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Gumballs.
At the beginning of each week, Sakusa routinely refills the jar at his desk with a new sweet. It’s one of Sakusa’s many habits that Atsumu finds endearing, despite his often harsh exterior. The gesture is sweet (pun intended) enough for the office to forgive him for being a little snappish, and Atsumu reckons that’s the only reason he keeps it up.
He’s been in love with Sakusa for three-ish years, working with him for just a little longer, and he’s still not quite sure how Sakusa landed the receptionist job anyway. He’s polite, but he’s not exactly the poster-child for friendliness. Atsumu can agree that he’s good over the phone with contacts and customers, but in person it’s a different story. He hardly ever smiles, and a few years ago a scowl was the most emotional response Atsumu could produce from him.
Over all the years they’ve worked together, between Atsumu’s shenanigans involving Suga and Kuroo, the awful jokes he makes, and his terrible flirting, he thinks he’s gotten Sakusa to smile more. He still feels like he’s witnessing a miracle each time it happens, though.
He starts off each day greeting Sakusa on his way in, stopping off at his desk to chat with the pretense of snagging some candy. This Monday is no different.
“Mornin’, Omi-Omi.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Sakusa’s words are harsh, but his tone is teasing. Atsumu lights up. Sakusa’s busied himself with some paperwork, his dark curls spilling across his forehead. Even if he’s not the sunniest of receptionists, Atsumu thinks he fits the “pretty” stereotype quite well. His face is flawless, all smooth planes and sharp angles, with two moles over his right eyebrow that urge Atsumu to kiss them. He won’t though, and probably never will. Even though he and Ushijima broke up a while ago, Sakusa would end his life on the spot.
Atsumu quickly averts his eyes to the candy jar, hoping Sakusa didn’t notice him staring. As mentioned earlier, there are a myriad of colored gumballs inside. For once, Atsumu hesitates instead of reaching in.
Sakusa seems to notice this, of all things. He puts his pen down and looks up at Atsumu impatiently.
“What is it, Miya?”
“Ah, nothin’,” Atsumu shakes his head. Though he doesn’t intend to take any candy, he still squirts some sanitizer onto his hands. “Can’t say I’m a fan of bubblegum.”
The flavor never lasts, and Atsumu doesn’t want Sakusa to see him spit unceremoniously into the trash can. Anyone else, sure, but not Sakusa, especially since his desk was directly in Sakusa’s line of sight. That would ward him off for sure.
“That’s a shame,” Sakusa hums. “Me neither, but they’re all I could find last minute.” He also frowns at the jar, and before Atsumu can quickly add that they’re still a good choice, and he can definitely name several others in the office that do like gumballs, Sakusa speaks again. He peers up at Atsumu, his intense gaze making Atsumu feel like his face is on fire.
“What do you like, Miya?”
Atsumu is quick to get flustered, especially when it comes to Sakusa. It doesn’t help that the secretary is watching him closely with his cheek resting on his hand. He looks almost amused, lips twitching just slightly. Atsumu hardly remembers to answer the question.
“Strawberry bon bons.” He finally says. That’s what their grandma would give him and Osamu when she came to visit, and she always had some in her house. They make Atsumu feel at home.
Sakusa, of course, doesn’t know this.
“Interesting choice,” he says, judgmental as usual.
“Sorry they don’t align with yer expensive tastes, city boy.” Atsumu scoffs lightly.
Sakusa only rolls his eyes. “I’ve never had them before.” He glances at Atsumu slyly before returning to the paperwork. “It’s just not what I was expecting.”
Atsumu leans in, resting his crossed arms on the desk — he’s determined to keep Sakusa’s attention. “What were ya expectin’ then?”
“Mm,” Sakusa thinks. “Hot tamales, maybe.”
Atsumu hoots in laughter, and tries to ignore the glare he can feel from Oikawa. “Hot tamales? Omi-kun, I’m takin’ offense ta that. Those are gross!”
“You give the impression of a man that likes gross things,” Sakusa counters, and he does a poor job of hiding the smile sneaking onto his face. Atsumu almost forgets to be mad at him.
“Kuroo! Suga! Are ya hearin’ this?” Atsumu calls back to them.
“Loud and clear,” Kuroo affirms from his desk.
“You’re the only two talking,” Suga adds, clearly unamused. “So if you plan on getting to work anytime soon, you’ll let me know, yeah?”
“Sure thing,” Atsumu ignores the threat in his tone and turns back to Sakusa. He really should get to his desk, but he’ll prolong his time with his favorite coworker as long as he can. “Well, what’s yer favorite then?”
