Archive of Our Own

The bar had no real name. Not officially, anyway. A name, like every name, held power. Those who knew of it just called it Miya’s, whispered with the kind of reverence reserved for places out of fairytales, for places that shouldn’t exist. And perhaps it didn’t, not entirely at least.

Tucked between an abandoned konbini and a laundromat that hadn’t run a cycle since the eighties, the entrance looked mundane. Just an unassuming wooden door embedded in the wall, no sign, no hint at what lay beyond. But those with the right eyes saw the shimmer, the way the shadows seemed to curl tighter around the doorframe, how the scent of rain-washed stone and sweet summer wine clung to the threshold, even on ordinary nights.

The ones who stepped through that door? They were rarely just human.

Miya Osamu stood behind the bar, lazily slicing fruits into translucent moons, each piece stacked into a neat little tower on a silver tray. His fingers moved with practiced grace, a faint glow tracing the veins beneath his skin.

Across from him lounged Suna Rintarou on a barstool, swirling something golden in a glass and periodically swiping a bite or two from Osamu’s silver platter while Osamu pretended not to notice. A faint fox tail flickered ethereal like a mirage in and out of existence behind him.

“Careful,” Osamu said without looking up. “You’ll spook the humans.”

Suna snorted. “They’re not even here yet.” The evening was still young, so the bar was mostly empty, save for Osamu and Suna and a few supernatural regulars sitting around at the various booths and tables. Some of them exuded that otherworldly aura more obviously than others. Soon the bar would be buzzing with all kinds of customers. Customers who were led here by fate or their own desires, looking for something…different. Something special. Other.

“They’re close.”

The kitchen door behind the bar slammed open, as Miya Atsumu stepped through in all his glittering glory. Miya Atsumu was a problem, and no one knew it better than his own twin Osamu. Today appeared to be particularly problematic. Atsumu was in one of those moods.

“Hey ‘Samu! Do you feel it? Can you feel it, too? Today is gonna be good.” Atsumu exclaimed excitedly, practically vibrating in place when he stepped behind the bar beside Osamu.

Atsumu felt it —an insistent buzz beneath his skin, electric and promising. Something was coming. Something interesting. Something that would hopefully spark his interest and finally give him a challenge after years of stupid, boring humans falling way too easily for his games and tricks. Most of the time Atsumu wasn’t even bothered enough to try anymore because frankly his heart wasn’t in it. He needed someone to reignite his love for the game. The prickling feeling thrumming through his veins gave him hope that the time had finally come.

Where Osamu was quiet and deliberate, Atsumu was all brilliant grins and sharp angles. His hair glowed faintly golden in the low light, a charm woven into each strand to draw attention, and his smile was too wide and too white. It wasn’t designed for comfort, but for curiosity. People didn’t trust Atsumu, they wanted him. And that was dangerous. Because if they wanted Atsumu they’d basically already lost.

Tonight, Atsumu prowled the bar like a cat stalking its prey, eyes alert and ready to pounce at the slightest show of weakness. There was too much energy crackling off him in little static pops. He felt almost high on it, like he could do anything tonight.

“I already feel sorry for the poor soul who will be your plaything tonight and inevitably will lose themselves to you.” Suna remarked without any real empathy. He tried to steal another one of Osamu’s orange slices, but this time Osamu slapped his hand away playfully, earning him a huff as Suna retreated.

“Enough. But really, ‘Tsumu, don’t overdo it tonight. I don’t wanna get chased out of the city by an angry mob again like last time when you were in one of your moods.” Osamu didn’t show it, but he was worried that one day Atsumu would land himself in real trouble if he wasn’t careful. Not everyone took kindly to getting tricked by a fae, getting bound to one while losing their own autonomy and self. The saying ‘Pride goes before a fall’ was rather fitting for Atsumu—and Atsumu was flying quite high for the last couple hundred years. He was bound to fall some time.

Atsumu rolled his eyes, dismissing Osamu’s concerns. “That was one time and—”

Atsumu’s oncoming rant was cut off by the bell tinkling above the door. It rang sharp and crystalline, like laughter down a well, announcing the arrival of new guests and potential victims to Atsumu’s schemes.

Osamu’s eyes flicked up at the sound, automatically reaching for another fruit. Not to slice, just to have something to do and occupy his hands, trying to keep up the appearance of an ordinary barkeeper.

Atsumu stopped and studied the newcomers curiously.

One was an open book—charming, polite, very human. He had brown hair and thick, round eyebrows with a smile that lit up the room. The bar would love him. He was easy prey.

But the other one?

He was something else.

He was tall, with black curly hair and two pretty moles sitting on the right side of his forehead. He exuded an aura of controlled disdain as he looked around the bar like it physically assaulted his senses.

