Chapter Text
The vamp has entered the castle.
That is the text Atsumu receives from the office’s group chat zero point five seconds before the glass doors open without preamble and people around him immediately start to move.
Steps resound against the floor in haste, chairs scrape loudly, there’s scattered exclamations and warnings before it all comes to a close as quickly as it begins. As if the conductor of an orchestra, Sakusa Kiyoomi’s entrance has all the office’s usual lively chatter and noise descending into absolute silence right on cue.
Eyes follow him from all sides as he glides across the office’s length towards his own office, the one in the very back, without sparing them a glance. He’s wearing his usual all-black ensemble from some ridiculously expensive and obnoxious name brand and his dark curls don’t even so much as budge from their perfect position as he struts with purpose, a familiar glower obscuring his features and accentuating the eye bags that hang heavy beneath his void-like eyes. Vamp. The office was real proud of that one, though Atsumu thought it was a little too on the nose.
Atsumu watches the scene unfold from his place right outside Sakusa’s office, arm already extended to hand him his coffee— iced, perfectly black, no sugar, no cream; Sakusa was nothing if not consistent, he had to give him that —as soon as he comes to a stop beside him. Sakusa takes the disinfectant wipe from Atsumu’s other hand and uses it to open the glass door and step inside, barely waiting for Atsumu to follow before slamming it closed.
“Mornin’ boss,” greets Atsumu, peppy as ever just because he knows it annoys Sakusa to no end this early in the day.
Sakusa ignores him and gets right to it.
“Called Koyama this morning and he’s finally agreed to grant us an interview so schedule for it to happen as soon as possible, have Hinata do it he’s the fucking sunshine incarnate and we cannot afford to fuck this one up. Do let him know he will be fired if he fucks it up. Get me the manuscripts we’re supposed to have ready by Wednesday, I want them today no later than five o’clock sharp on my desk. Make sure the conference room we’ll be using today has already been cleaned and disinfected and…”
Atsumu is halfway through typing a text to Hinata in order to relay Sakusa’s message, but he looks up with a raised eyebrow when Sakusa’s droning voice drifts off. He’s sat at his desk and is in the process of booting up his computer, taking a sip of the coffee as he does.
“Miya,” Sakusa utters, eyeing the cup of coffee closely like it has personally offended him.
“Hm?”
“Why does ‘Hana-chan’ want me to call her?”
“Pardon?”
Sakusa turns the cup in his fingers so Atsumu is able to see the girly scrawl in purple marker on the cup’s surface, a little heart has been added right beside Hana’s name and phone number.
Atsumu grins. “Well ya see, that’s ’cause that used to be my cup. I spilled yers on the way here when I tripped on the street, and since I do get yer exact same coffee order for myself every day just in case this happens, I did in fact end up giving ya my own cup.”
Sakusa looks at him with mock perplexity, like he didn’t already know all this from the moment he saw Hana-chan’s goddamn number on the cup and simply asked to make Atsumu say it like the sadist he is.
“I’ll act as if that isn’t the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.” Sakusa says and takes another sip.
Atsumu’s grin strains but he maintains it as he nods and turns around to walk out of the room, not waiting for Sakusa to dismiss him. “Good talk, boss.”
~
Sakusa Kiyoomi, editor in chief at MSBY BJ Co., the leading publishing company worldwide. Sakusa Kiyoomi, Atsumu’s direct boss due to him being his executive assistant —or, secretary, if you’d prefer oversimplifying terms which Atsumu most definitely did not. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the bane of Atsumu’s existence, the wall in Atsumu’s path directing him any way he pleased and preventing him from reaching a place he actually wanted to be. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the biggest, most insufferable and prickly asshole Atsumu ever met.
It’s not that Atsumu hates his job. He has a passion for it, and it is a means to an end. He was certain this was the one way to achieve his goals, his highway to get there fastest. He’d be editor one day and everyone would eat their fucking words. The paycheck almost made it all seem worth it at times, too.
So no, Atsumu doesn’t hate the job. He just hates Sakusa.
That isn’t really something extraordinary; he is pretty sure everyone that was unfortunate enough to have their paths cross hates him.
Atsumu thinks he has a lot more right to hate him, though. Like, if people who despise Sakusa’s guts were to form a line to beat him up in an orderly manner, Atsumu ought to be first in line; or in the first five places at least.
The fact that Sakusa is six months younger than him and already this successful due to just literal unabashed nepotism isn’t even the main cause for his disdain —although it does have Atsumu grinding his teeth every time he is reminded of the fact.
It’s more that Sakusa is a specific brand of pure, unadulterated asshole; a bigger one than even Atsumu—which was already a feat in itself. It is just so very easy to hate him. Ask anyone, they’d back him up.
Now, as Atsumu jogs across the office to stay close in Sakusa’s heels with his schedule and pen in hand, he assures himself he’s gotten pretty good at dealing with it as time has passed. Begrudgingly, they’ve worked up to a rhythm with each other, because even if Atsumu is one hundred percent sure the hatred is mutual, Sakusa can’t deny he’s an exceptionally efficient worker and Atsumu is pressed to admit Sakusa is a genius who has the company operating with clock-like precision. They work well together. Be it from the firm’s base in New York, or here from the Tokyo branch, they maintain the company running in tip-top shape and they understand each other.