“Sour peach rings.” Sakusa says easily. He hits the stack of papers on the desk, forcing them into a neat pile. “Now get to work, Miya.”
Day by day, the gumballs disappear from the jar. Probably thanks to Oikawa, Yachi, and Bokuto, who love them. A less significant contributor is Kuroo, who just likes to blow bubbles and pop them noisily right next to Suga, who is less than amused at the situation.
“You are not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Suga tells Kuroo after the third pop, the dark-haired deviant grinning innocently.
“I dunno, I think I’m pretty funny, Suga,” Kuroo protests. He looks to Atsumu. “What do you think, Atsumu?”
“I concur,” Atsumu replies. “You are pretty funny, Kuroo.”
“Sakusa!” Suga calls, and Atsumu watches the receptionist look over as though he can’t be bothered. Suga continues anyway. “Back me up here.”
“I’m not here to choose sides,” Sakusa says noncommittally. “You are my daily entertainment after all.”
“You all suck,” Suga stands, miffed. “I’m going to talk to Daichi.”
Atsumu and Kuroo coo in time with one another as Suga storms off. Sakusa covers his mouth with his hand, but Atsumu sees his eyes crinkle above it. It’s the same reaction he’d gotten when Atsumu had put Suga’s stapler in jello. He checks it off as another success.
It’s raining Friday night and everyone’s itching to leave. Sakusa, however, is packing up almost comically slowly, so Atsumu can’t help but notice.
“What’s the hold-up, Omi-omi?”
“Don’t call me that,” Sakusa scoffs. He only seems to remember he’s supposed to hate Atsumu’s nicknames when he’s already pressed about something else. Dutifully, Atsumu stays behind to investigate.
“What’s up, then?” Atsumu repeats. Sakusa rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag and looking as stormy as the weather.
“I parked across the street today,” he admits irritably. “Some bozo took my spot this morning.”
Atsumu doesn’t think he’s ever heard Sakusa use the word “bozo” before, and so he snorts. Sakusa must think Atsumu’s laughing at his misfortune, because he shoots him a leveling glare that sobers Atsumu right up.
“Sorry, Omi,” he says placatingly. “Yer just funny, is all. But I’ll walk ya. I’ve got an umbrella. ‘Samu wouldn’t let me leave the house without it.”
Even though the rain hadn’t been forecasted until tomorrow morning, Osamu had physically barricaded Atsumu from leaving until he accepted the umbrella Osamu had forced into his hands. Atsumu didn’t believe it would rain, but lo and behold it’s pouring so loud they can hear it through the walls, and Osamu tends to be right about these things. Atsumu reckons he can feel it in his balls or something.
Either way, he’s very thankful. Now he gets to spend more time with Sakusa — bonus, doing something nice.
Atsumu is pulled from the memory by the look Sakusa’s giving him. It’s fond, almost, and the smile he offers Atsumu is minimal but it’s there. It’s the best one Atsumu’s pulled from him all week, and he hadn’t even been trying.
“If you don’t mind,” Sakusa nods. “I’d really appreciate that.”
Atsumu escorts him out of the building, umbrella over the both of them. It’s not the biggest coverage, so Sakusa stays close to Atsumu, his nearness doing funny things to Atsumu’s heart. Heat radiates from Sakusa’s body and warms Atsumu down to his toes. He should buy his brother a gift basket.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Atsumu ventures. Sakusa hums thoughtfully.
“Ah, no. I’ll probably hit the store. I’m running low on groceries.”
Atsumu wonders what it would be like to go shopping with Sakusa. The domesticity of it hits him like a truck, makes his whole body feel warm despite the rain.
“Sounds relaxing,” Atsumu finally remembers to reply. “I think Samu wanted me to go with him to Sunarin’s volleyball game.”
“Who?” Sakusa quirks an eyebrow.
“Sunarin,” Atsumu tries to refresh his memory. “Samu’s boyfriend, from—”
“No,” Sakusa interrupts. “I meant, who asked?”
Atsumu stares at him, dumbfounded. He has half a mind to retort before Sakusa does the most incredible thing of all - he laughs at his own dumb joke. His lips part and his eyes squeeze shut as laughter tumbles out of him like an avalanche.
“You should see your face,” he teases, and Atsumu thinks he’s in love.
“Yer unbelievable,” Atsumu rolls his eyes, but grins. “This is how ya repay me for a favor?”