A devilish smile took over Atsumu’s face. He smelled mischief in the air. And the scent was coming from the brooding human.

Sakusa Kiyoomi walked into the bar like he’d been dragged there under threat of violence. Which, in a sense he had. His cousin Komori Motoya, practically skipping behind him with all warm eyes and sunshine energy, was pushing him through the door with the determination of a stubborn donkey.

“This place is…sticky,” Sakusa said, eying the dimly lit room like it might try to trap him or eat him, like a venus flytrap. In a sense he wasn’t entirely wrong with this assessment.

“It’s charming,” Komori replied undeterred.

“It’s dusty.”

“It’s vintage.”

Indeed, the bar had its very own charm. Dark wooden tables and a polished bar, accentuated by flecks of burgundy décor. There was something inviting to it, tempting one to stay for a while or maybe longer.

Atsumu slid up to the bar as the two humans sat down. His eyes, shimmering with the colour of melted honey, settled on Sakusa.

“Well, hello,” he purred. “Haven’t seen you ‘round before.”

Sakusa studied the man leaning behind the bar, taking in his glowing eyes, the faint gold glimmer of his hair and the devilish smile across his lips.

Goosebumps erupted across his skin, hairs standing up in a quiet warning. He narrowed his eyes briefly before huffing. Something was off about the guy. He was too handsome, too perfect to be real. Too good to be true. Sakusa didn’t trust that.

“That’s because I’ve never been here,” he replied dryly.

Komori grinned, seemingly oblivious to the strange aura the blonde was putting out, looking from his cousin to Atsumu. “Sorry. He’s not big on bars. Or people. Or anything, really,” he explained.

“I like peace and quiet,” Sakusa muttered, his brows coming down in a frown.

Atsumu was undeterred by the standoffish nature of this human. He found it rather refreshing. He was hopeful that toying with him tonight would be worth it. Leaning in with his chin resting on one hand, his grin was positively feral as he locked his gaze on Sakusa. For a second the air shimmered like heat haze, his eyes gleaming a bit brighter and his hair shining like liquid gold. “Not a problem, sweetheart. Can I get your name, stranger?”

Sakusa blinked at him, briefly shielding his eyes as if temporarily blinded by the glow, before raising one slow, condescending eyebrow.

“What is this, Starbucks? No.”

The word dropped like a coin in a well, echoing in Atsumu’s mind. No. Atsumu faltered, his chin slipping from his hand. “What?”

“No. I’m not giving you my name. That’s weird,” Sakusa reiterated.

Atsumu stared for a beat too long, as if deciding whether he’d just been insulted or challenged.

Komori glanced between them, his eyes darting around like he was watching the back and forth of a tennis match.

Across the bar, Osamu snorted, busying himself with polishing glasses and pretending he wasn’t shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. He muttered under his breath to Suna, "Either the bravest or dumbest human to walk in here this month."

Suna actually laughed out loud, cackling like a fox, a sly glimmer in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Atsumu was shut up so effectively.

Atsumu shot a warning glare at Suna and Osamu, daring either of them to say another word.

“You’re serious?” Atsumu asked, narrowing his eyes at Sakusa.

“Dead serious.”

“…You do know most people fall over themselves to give me their name, right?” Atsumu asked, raising his brows.

“That’s their mistake.” Sakusa rolled his eyes, already fed up with the conversation. If it were up to him, he’d be at home now, cuddled up in bed with his favorite anime. Not here. Not in this strange bar that made his hackles rise and the back of his neck prickle from invisible eyes. No, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be talking to a shady barkeeper that looked like he had bathed in glitter, with how much he sparkled.

Osamu’s snort turned into a cough. Suna’s laughter doubled. Atsumu shot them another glare that could peel paint, then returned his focus to Sakusa with a grin that was just a little too sharp now.

“Oh, come on. I gotta know what to call you,” he tried again, batting his glowing eyes that humans usually couldn’t help but to stare and fall into.

“You can call me ‘sir,’ or ‘customer’,” Sakusa said unimpressed, not even sparing Atsumu another glance, as he picked up the drink menu from the bar. “…or someone who didn’t ask for small talk,” he murmured under his breath.

Atsumu’s smile twitched. “Oh, you’re a tough one. I like that.” He said, pointing at Sakusa.

“Good for you.” Sakusa kept scanning the drink menu, noting the strange drink names written in elegant script. Half of these sounded like death wishes or incantations. The rest like they’d give him food poisoning.

Komori started nervously laughing, aware of the tension between them. “He’s not doing it to be difficult, I promise, he’s just like this all the time.”

Atsumu tilted his head. “So that’s what you are. The kind who doesn’t mean to insult, but does it anyway”

“No,” Sakusa said again. “I mean to.”