At the very least, they’re used to each other by now.
Bloodsucker’s in bat form. On the move. Atsumu sends to the group chat in warning before Sakusa rounds the corner. It’s enough to get the entire office working dutifully in silence and not get any unwanted attention from the head editor in question— minus the judgmental side eye Bokuto gets when Sakusa notices him wearing Atsumu’s lilac dress shirt, a massive coffee stain covering it from collar to chest.
Atsumu offers a tight lipped smile to Bokuto before catching up to Sakusa. “Are you going to fire Kourai-kun?” he asks in a low voice because Sakusa headed straight for said editor’s office right after Atsumu let him know who’d been responsible for the Koyama interview failure these past few months. He was the reason Sakusa and Atsumu had been forced to leave New York, the company’s base from where they operate, and fly to Tokyo on short notice to sort the mess out.
Atsumu knew the stormy look in Sakusa’s eyes and frown pulling at his mouth better than his own twin’s face at this point.
Sakusa doesn’t bother to answer but as soon as he pushes Hoshiumi’s door open, he drawls, “Hoshiumi, I’m firing you.”
Hoshiumi Kourai looks up from the iPad on his desk and registers the words for all of three seconds before letting out a single loud cackle, “You can’t do that.”
Atsumu feels bad for the bastard because the thing is, yes, Sakusa absolutely can.
“I absolutely can. Your incompetence from these past few months has brought me a tremendous loss of both time and money for a situation that took one single call to handle. I came all the way from America just for this and I’m not letting this inefficiency fly any longer so, you’re fired. Miya will be sending your settlement details in the next few days. Have a good rest of your morning.”
Just like that, he turns on his heel and exits the office as swiftly as he entered. Atsumu hurries behind him but he’s still able to hear Hoshiumi’s chair scraping forcefully. He cringes internally. Oh, this is going to be nasty. He’d get his phone camera ready if he didn’t know he’d be fired along with Hoshiumi in the next breath for it.
“You fucking dickhead,” Atsumu hears more than sees the entire office snap to attention all around him at Hoshiumi’s words when the editor —or, ex-editor he supposes— steps out into the hall between cubicles, about to give the bored office workers a show to talk about for the entire rest of the workday, at least.
Sakusa merely sighs in exasperation next to him, but he does turn back around to face Hoshiumi. Atsumu has no sympathy for him, of course.
“You think you can just treat everybody like dogshit, that you’re so high and mighty. I did my fucking job! It’s not my fault authors like Koyama are leeches who are willing to stick their necks out only when it’s a last name they recognize talking to them! And I'm not going to bust my ass working overtime for a fucking bloodsucker like you! Some of us do have lives outside this fucking building, though I know that’s hard for you to grasp because outside of Atsumu’s pitiful ass, no one stands to spend a single second more than they absolutely have to with you. I'm glad to be out of this shithole. Fuck you, suckers!” Hoshiumi finishes off by sticking both of his middle fingers up in the air and waving them around so the whole office is able to see. He paces around the office and sticks them in people’s faces.
“Hoshiumi, please shut the fuck up and leave the premises,” Sakusa deadpans, unfazed. “Or I'm going to have to ask Miya here to call security and see to it that they escort you out.”
“Oh, please don’t let it get to that again,” Atsumu mumbles under his breath.
Hoshiumi just shakes the middle fingers in Sakusa’s direction vigorously one last time before storming off. His laugh can still be heard even as the elevator dings and signals Hoshiumi’s departure from the floor.
Atsumu whistles a single sharp note, “Jesus, ya think that one makes it into the ranking?”
“Hm,” Sakusa pretends to think, “Top ten maybe. Extra points for the enthusiasm.”
“Yeah,” Atsumu has to hand it to the shorty, he’s got balls. God knows everyone in the office would’ve given a standing ovation if it wouldn’t have gotten them sent trailing after him and out the door as well.
“Let’s go,” Sakusa taps Atsumu on the shoulder before resuming his return to his own office. “Show’s over, everyone. Get back to work.”
Atsumu signals to Bokuto to send him the video he’d seen him film before the door can get thrown closed in his face.
Just another day at the office.
~
Sakusa Kiyoomi can be described as many things, depending on who you ask, and not very many of them are pleasant. If you were to ask him though, Kiyoomi would probably lead by saying he is two things, first and foremost: feared, and avoided at all costs. That’s just the way he likes it.
He likes order too, and control. He controls the amount of germs that come into contact with his skin day to day, the number of calories he ingests, and the very company he leads. Nothing happens without him knowing about it and consenting to it first.
He trusts very few people with that control, always preferring to take matters that would affect MSBY into his own hands. Miya is one of the exceptions, he supposes, because despite his discomfort, at the end of the day the workload leaves him with no choice but to relegate some of those matters to other people. Miya at least knows how Kiyoomi operates at this point.