“You offered,” Sakusa reminds him. They’ve come to a stop in front of a silver Lexus. Atsumu remembers three years ago, wondering what Sakusa was doing working as a receptionist at High Queue when he was driving that. Now; he doesn’t question it. He’s just disappointed Sakusa has to go, and Atsumu has to wait another two days to see him.
“I’ll get ya back on Monday,” he promises, and Sakusa chuckles once more.
“Sure you will,” is all he says. A challenge.
Atsumu smiles. “Stay dry, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa hums appreciatively. “You too, Miya.”
The next week, there’s strawberry bon bons in Sakusa’s candy jar. Atsumu can feel his mouth water as his eyes lock onto the red and green wrappers through the glass.
“Mornin’, Omi-kun!” He greets. Sakusa doesn’t look up from his screen, but there’s enough excitement in his eyes for Atsumu to know it’s just for show, and he’s not really paying attention to it.
“Good morning, Miya.”
Sakusa seems to have chosen civility today, perhaps as a peace offering for Friday’s challenge. Atsumu will take it. He appreciates any ounce of kindness he gets from Sakusa.
“You’ve made a pretty good selection this week,” Atsumu tells him with a wide grin. “Your best yet, I’d say.”
“Thank you,” Sakusa says, eyes still glued to his screen. “And take one, already. That’s what they’re for.”
As per Sakusa’s rules, he sanitizes his hands thoroughly before he lifts the lid of the jar to do so. He sneaks a second bon bon at the last moment, losing the internal battle against his conscience.
“Yer the best, Omi-omi.” He beams. Sakusa finally glances up at him, just for a moment.
“Oh, I know.”
Only as Atsumu turns to go does he catch the faintest of smirks on Sakusa’s face.
Later in the day, Atsumu urges Sakusa to try one.
“You’ll like ‘em, Omi,” he insists. “They’re right up yer alley. Not too sweet, kinda tart at first—”
“I’m sensing some implications,” Sakusa muses, interrupting him before Atsumu can add “but they’re real sweet on the inside.” He looks wary, but cleanses his hands to take one anyway. Sakusa is quite possibly the most cautious person Atsumu’s known. He unwraps the thing gingerly, as though it’ll break, and dispenses of the wrapper immediately. He smells it, for fucks sake, gives it the smallest of licks, shrugs, and then pops it into his mouth.
Atsumu waits eagerly for a response. He can tell Sakusa likes it because he doesn’t immediately spit it out, and he closes his eyes thoughtfully to consider the flavor.
“It’s alright,” he finally concedes, which Atsumu has learned is Sakusa-speak for “I love it.”
He cheers, much to the chagrin of everyone else in the office. Suga tells him to shut up and get back to work.
Throughout the day, he finds himself going up to Sakusa’s desk more than usual, each time having a short exchange with his favorite receptionist. Sakusa mostly teases him about how much candy he’s eating and how little work he’s done. Kuroo seems amused by this, Suga less so.
Oikawa, of course, is quick to notice. He pulls Atsumu into his office on Tuesday to lecture him.
“So, Atsu-chan, I hate to be the one to say this, but your productivity has really come down this week—”
“It’s only Tuesday—”
“So I’d like an explanation, if you please,” Oikawa ignores his interjection and looks at him expectantly. Atsumu fights every instinct telling him to look at Sakusa through the window — the bastard is probably so smug right now.
“Guess I’ve been a little distracted,” Atsumu sighs, playing it up. “And tired. My brother’s boyfriends staying at our apartment, so I haven’t slept in a real bed since Friday night.”
This is somewhat true. Atsumu hasn’t been sleeping well, but that’s not because Suna had taken his bed. It’s because their walls are thin, and Osamu and Suna have no shame.
“I see,” Oikawa considers this. “Well, this is no excuse to let your productivity drop. After all, you’re my highest ranked salesperson and you’d hate to let that fall to Tobio-chan, wouldn’t you?”
Atsumu would, but he thinks Oikawa would hate it more. Still, he agrees.
“Yer right, as always,” he plasters an apologetic smile on his face. “I’ll get back on it. It should be better tomorrow. Sunarin’ll have left by then.”
Thank God.
“Oh, I’m expecting you to pick it up today,” Oikawa demands. He leans close, eyes glittering in a threat. “I’ll want ten sales from you by the end of the hour to compensate, so make it quick—”
The phone suddenly rings, interrupting him. Atsumu already knows who it is by the speed at which Oikawa picks up the phone. He adjusts his hair and bats his eyes as though Iwaizumi can see him.
