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“Legs off the chair.”
Although they were together most of the time—as teammates—it seemed that Atsumu had picked up annoying habits from here and there. Now he was at Sakusa Kiyoomi’s apartment, in his room, reluctantly untucking his leg from the chair.
Sakusa felt restless under the duvet. His eyes were already warm and teary from the fever, and now that Atsumu was here it was the equivalent to a mediaeval punishment.
“Surprising,” he scanned every inch of the room, spinning in the swivel chair. Sakusa had a headache just watching him go round and round, idly letting his feet sweep along the floor. “Thought your room would be more…plain. Ha! You're into F1?”
“Don’t talk. Would you stop spinning around?”
“You hardly let us hangout in your space.”
“I don't live here alone.”
“Are ya saying that Komori-kun wouldn't let us chill here? Is he stricter than your parents? Make up a believable excuse, Omi-kun.”
Indeed, the room was just like any other. The wall above the desk had a green board with everything arranged in an orderly manner; a schedule, a to-do list, a mini calendar, some photographs featuring his siblings who looked a lot different than the frowning weasel over here. He had a bookshelf with various titles, some manga, but the most astonishing part was the row of medals and awards.
“Tch. There's a whole shelf of these in the living room back at your place, but this takes the cake.”
Sakusa turned to face Atsumu, a hint of teasing in his voice. “One for each time we beat Inarizaki in a match.”
Of course it was not true, but Atsumu flipped him off nevertheless. He retorted with his smile, “Omi-san, you’ve not been in good shape lately. Look at you falling sick from a little cold.”
Sometimes he did that. Referring to him with his full name or formalities just to make a point. Sakusa didn’t want to admit that he had gotten used to his other nicknames. “You’re making it worse.”
“Anyway, Omi-Omi. I left the food in the kitchen, Ma sent a bunch of stuff,” Atsumu shuffled through his bag. Sakusa almost suppressed his urge to call the guy a raccoon. “Do you want to order soup or something?”
Since their short break was over, Atsumu’s family generously sent things over for his fellow teammates, especially Hinata who'd be the first one to remind him, and Sakusa, who cleared the plates with an unusual appetite after being picky about everything else outside.
“No, just warm up whatever Ma sent,” he sounded tired as if being pulled into sleep.
Atsumu only hummed in response and drew the curtains close; it was still just a bit bright outside. As he made his way to the kitchen he realised what the guy had said. Ma…?
It was fine. Even Suna, Aran, and the others called his mother “Ma”. Either way, he went to arrange everything back in the refrigerator and cook up what seemed like his best version of porridge. He was probably asleep now. He let the porridge rest on the dining table, still in its utensil. Kiyoomi would throw a fit if he left it on his desk. When he came back to call Sakusa, he was still asleep. The cough syrup that Atsumu had brought earlier was now on the table. No wonder, he had been knocked out for more than two, three hours now.
He peeked from the doorframe; Sakusa’s breathing seemed steady. He inched closer to check on him. A layer of sweat covered Sakusa’s forehead, and his curls had been brushed aside in his sleep, revealing the two moles above his eyebrow.
“Atsumu, done staring?”
Atsumu was startled by his voice. Sakusa only half opened his eyes, lifting his arm to cover his eyes. “Let me sleep some more.”
“Huh…sure,” he couldn’t get his words out.
Doomed, so doomed.
This wasn't the first time, but now that Atsumu became glaringly aware that they were alone together he pattes his pockets to find his phone in need to send the Inarizaki groupchat an emergency text. No, wait. Suna would screenshot the text for future reference. Aran would say something serious that would make him freak out. Of course he thought about Osamu first, but…. he wasn't in the mood of facing himself right now after whatever his brother might say.
A little bit deluded, he needed his own company for a few minutes.
Sakusa even had a medicine cabinet in the kitchen, because of course he did, and after placing the bottle in what seemed like the proper place, Atsumu went back to the room to turn the lights off. With nothing to do, he fell asleep on the desk after playing some idle game on his phone.
Although he heard shuffling in the room, he didn’t stir awake. It felt like this place dissolved the concept of time. When he opened his eyes and tried to move, his head bumped into something…. Cursing, he looked up. The room was still dark, but he recognised the outline of Sakusa’s face just as his eyes took time to adjust to the dark. He cursed some more.
The patient wasn’t pleased after being hit in the face just as he was recovering from a cold.
“What…”
Sakusa, with only half an arm’s distance between them, stared down at him with his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. He spun the chair around with one hand, stopping it just as Atsumu faced him.. Damn, whatever detergent he used worked really well.
Then, he reached for the drawer behind Atsumu, taking out the packet of masks and waving it in explanation. So Atsumu was blocking his way…
“What?”
“What?”
“Miya,” he peeled open the packet, hooking the mask on his face. “Do you have anything to say to me?”
“What?”
“Can you stop repeating that word?”