Komori groaned beside him, shaking his head in disbelief. Sometimes his cousin was just insufferable. There was a gorgeous guy obviously interested in him and he just shut down any attempt at flirting.  “Kiyoomi, seriously, can you at least try to be polite?”

Sakusa gave his cousin a withering look. “I am being polite.”

Atsumu froze for the barest moment, an electric tingle running up his spine and leaving goosebumps in its wake when he heard the name. A smile spread slow and wide on his face, he looked like a cat that got the mouse.

“Kiyoomi, huh?” Atsumu’s voice took on a sultry tone, cradling Sakusa’s name like it was something precious.

An involuntary shudder ran through Sakusa when he heard his name in Atsumu’s mouth. For one treacherous second, he didn’t hate it. Beneath the bar counter, his fingers tightened briefly into fists, as if strangling the impulse before it could take root. Sakusa shot an icy glare at Komori. Komori had at least the decency to look a bit sheepish, a silent apology in his eyes.

Atsumu just chuckled, fixing Sakusa with hooded eyes. “Nah. Kiyoomi’s too stiff. I think I’ll just call ya Omi.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late,” Atsumu sing-songed, triumphant. “Now I gotcha.”

“You don’t got anything.” Sakusa huffed. “No one calls me that.”

Atsumu’s eyes sharpened in an instant taking on a predatory glint disguised behind a lazy smile.

“Of course not. They don’t get to call you that. Just me.” His tone was deceptively soft, but it carried a possessive, even delighted weight, that slid cold down Sakusa’s spine. 

“…Great,” Sakusa said, dry as ever and suppressing a shiver. “My life is complete.”

Atsumu’s grin got impossibly wider, his stare intense. Ohh. He was going to have so much fun.

“Well then,” he murmured, tapping the drink menu in Sakusa’s hands, voice dripping with challenge, “pick your poison, Omi. On the house. Just say you owe me one.” He winked.

“Absolutely not.” Sakusa shot back immediately.

The words hit Atsumu like a slap. Again.

From the corner, Osamu let out a low whistle, turning to Sakusa and Atsumu. “Y’know, I’ve seen people say no to ‘Tsumu before, but usually they’re runnin’ for the door right after.”

“Or carried out,” Suna added helpfully, his eyes flicking from Komori to Sakusa to Atsumu. Komori studied Osamu and Suna curiously, the wheels in his mind continuously turning.

Atsumu decided to ignore his traitorous brother and best friend, his brows shooting up in indignation.

“Why not?!”

The outrage was genuine, as if 'no' was a foreign word and hearing it twice in one night was a declaration of war.

“Because owing you something sounds like the start of a horror story,” Sakusa said, wrinkling his nose. However, that just earned him a slow blink and a low, far too pleased chuckle from Atsumu.

“Rude,” Atsumu countered, though his grin widened. “Are all your kind this charming, or did the gods just make you special?”

“Do you want my drink order,” Sakusa said, raising an eyebrow “or my opinion on your pick-up lines?”

For a beat, Atsumu just stared, but before he could retort with another snarky reply, Sakusa beat him to it, cutting in with an “I’ll take a water,” as he set the menu aside.

Sakusa demonstratively turned to Komori, seemingly done with Atsumu.

Atsumu pouted. It was just getting interesting. Suna patted his arm in mock sympathy, though his efforts were only met with a sharp glare.

Meanwhile Komori gaped at his cousin. “You’re ordering water? In a place like this?”

“Especially in a place like this.”

“You’re impossible.” Komori shook his head.

“I’m still alive,” Sakusa said, “which is more than I can say for whatever idiot orders something called The Last Wish.”

“That’s probably just a funny pun,” Komori offered.

“So is Angel’s Trumpet.” Sakusa remarked, glancing at Atsumu from the corner of his eye. “Still kills you.”

From his corner behind the bar, Osamu muttered, “He’s not wrong.”

Atsumu leaned back, eyes fixed on Sakusa, studying him with an unreadable look. He had a small grin on his lips, but it wasn’t quite as casual anymore. Atsumu couldn’t stop looking at this prickly human, drawn in despite himself.

“Y’know, you’re harder to crack than an iron wall,” he said, staring at Sakusa.

“Oi, shut up. We don’t appreciate iron around here,” Osamu called, pointing an accusing glass he was in the middle of drying, at Atsumu.

Atsumu leaned over the bar, glowing eyes set on Sakusa. “Come on, Omi. You don’t look like the kind of guy who says no to everything— and there’s nothing wrong with accepting a drink from a handsome bartender, like me.”

Atsumu liked the way that name felt on his tongue— Omi. It sounded intimate coming from his mouth, like a little secret or inside joke between them. Something that bound him to this beautiful human in front of him. Atsumu’s first genuine smile curled faintly on his lips.