“Iwa-chan!” The change in the tone of his voice almost makes Atsumu snort aloud. “It’s so good to hear from you. Did you get my voicemails?”
“Yes, Oikawa. All six.” Iwaizumi replies stonily.
Oikawa pouts. “And you didn’t call me back?”
There’s a pregnant pause from the other end. “Must have slipped my mind.”
“I’ll never understand how you got to be branch manager with such poor communication skills,” Oikawa scoffs, but his voice is teasing. Atsumu still isn’t sure how long Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s history is — Kuroo says it’s three years, Suga says their whole lives. Atsumu doesn’t know which to believe, but then again, he doesn’t really care either way.
“Maybe because I never listened to your advice.”
Returning his focus ahead of him, Oikawa wordlessly shooes Atsumu away. He sighs and stands with a roll of his eyes. Oikawa is going to forget about this in an hour and spend the whole day over-analyzing his conversation with the branch manager/his best friend. He’ll probably call in Suga to help in about ten minutes.
“We both know I give the best advice, Iwa-chan! After all, who was it that told you to—”
Atsumu closes the door behind him, cutting off whatever Oikawa intended to say next. He finds Suga looking at him triumphantly, Kuroo hiding a laugh behind his hand, and Sakusa seeming greatly amused. To rub it in, Sakusa takes another strawberry bon bon of his own, unwrapping it loudly and shamelessly. He pops it into his mouth with a pleased hum, and, looking Atsumu square in the eye, says,
“You were right. This is the best selection I’ve made yet.”
On Wednesday, around 11:00, Kuroo suddenly stands. Atsumu had watched him fidget for the last few hours, concerned about his strange behavior.
“Oi,” Atsumu raises his brow at him. “What’s up with ya’?”
“Come with me to the break room.” Kuroo says urgently, his face freakishly serious. The sight is uncanny. Even though he pulls a good poker face, Atsumu can tell a real look of concern from a fake one. “It’s an emergency.”
“Yeah, sure,” Atsumu exchanges a look with Sakusa, who looks back and shrugs. Atsumu unwraps the hard candy he’d grabbed from Sakusa’s jar and pops it into his mouth. Somehow, this makes Kuroo urge him along faster. He follows Kuroo to the break room, next to Kageyama’s desk.
“Hey,” Kageyama frowns at Kuroo’s worried look. “Are you wiggin’?”
“Shut up, Tobio,” Atsumu ushers Kuroo through the door, scowling. Once he’s shut it behind him, he looks at Kuroo expectantly.
He’s not sure what could freak Kuroo out so much. The last time he’d reacted like this was when he found a colony of spiders in his basement and called Atsumu over to get rid of them. Atsumu had been no help. Instead he had called Osamu, who called an exterminator.
“What is it?” He asks Kuroo now, arms crossed.
“It’s Sakusa. He’s Pavloving you.” Kuroo insists with the weight of telling someone they were about to be assassinated. Expect Atsumu cannot even begin to fathom what this means. This is not the first time Kuroo has made up words. The urgency of his statement is met with Atsumu’s blank stare.
“What?”
Kuroo tries again. “You’re getting classically conditioned.”
Atsumu doesn’t like the way that sounds. He shakes his head and waves his hand impatiently. “Go back to the other thing. I’m getting what now?”
“There was this famous guy called Pavlov that did a whole lot of psychology research.” Kuroo explains quickly with a myriad of hand gestures. “A lot of his experiments involved a dog’s behavioral reactions to stimuli, meaning—”
Atsumu cuts him off with a yawn. “Yeah, ya already lost me.”
Kuroo sighs and puts his face in his hands. “Bottom line is that Sakusa is manipulating you to start associating the joy you feel from eating the candy with him, without needing the candy.” He grips Atsumu’s shoulders and puts his forehead against Atsumu’s as though his thoughts will transfer through osmosis. “You are the dog. Sakusa is Pavlov.”
“So,” Atsumu pauses. “Yer sayin’ Sakusa’s filled his jar with my favorite candy so I’ll like talkin’ ta him more?”
Kuroo nods. “Something like that.”
There’s a beat of silence between the two of them before Atsumu bursts into laughter.
“Ya can’t be serious, Kuroo,” he has to back away and put his hand on the counter to ground himself. “What would he do that for? I already like talkin’ ta him!”
But Kuroo is serious, and he’s not pleased that Atsumu is not also taking this seriously.
“Sure, but you talk to everyone, Atsumu.” He retorts. With a long pause, he continues. “I think Sakusa might want something more than that.”
