Atsumu can’t deny that.
“Everything okay?” he says as he tilts his chin up. Shinsuke is leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom.
“Yes, everything’s okay.”
“Well, am I folding the laundry wrong?” Atsumu asks. Then, he gestures towards the folded piles of laundry that sit to the side.
“You’re doing it right.” Shinsuke replies, reassuringly.
As he folds the shirt he wore a few days ago on his morning run, Atsumu asks: “Then, what is it? Folding laundry isn’t that interesting, Shin.”
“I mean, having clean clothes is nice,” Shinsuke takes a step further into their room. Atsumu raises an eyebrow at him like, okay, fair enough— “but I was looking at ya, not at our laundry.”
A flush climbs up from underneath the collar of Atsumu’s shirt to his hairline.
“Yer such a sap,” It should sound teasing, but it comes out soft. He’s been that way for a while now. It’s love that does this to him. (Read: Shinsuke and love are the same thing.) “Such a sap,” he repeats.
“You’re the only person who knows that.”
“Good,” Atsumu says, expression fond as he looks at the laundry basket. “Help me put away the laundry?”
“Ya don’t have to ask,” is Shinsuke’s reply. Then, he scoops up the pile of folded, fresh clothes. This time, Atsumu is the one looking.
***
“Shinsuke, I think I’m going to melt through the floor.”
He folds the newspaper he’s reading before he speaks, “I don’t think that’s possible– and if you do, I won’t be mad at you.”
They’re sitting on the engawa because this is where Shinsuke likes to read the newspaper. Two half empty glasses of ice water sit between the two of them. The fan that is on in the living room whirs, quietly and ignored. Atsumu sits closest to it with his back almost directly in front of it. In front of him, it is all endless mountains with tall peaks and a sea of golden-green grass. Every now and then, a bird chirps in the distance.
“You can go back inside, if you’d like.” Shinsuke suggests, peering at him over the rim of his glass.
“Nah, I’ll be okay.” Atsumu reassures, “What are you reading now?”
With that, he picks the newspaper up and Atsumu scoots closer to the edge until Shinsuke’s shoulder is a few inches away from his. He’s not even looking at the newspaper, but at him. The mole on his jaw, the way his mouth curves around the words he speaks, and the way his fingers hold onto the paper. He does hum in interest, every now and then. There are plenty of words that sit behind his teeth: I want to stay here with you forever and I want to see if your hair is all gray when we’re both in our sixties.
He is speaking about one of the articles in the paper when Atsumu opens his mouth. “Shinsuke, I’m going to kiss you now.”
Shinsuke sets the newspaper down to the side. “Thank you for letting me know,” he says, and it comes out fondly. Then, he tilts his head back, and the light catches on his throat, and Atsumu shouldn’t feel envious about the sun.
“Yeah, anytime.” Shinsuke chuckles, and reaches up first and pulls him in by the base of his neck. Atsumu leans in, and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He makes a content sigh, and he wants him to make that sound again.
“I think I’m going to melt,” Atsumu mumbles against his bottom lip. His fingers are warm as he holds onto Shinsuke’s neck, while his hands are latched onto Atsumu’s shirt.
Shinsuke coughs out a quiet laugh, “Yeah, yeah, me too.”
Then, Atsumu is being pulled in, again.
***
“You leave soon,” Shinsuke says, looking at his chopped vegetable on a summer evening on a Wednesday.
Atsumu sets his chopsticks down, and clears his throat. “Sunday afternoon,” he confirms, softly. They have three dinners left that they’ll spend together, and summer has a tendency to go by fast.
“Okay,” Shinsuke replies. “I’ll help ya start packing by Friday.”
“Thank you,” Atsumu says, quietly.
“We have plenty of time until then,” he says, already reaching for his chopsticks. Summer goes by fast. (They already know this, but it’s unfair.)
“I already wrote the date when I come back,” Atsumu says, reaching for his cup of green tea– “with a big, red heart ‘round it, so ya won’t miss it,” –and Shinsuke is looking at him from across the table. Dinner and chopsticks, long forgotten.
“I already miss you, is that odd?” he says.
Atsumu swallows his heart down with his tea. “It’s not,” he replies, softly. “I miss you, too.”
***
The last days go by in a blur.
The train leaves in five minutes, and Atsumu still has face buried in Shinsuke’s shoulder.
“All the good seats will be taken.” Shinsuke comments softly, as more people brush past them into the silver doors of the train.
“One more minute,” Atsumu mumbles, “and I’ll be off.”
“Okay,” Shinsuke agrees, and Shinsuke’s arms tighten around Atsumu’s torso.
A minute passes, and no one pulls away first.
Another minute passes, and it’s really time to go. “Call me when you get home.”
“I will,” he promises.
Atsumu walks across the platform, then into the train. There is one seat towards the middle, and he quickly situates himself in it. Shinsuke is still standing at the platform. He won’t leave until he can’t see the back of Atsumu’s head.
Atsumu doesn’t look away until Shinsuke is no longer in sight.
***
“I’m back at the dorms.”
“How was the ride?”
“Almost fell asleep.”
Shinsuke’s laugh is soft through the speakers of his phone. He can picture him in his head. The slight throw of his head with his hair following the motion, the crinkles around his eyes, and the soft smile of his. His heart stirs in his chest.
“Atsumu?” It sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s called out his name.
“Sorry,” Atsumu replies, “what?”
“Get some rest.”
“Nah, I have to eat first. Would you want to–”
“Call me back after you finish cooking,” Shinsuke says. “I don’t want you to burn your food.”
“That was a while ago, Shin,” he states.
“Yeah, I know. But food is important, and I want you to eat well.”
Atsumu smiles, “okay, I’ll call you back.”
***
Time passes by in a blur in between games, practice, facetime and phone calls, etc. This time, he drives home. He doesn’t want his car to go to waste, and it gives them more time.
When he pulls up to the driveway, there is a light in the living room area. He’s still awake. The duffle bag can wait until tomorrow. Besides, there is plenty of clothing in his drawers.
He almost drops his keys out of excitement. He’s coming back to the man he loves.
The door opens.
Shinsuke beat him to it.
He drops his keys again, and they hit dully against the wood.
“Welcome home,” Shinsuke says.