“Right…ya. You could have just woken me up if I was blocking your way….”
Sakusa drew his words out sluggishly. “Didn’t want to.”
He gathered the duvet and bed sheets, then simply went for a shower without saying all that much. After about ten minutes, the shower turned off. He could hear the hair dryer for another three minutes.
“I’ll just reheat the porridge,” Atsumu yelled right outside the bathroom door.
The shower steam fogged up the mirror in the bathroom. Atsumu was greeted by Sakusa who had opened the door with a swing. He had changed into a loose fitting shirt and sweatpants, and his curls resting lightly over his forehead.
His gaze drifted down to Atsumu’s phone. The screen was still open to the foxes’ group chat, but Atsumu clicked it off with the speed of lightning.
Suna: @ Aran you owe me. Please send the money to this account ^_^
Aran: No, we bet on who confesses first. It hasn't happened yet, right? It’s going to be Sakusa-kun btw. @ Tsumu
Osamu: What’s going on?
Osamu: Atsumu.
Osamu: Call me right now.
Osamu: I’ve put money on this bet too. Don't make me lose, idiot.
Suna: [whistling sticker]
“Your phone keeps buzzing. Aren't you going to answer?”
“Nothing important.”
Just my good friends betting on my love life.
Sakusa sat upright, slowly eating the porridge. Atsumu had to admire his posture even without his love— uh, rose-tinted glasses on. He didn't comment on the taste nor the fact that Atsumu made it. The latter didn't want to mention that he had completely forgotten to taste-test it beforehand but with Sakusa’s expression, it seemed to be perfectly fine.
What could he say? He could have been a chef if not a volleyball player.
Sakusa stared at him without him noticing. “You, eat.”
“What? I made all this for you. I’m not eating porridge for dinner.”
“You made enough for a family of eight. Did you think I was going to be sick the entire week?”
When Atsumu sat to eat, he realised that it was….to sweet. It’s better than being too salty, right? Convincing himself without uttering a word to Sakusa, he swallowed his food. Maybe Omi-kun had lost his sense of taste due to the cold?
[Just between the readers and Sakusa, this wasn’t true]
Anyway, his attention went towards the window. “Rain…?”
“Candy?”
Sakusa paused his food midway, clarifying his words for Atsumu who had been eating with his head down. “It’s drizzling.”
The windows had been shut close, consequently blocking out the sound of rain. There was no trace of the previously burning, orange sun. It had melted behind the sparse clouds and night sky. Atsumu walked over to the balcony and threw a glance at Sakusa.
He put down his chopsticks, ready to clear the plates. “Go ahead.”
“Omi-kun you have recovered with a new personality.” A cool breeze brushed past his cheek.
“If a single drop of rain hits the living room carpet…”
Thud.
The sliding window was immediately pulled close again.
Atsumu had made an attempt at helping him in the kitchen, but the help mainly involved just lurking around in the kitchen like a noisy bee for most part. He talked about things, this and that, mostly about the upcoming matches or other people.
“How surprising that you don’t talk about yourself.”
“Huh? What’s surprising? As you know, I’m really humble.”
“Ha…”
“Amazing setter, the best really,” he went on. “It’s surprising that you’re doing all this by yourself.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Sakusa took the plate from his hand, scrubbing it clean himself.
“You went to a fancy school and everything.”
Sakusa only raised an eyebrow at him and Atsumu had the urge to not fall back as if he had been struck with a mischievous cupid. Curse this pretty spiker.
“Come on, you have a fever. It looks like I’m making you work here, Omi-Omi.”
“No more fever.”
“Really?”
Just as Atsumu was about to raise the back of his palm against Sakusa’s forehead, the latter turned towards him after drying his hands. Startled, Atsumu pulled back. What was even more shocking to him, was Sakusa resting his hand back to his forehead.
“A thermometer is more effective.”
Really, Atsumu felt like he was going through a high school crush all over again.
“You can stay here tonight.”
Atsumu: ?
Sakusa sighed, saying something about how he wouldn’t reach the train station on time to catch the last train back home. And so he headed towards the bedroom to make proper sleeping arrangements for him. Atsumu helped him grab the heavy mattress and plopped it on the ground.
“I could just sleep on the couch, y’know…”
“Not happening. Go take a shower.”
Atsumu, again: ?
He didn’t seem to understand Atsumu’s constant state of malfunction, “Do you really want to sleep in the clothes you travelled in?”
“No…”
Sakusa refused his offer to watch a movie and almost scolded him for suggesting that they play games.
“You slept all evening, how can you still sleep?”
Atsumu tossed his phone aside, bored. He didn’t bother checking all those messages just yet. From the floor, he could only see Sakusa’s silhouette, and wondered if he had already fallen asleep. Should he nudge him with his leg?