Atsumu is stricken. Kuroo thinks Sakusa not only returns Atsumu’s feelings, but he’s trying to psychologically manipulate him into liking him? Atsumu is already entirely obsessed, infatuated, and basically in love with him. He had been for years, even when Sakusa announced his engagement to Ushijima. He hadn’t thought Sakusa was willing to move on yet, but when he thinks about it, it’s been four months. Maybe for Sakusa that was more than enough time to realize that Atsumu has been there in front of him all this time.
“Yer ridiculous,” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Sakusa doesn’t need to Pavlov me or whatever. I already like him, Kuroo. I have for three years.”
At this, Kuroo opens and closes his mouth like a fish. Atsumu is equally stunned.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know!” Kuroo’s suddenly bright red with mortification. “Y’know what, you can ignore everything I said. Forget it. I should just mind my own business—”
When they leave the break room, Atsumu is still laughing to himself and Kuroo has his face in his hands. He slumps down on the desk like a pile of goo as soon as he makes it back. Suga is unimpressed.
“This couldn’t have waited until lunch break?”
“It should have,” Kuroo mumbles into the wood.
On Thursday, Atsumu musters up the courage to confront Sakusa about it. He greets him as usual this morning, but clears his throat as he takes a strawberry bon bon and remains at the desk. Sakusa looks up at him through his long, dark eyelashes, and Atsumu’s words get caught in his throat. If what Kuroo was saying is actually true, it’s working a little too well.
“Yer Pavlovin’ me,” he finally accuses. Sakusa puffs out an exasperated breath of air, looking up at Atsumu with a deadpan expression.
“Miya, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Y’know, the guy who did the experiments with the treats and the dogs and—” at Sakusa’s raised eyebrow, he falters. He points triumphantly at Sakusa’s face. “Never mind. Just know I’m onta ya, Omi-Omi.”
“Sure, Miya.” The phone starts to ring, stopping Atsumu’s retort before he can start. Sakusa puts a finger to his lips and picks up, holding the phone to his ear.
“High Queue Paper Company, this is Sakusa.”
(Atsumu will never tire of that line.)
Still, he continues to stare him down, but Sakusa pays him no mind, only responding to the customer. After a few minutes of this he shoots Atsumu a glare and shooes him with his hand. Atsumu scoffs. He thinks he’s reached his shooing limit for the week.
Ruefully, Atsumu sanitizes his hands, snatches one more strawberry bon bon from the jar, and returns to his desk.
“Smooth,” Suga notes, and Atsumu fights the urge to flick a paper clip at his forehead.
He instead distracts himself by looking over at Sakusa working the register, diligently filling out paperwork and typing into his computer with the occasional phone call to interrupt him, which he always picks up with a trademark scowl. It’s a sight Atsumu’s been blessed to see since Sakusa had started working here and one he will never take for granted. Sometimes Sakusa twirls his own curls while he’s focused, and it makes Atsumu feel like a little boy with a giant, unmanageable crush every time.
He can recall the exact date and time he’d fallen for Sakusa. February 14, 2017, 8:46 a.m. Sakusa had started working at High Queue in November. Atsumu had stumbled in, six minutes later than his usual time. His brother had barricaded the door again so Atsumu would don a coat — it was supposed to snow.
“You’re late,” Sakusa tells him, eyes glued to his computer. Atsumu raises an eyebrow at this, as this kind of behavior was largely uncharacteristic from the receptionist as far as he knew.
Sakusa hadn’t taken to Atsumu well. It made sense — Atsumu was certainly an acquired taste, and Sakusa had only been with them for a few months. Yet with Sakusa it seemed much worse — everything Atsumu did seemed to piss Sakusa off, and Atsumu never quite understood why. Then again, things seemed to have mellowed out some, so maybe Sakusa was ready to turn over a new leaf.
“I’m flattered ya remember, Omi-kun.” Atsumu can’t help but tease. Sakusa rolls his eyes. For the first time, Atsumu notices a pink blush coming to his pale cheeks.
“I appreciate routine,” he replies. “And my name is Sakusa.”
Usually this exchange ends around there, but Atsumu notices, for the first time, a small glass jar filled with tiny candy hearts sitting on the side of Sakusa’s desk closest to Atsumu. A small, pink index card insists that he “take some” in neat, cursive letters.
“What’s this?”
“What does it look like?” Sakusa’s tone is largely unamused, face unreadable as usual.“They’re for you all, anyway, so take as many as you’d like. I’m not putting my hand into that jar where all of your grimy fingers have been.”