Which is why he has no qualms with leaving Miya in his office to deal with the pending workload as he walks at a brisk pace to the top floor where his boss waits for him. Foster has been on Kiyoomi’s case all week about his visa application, one he needs for obvious reasons if he’s to keep working at MSBY’s New York base, and he just wants to get the meeting over with so he can go back to reviewing the pending manuscripts lest he wants to stay behind at the office until 9 p.m. Again.
He enters Foster’s office after knocking twice, not waiting for a response since he knows he’s expected.
“Sakusa,” Foster says in lieu of a greeting, “please, sit down.” He beckons Kiyoomi to the velvety chair in front of his desk but Kiyoomi shakes his head.
“I’m fine. I’d rather we went over this quickly, if you don’t mind? I got some business I need to take care of so just let me know when this visa processing is over with and I’ll be out of your hair—“
“Sakusa,” Foster repeats, a strain to his smile, “you should sit down.”
Kiyoomi pauses, taking in his boss’ expression properly and assessing his words. After a moment he obeys, hesitant. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“Well,” the man tightens his lips, his gray mustache elevating comically with the movement, “I’ve never been one to sugar coat things and neither have you, Sakusa, so I’ll just say it plainly. I’ve just spoken with your immigration attorney and he’s notified me that your visa application has been denied. You left the United States to come here while it was still being processed, something you were strictly told by immigration you weren’t allowed to but did anyway. So it’s been denied.”
Kiyoomi feels dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. It was true, he’d come to Japan while he still couldn’t technically leave the country but he’d done it for an absolutely urgent matter, right? They couldn’t have landed that one book deal if he hadn’t been here. The Koyama interview wouldn’t have been secured, for God’s sake. MSBY Tokyo would very much be in shambles right now without him.
Foster looks at him as if he knows what he’s thinking, and he hardens his expression, “You understand what this means, right? You’re being deported from the United States, Kiyoomi.”
Kiyoomi pushes back his chair roughly and stands up again, letting it tumble to the ground. Foster doesn’t blink, probably expecting this kind of reaction.
“You can reapply for your visa another time, but you still won’t be allowed to go back to the U.S. for at least a year.”
“A year…?”
What the fuck is happening? Kiyoomi scrambles to come up with solutions, but he’s torn between bursting out laughing because this has to be some sort of sick joke, and just flipping Foster’s desk upside down.
“Well I— I could still operate New York from here, right? Online meetings and shit. Everyone’s doing it.”
That’s it. He’ll be fine. There’s no way in hell they will take his position in America away from him. He’s almost single-handedly been in charge of that place for four fucking years. His whole life is there. Tokyo is the company’s branch that from time to time falls under his management too but that’s it, his place is in New York.
Foster, however, simply shakes his head. “You can’t work for an American company if you’re deported.”
“But—“
“I’m sorry, I really am. But until all of this has been sorted out, we will turn operations over to Hoshiumi Kourai indefinitely.”
This time, an ugly laugh does escape him. It’s full of sarcasm and bitterness. He can’t fucking believe this.
“Hoshiumi Kourai,” he repeats, holding back from clutching Foster’s collar and shaking him because he is a civilized human being and also he has a reputation, “the fucker I just fired?”
Foster sighs. “Sakusa, please…”
Kiyoomi runs a hand through his curls, surely disarraying them but not even caring at the moment. There’s sweat running down his temple. Disgusting .
“There has to be a way. Isn’t there any way we can fix this?”
Foster turns both of his palms up on his desk, as if showing Kiyoomi they are empty. “Believe me, we want this situation resolved as much as you do but unless you’re planning to legally marry an american —or naturalized american, I guess— that I’m not aware of then—“
Then, they’re interrupted. The door opens, and in comes Miya Atsumu in all his 6’2” annoying glory. If Kiyoomi is not a believer of divine intervention or cosmic signs from the universe, he might have to rethink his ways starting now.
“Sorry to interrupt Sakusa, but you have an important call on the line. I've put them on hold but—“
An immediate idea takes shape in his mind; it’s one so obvious and batshit he feels like an FBI agent solving a murder. He doesn’t really take the time to ponder on all the ways it’s an extremely bad idea because he doesn’t have that kind of time. He just clings to it like he’s a drowning man at sea and Miya is a lifejacket.
“I am getting married,” he mutters, the words tumbling together in their haste to come out of Kiyoomi’s mouth.
“Pardon?” Foster asks, leaning over his desk as if to hear better.
Sakusa steels himself and motions Miya to come closer. He does, albeit somewhat fearfully. “Sorry, but you’re precisely right. We— we hadn’t really told anyone but, there is something you should know.”
He steps closer to Miya and lays a hand on the man’s shoulder, aiming for natural and missing the mark by miles. Then, he flashes Foster his business smile —fake, rehearsed— and declares more clearly, “I am engaged. We,” he extends his other hand towards Miya and then towards himself, “are engaged. We are getting married.”