He purposely let out a long sigh. What would happen if he had just confessed to Omi right now? He didn’t even understand when it all began; perhaps years ago, at the training camp when he passed by the guy in a ridiculously highlighted green and yellow jacket. One of the top three aces. Blunt, mildly annoying, highly competitive. But then he had taken time to “examine” his feelings under every angle, like a prism in sunlight. And the answer was always that, no matter how many people he looked at, it was only one person. Somehow his intense feelings had softened around the edges. As though Omi, now a part of his “everyday life” was enough for him. He thought about his conversation with Ma, that he wrapped up in a box and tossed away in the back of his mind.
“Do you like someone, Tsumu? Don’t make that face at me. Fine, this advice is for a “friend” of yours. What’s the big deal….if they are thinking so much whether they like the person or not, doesn’t that answer the question? Can you think about someone this much if you hate them?’
Of course, this wasn’t always the case. Emotions were too complicated, or rather, they weren’t simple. For Atsumu, who could just dive in with conviction to grasp whatever he wanted, this was an entirely new world. Funnily, because he didn’t want to deal with it, he just put it aside. He grabbed his phone again, googling “How to confess?” on incognito.
After swiping past a few articles about extravagant displays of affection, he was losing hope. Forget about the news outlets and a fuming manager, he didn’t want to think about how Sakusa would drown him in the ocean if he pulled one of these seaside dinners with a flash mob. Suna would take a front seat at recording the whole thing. Osamu would change his name and close down the shop.
He couldn’t give up. He opened the forum that he had asked a question on nearly three months ago. Completely forgotten, he was surprised that there were a few comments.
> I saw someone confess in front of the entire class…they got rejected.
> Get them a nice bouquet and card.
> OP, are you planning to marry this person ?
The rest gave him various ideas: theme park dates, movies, dinner, yet none felt right, none where he could convince Omi to go with him without raising suspicion.
It was not easy.
.
.
.
Totally not easy, he thought as he stared at Sakusa’s back. Atsumu greeted him with a lazy “Morning.”
“Morning.” His hair had been clipped back, and his brows dipped in concentration for something as simple as cooking up breakfast for the two of them.
Atsumu almost slid down against the wall to collect himself. He didn’t recall falling asleep, but the duvet covered him to a point of making him look like a burrito protected from the cold. He ran his fingers through his hair, still yawning after freshening up.
Their matchbox sized apartment was well lit during the day; the curtains were drawn open to reveal a clear blue sky and plenty of sunlight spilling all over the floor. The plants in the balcony were wet with dew.
“Hime would have liked the place,” Atsumu drags a chair out, making sure to not screech it against the floor.
“Hmm. Not enough space.”
“She’s a cat.”
“And?” Sakusa handed him tea, “Besides, she likes my mother’s company.”
After they ate in silence, Atsumu helped Sakusa clear the table, occasionally feeling a chill as their fingers would casually brush against one another. The weather looked good, and Omi seemed to be doing better today though he didn’t get rid of his mask. It was Atsumu who was down, irritation bubbling within him. It was a Saturday, and the next-door neighbours had a radio placed on the small table in their balcony. Atsumu had left the windows wide open, and the very faint melody of a love song drifted towards their apartment now that Sakusa had stopped vacuuming.
“Well, I’m off now.”
Atsumu clutched his phone and his bag, ready to leave.
Just then, he felt a tug at his arm.
Sakusa pulled down his mask, “Atsumu.”
He leaned closer, meeting Atsumu’s gaze, asking. The latter instinctively closed his eyes, hearing a soft laugh before feeling the touch of his lips on his own. He completely leaned against the door with a thud, pulling Sakusa closer, melting into him. His eyes almost teary with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
And pleasure.
He finally released Sakusa, unable to steady his voice. “Hey, I like you. Go out with me.”
“Sure”
“Okay. Bye.”
He left the apartment, shutting the door behind him.
What…
The elderly lady next door who happened to be returning back to her flat, threw him a curious glance.
“Kid, you ok?”
“Huh? Yeah. Yes ma’am.”
“You seem so familiar. Nevermind. My memory gives me problems,” she dug through her grocery bag, and handed him a cream bun before heading in. “Here, keep it. This one’s good.”
Atsumu stood there with the kind gift just as Sakusa opened the door again. He gently dragged Atsumu in by his elbow, a glint in his eye, “You forgot something.”
“What?”
“That I like you.”
“Oh, go away,” he sank down near the shoe rack. “Fuck off.”
Sakusa sat on his heels, meeting his boyfriend’s eyes, pulling his mask back up. Despite trying to hide his smile, the corner of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly. “What are you thinking, Miya?”
“About a million different ways to kill you. But for now…”
—
Monday, after the team meeting.
Hinata: How did you catch a cold?
Bokuto: Right! Look at Sakusa-kun, always careful.
Atsumu: I am going to kill him.
Sakusa somewhere in the corner: I think he’s in a bad mood today.