Atsumu ignores the backhanded comment and sanitizes his hands before taking a few and knocking them back. “Yer spoilin’ us.” He says, covering his mouth as he speaks, his words somewhat impeded by the candy. “What’s the occasion?”
Sakusa diverts his attention to look at him flatly. “It’s Valentines Day.”
Atsumu stops chewing. He had forgotten entirely. The office had been adorned with pink and red and hearts everywhere since the month began (courtesy of Suga and Oikawa), so when they day arrived he hadn’t even realized it. It’s not like he even has a valentine anyway, so why should he care?
He swallows.
“My bad, Omi. Totally forgot,” Atsumu laughs awkwardly. This is the longest conversation he’s had with Sakusa, and this seems like a strange place to end it, even if Sakusa’s attention is already back on his computer. “Uh, ya got any plans tonight?”
Sakusa sends him another flat look, this one more annoyed.
“I have a boyfriend.”
Atsumu scoffs, both at Sakusa’s reaction and his own stupidity. Of course Sakusa would take it that way, but he should know Atsumu wouldn’t dare — not with said boyfriend being Ushijima.
“I’m not askin’ ya out, I’m just curious,” Atsumu clarifies with an eye roll. Sakusa scowls at him, but decides to humor him nonetheless, taking his eyes off Atsumu to look back at his computer.
“Well, he’s taking off work early so we can go out to dinner at our favorite restaurant. We’ll probably take a walk afterward and talk about our days. Then we’ll stop off for ice cream and we’ll argue over who’s paying for it, he’ll say it’s him because he paid for dinner and I’ll say it’s me because he paid for dinner. Then we’ll go back to my apartment and he’ll spend the night.”
Atsumu forgets to respond. He’s too stricken by the sight before him. The tiniest of pure, fond smiles had crossed Sakusa’s face, and suddenly Atsumu’s worldview shifts just slightly to the left.
Now he’s wishing Sakusa would smile about him like that. There’s something so rare and special about the way Sakusa smiles and it makes Atsumu start to feel dizzy.
“Oh yeah?” Atsumu fights the envy clawing at his stomach. “Pretty standard date then.”
Sakusa scoffs at him, smile disappearing. “Like you could show me a better time.”
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing” Atsumu puts his hands up placatingly. “I think it’s cute. Routine, or whatever you said.”
Sakusa turns his face, dignified, though that rosy blush comes back to his cheeks. He’s probably not pleased that Atsumu thinks anything about him can be cute. He doesn’t respond. The conversation’s over — or so Sakusa thinks. Atsumu takes a few more hearts to bring back to his desk.
“Y’know, Omi-omi, it wouldn’t hurt ta make this a routine too.”
Sakusa huffs. “Don’t call me that.”
It had been a pretty steady descent from there. Now Atsumu is so far gone he doesn’t know which way is up. At least Sakusa likes him now, he thinks. They talk to each other every morning — Sakusa had opened up to him a lot over time. He only lets Atsumu make his coffee when he needs his fix — nobody else. He smiles at Atsumu’s dumb jokes, hides his laugh behind his hand when he and Kuroo prank Suga. He’ll even join in, sometimes. He makes fun of Atsumu picking up the phone, makes fun of his accent, makes fun of his hair. Being subject to Sakusa’s teasing makes Atsumu feel special the way he’s always longed for.
But these are things Sakusa did even when he was with Ushijima. Even if he’s interested in Atsumu, he doubts he loves Atsumu the way Atsumu loves him. He can’t be sure, especially since his breakup with Ushijima was relatively fresh, and they’d been engaged.
“Earth to Miya, you’re still on the clock.”
Suga’s hushed voice startles him. Atsumu whirls around to send him the meanest glare he can muster. Suga looks equally mean, though, and impatient.
“Your phones been ringing for at least a minute, now,” he gestures irritably. “Pick up the damn thing.”
Atsumu hears that the phone has, in fact, been ringing, and he picks it up as quickly as he can under Suga’s judgmental gaze. He barely has enough time to register the Caller ID.
“Hey there, Asahi-kun. What can I do for ya?”
Asahi greets him in return and starts to list off the items he needs, ten orders of cardstock and twenty of printer paper. Azumane (his designer brand) was one of Atsumu’s many sales conquests. He’d scored regulars like Asahi’s company and kept them for years, bringing in profit like nobody’s business. He’s not their best ranked salesperson for nothing.
He jots down Asahi’s orders as he listens to Asahi talk about his new project.
“—but I can’t say much. Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“‘Course, Asahi-kun. But you’ll let me know when those hats come out, would ya? It’s gettin’ cold out, and Sunarin’s stolen all of mine.” Atsumu knows he talks expressively on the phone, his whole face reacting along with his voice. He knows Sakusa finds this amusing, and can feel the guy’s eyes on him from the side. His skin prickles and his cheek feels warm.
Asahi laughs at this. “It’ll be my pleasure, Miya. I’ll talk to you soon.”
When he hangs up the phone, Atsumu puts it back on the holder with a satisfactory click.
“Happy now?” He quirks an eyebrow. Suga rolls his eyes and gets back to his paperwork. He thinks Suga will leave it at that, but of course, he always has something to say.
Under his breath, he mutters, “maybe you’d be more productive if you quit daydreaming about our receptionist and actually asked him out.”
Atsumu shushes him, but Sakusa’s not even paying attention. He’s on the phone again, frantically writing something on his paper.
“Are ya kiddin’?” Atsumu hissed. “He’ll eat me alive!”
“He likes you, Miya,” Suga rolls his eyes. “It’s so obvious it’s painful. I’m sick of seeing you two dance around each other every day.”
Kuroo, still miffed that he hadn’t realized, pipes in, “you’re one to talk, Kou.”
“I do not like Daichi like that.” Suga retorts, except he’s blushing furiously and Kuroo hadn’t even said the guy’s name. He points between Atsumu, Kuroo, Sakusa, and Oikawa’s office. “He’s the only one who agrees that you all are insane and emotionally constipated.”
Emotionally constipated my ass, Atsumu thinks. Especially when Suga’s been in love with Daichi just as long (if not longer) as Atsumu has Sakusa and is still in denial.
“Ya really think he likes me?” Atsumu says seriously. Suga just groans and drags his hands down his face.
“He might as well take those candies and spell out ‘I love you’ on your desk,” he deadpans.
Atsumu is struck with a plan.
“That’s not a bad idea, Suga.”
“Don’t go yet, Omi. I got somethin’ for ya.”
After everyone’s left on Friday, Atsumu brings Sakusa his present in a gift bag. Sakusa stares at it warily, as though something might jump out of the pale, sparkly tissue paper. He looks at Atsumu shrewdly.
“What’s this? You know I hate surprises.”
Atsumu smiles painfully. He remembers his first attempt at trying to get Sakusa to like him by planning a surprise birthday party for him. Sakusa had punched him in the face as a reflex and ended up spending most of his party fussing over Atsumu’s blooming black eye.
“You’ll like this one.”
Sakusa sends him one last suspicious look before he takes the bag from Atsumu. He gingerly removes the tissue paper until one corner of the plastic bag is revealed. He pauses, then turns to look at Atsumu. He nods encouragingly. Sakusa shakes his head, sighs, and takes the corner of the bag from the tissue paper.
“If this is one of your pranks, Miya, I’ll throttle you myself—”
Sakusa looks at the bag of sour peach rings in a stunned sort of awe. It’s cute, the way pink starts to dust his cheeks. Atsumu could watch him forever.
“You were sayin’?” He teases. Sakusa, proficiently shocked the way Atsumu had been that day in the rain, holds the bag close to his chest as he looks at Atsumu again. His eyes are sparkling in the way Atsumu had rarely seen them do before. The smile on his face is joyous, but sneaky.
“Are you Pavloving me, Atsumu?” He chides.
“Omi, yer ridiculous.” Atsumu laughs. The use of his given name doesn’t miss him. “I’ve always liked ya, ya crooked, scheming bastard.”
Sakusa looks at him funny, as though he thinks he’d misheard, but Atsumu just smiles insistently back at him. Yes, he’d said that on purpose and yes, he means it.
“Always?” He repeats breathily.
“‘Course,” Atsumu tries to pretend like his heart isn’t racing. “It’s hard not ta like ya, Omi-omi.”
Sakusa looks incredulous, like he’s going to retort that notion, but he stays quiet and thoughtful. His face is neutral but his eyes still glitter with excitement and cheeks are so pink Atsumu wants to cup them with his hands. He doesn’t say anything, and they simply watch each other. Atsumu waits with bated breath.
Sakusa finally moves, but it’s just to set the peach rings down and step around the desk to stand closer to Atsumu.
“I wasn’t trying to classically condition you.” He teases, his smile growing. “I just thought maybe you’d take the hint. I should have remembered you and Kuroo pass around one collective brain cell.”
Despite the jibe, Atsumu is still caught on the “take the hint” part. He is nothing short of flabbergasted. “You like me too?”
Sakusa huffs, as if he’s just asked the dumbest question ever.
“Miya,” he pauses, then corrects himself, “Atsumu. I don’t talk to anyone else the way I talk to you. I wouldn’t let anyone else in this stupid office walk me to my car, or buy me peach rings,” he gestures to the incriminating bag, “or make my coffee. Sure, you annoyed the fuck out of me at first and I thought your stupid twang was a sales ploy to get customers—” the face Atsumu makes at this is hysterical “but you’ve been the most obliging to me since I got here. You never forget to clean your hands before you touch anything on my desk and you always respect my boundaries. You’ve always done the most to make me feel included no matter how much I protested or snapped at you or ignored you. And the best part is you don’t even have to think about it — you just do it all without a second thought.”
Atsumu feels like he’s listing the bare minimum, here. “Well, my mama raised me to have some manners.”
“She raised you well.” Sakusa agrees. “But you put yourself on my radar and I couldn’t get you off of it. I mean, why do you think I cut things off with Wakatoshi?”
Atsumu’s jaw hangs open. That’s it. Now he’s just gobsmacked.
“You broke up with—” he stammers. “Because of me?!”
“Oh, don’t feel bad.” Sakusa rolls his eyes. “We weren’t good for each other anyway. If we stayed together neither of us would have changed at all. But you, Miya Atsumu, are changing me for the better.” He offers Atsumu a small, lopsided grin, with teeth. “Or at least, I hope so.”
Atsumu feels like he needs to sit down, one thing after another surprising him more and more. Sakusa had broken up with Ushijima for Atsumu? Well shit. He’s going to let that get to his head, as soon as he recovers from the shock of it all.
“Omi,” he says faintly. “I think I might die.”
Sakusa scoffs as he snatches the peach rings from his desk.
“At least walk me to my car, first.”
Atsumu finds the strength to walk, though his head still spins. His head feels like it’s full of cotton and his mouth opens and closes wordlessly like a goldfish. Sakusa lets him suffer in silence, but is clearly amused. He makes it to the front of the building before he musters the courage to ask.
“Can I kiss ya, Omi?”
Sakusa looks like he’s thinking awfully hard about it, but it’s all for show. He’s biting back his grin because he already knows the answer.
“I think you should.” He finally, finally answers. Atsumu beams. He is in heaven. Or a dream. He only knows it’s real because if this were a dream they wouldn’t be standing outside of their workplace by Sakusa’s car while the sky is grey and the parking lot smells like wet asphalt.
He closes the distance between them. Sakusa reaches up to Atsumu’s face, cups it in his hand, and Atsumu can feel himself melting into the touch.
“Ya sure know how ta woo a guy, Omi.”
“Maybe I’ve just Pavlov’d you,” Sakusa hums, and he’s the one that leans in to chase Atsumu’s lips. Distantly, Atsumu thinks, for three whole years? Ya couldn’t have but that’s the only thought he can manage with Sakusa’s lips on his own, soft and warm.
Sakusa kisses slow and deep, as though savoring every moment. He can feel Sakusa exhale in relief through his nose, and he would tease him, if he weren’t doing the same thing. Finally.
Kiyoomi tastes like strawberry bon bons.
Tooru closes the blinds and curses, holding the phone to his ear.
“Well shit, Iwa, I can’t leave now! They’re making out in front of the door!”
“Oh, just wait it out. They won’t be there all night.” Iwaizumi says impatiently. “Just give them a talking-to on Monday about PDA on company property—”
Tooru snorts, interrupting him.
“You’re one to talk, Iwa-chan.”
“Not funny,” Iwaizumi huffs, and Tooru can practically hear him blushing. “I’ll let you know when I get on the train tonight, okay?”
Tooru sighs at the familiarity of it. “Sounds good, Iwa-chan. Don’t get mugged, or I’m legally obligated to make fun of you.”
“I’m not sure that’s how that works—”
But Tooru hangs up before he can finish. With a heavy exhale, he looks out again at the couple in the parking lot. They’re not kissing anymore, thank god, but they’re grinning stupidly at each other and Atsumu’s laughing up a storm and well—
Tooru misses it.
Sure, they’ll get a talking-to on Monday. But if they slip away during parties and hold hands during meetings and make fun of each other’s casual Friday outfits . . .
Tooru will turn a blind eye. Stupid Iwa-chan. Let people be in love, for fuck’s sake.