“You’re glowing,” Sakusa said flatly. “I don’t drink anything handed to me by someone who looks like a cursed chandelier.”

Atsumu’s little romantic bubble popped abruptly, and he was confronted with the harsh reality. Sakusa was a rude, prickly asshole.

Suna nearly fell off his stool, choking on his drink. Osamu snorted, one hand smacking Suna’s back to keep him from choking for real. Komori coughed into his fist to badly hide a laugh. 

Atsumu’s smile twitched. Cursed chandelier? He’d been called enchanting, deadly, deliciously wicked — but never that. But then he glanced back at Sakusa and saw a faint smirk playing around his lips. Atsumu’s features softened a bit at that, but he wasn’t giving up that easy. No human could resist him for long and Atsumu was now invested. He would win this game and his heart.

Atsumu rallied, his grin snapping back into its usual feral edge. “Ouch,” he said, hand over his heart looking at Sakusa with mock hurt and his best kicked puppy look. “You wound me, Omi.”

“You’ll live,” Sakusa replied.

Atsumu huffed. “Fine. No free drink for you. But let me make it up to you. What if I offered you a favor? Just a little one. A token of apology for oversteppin’.” Atsumu’s aura shimmered faintly, his usual smile firmly in place again.

Komori’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned towards Osamu and Suna. Sakusa and Atsumu seemed to be in their own world anyway, so focused on each other that they didn’t even notice.

“So…what’s the catch?” Komori asked the two.

Osamu and Suna exchanged a look. Osamu gave him a slow once-over, like he was testing if Komori was ready for the answer. Without looking directly at Komori he pulled up a glass and filled it with a colorful, fizzy drink that smelled absolutely heavenly. He put in a fancy little umbrella and some intricately cut fruit before pushing it towards Komori.

Finally, Osamu looked at Komori, raising an eyebrow. “It’s ‘Tsumu. The catch is yes.”

Komori tuned back into the other conversation, sipping his own free drink, to hear Sakusa’s reply.

“Absolutely not,” Sakusa said. “That’s worse.”

“Worse? How?” Atsumu sputtered, frowning.

“Anyone who offers favors that easily is hiding the fine print. You reek of strings attached,” Sakusa said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  Atsumu’s jaw dropped at the pure audacity of this human.

The bar went quiet, the air tightening as a few other patrons exchanged looks and sent curious glances toward them. A low 'oooh' carried through the bar. The shadows seemed to stretch, curling around Sakusa, not in menace, but fascination. No one had ever spoken to Atsumu like this and walked away untouched. Komori let his eyes wander around the bar trying to get a better look at the other customers, but each time he thought he saw something strange—a flicker, a shimmer—they quickly turned away and avoided eye contact.

“Did he just…” Suna’s mouth quirked, his eyes flicking between Sakusa and Atsumu. “Yeah. I think he did.”

Atsumu snapped his mouth closed, taking a deep breath to collect himself and think about a new strategy. His jaw clenched, his smile taking on a forced edge. He finally straightened, rolling his shoulders like he was limbering up for a match.

“Alright, Omi. 'Plain water', comin’ right up.”

Osamu’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowed. “That’s just water, right? Not… capital-W Water?”

Atsumu gave his twin an innocent look far too polished to be real. “'Course it’s just water. I’d never serve somethin' else without consent.”

Suna snorted into his drink. “Since when?”

Komori’s gaze ping-ponged between them, brows knitting. “Do I even want to know what capital-W Water is?”

“No,” Osamu and Suna said in unison, turning to Komori, their faces conspicuously blank.

Atsumu, ignoring all of them, moved with deliberate slowness. He poured the drink from a tall glass decanter that seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light, the liquid catching every glint like starlight. When he slid it toward Sakusa, he didn’t immediately let go of the glass.

“Can’t let a guest drink alone,” Atsumu said with a smile that was all sharp teeth in silk.

Atsumu grabbed a glass for himself, filled it with the same ‘Water’ he used for Sakusa’s drink, then lifted it between them. When he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate in the room, his tone melodic and light, ringing like distant bells.

“By moon and starlight, by word and by name. I drink to chance meetings… to rare guests who make the night worth remembering…”

Sakusa eyed the drink still standing untouched before him, unimpressed.

Komori tilted his head, expression caught somewhere between that’s romantic and that’s a cult ritual, as he leaned toward Suna whispering, “Is he hitting on him or hexing him?”

“Could be both,” Suna shrugged.

Atsumu’s voice softened, each word chosen carefully, his eyes deep pools of honey threatening to trap one.

“…to eyes like obsidian and a spirit that won’t bend—”

“Stop,” Sakusa cut him off before the sentence could land. He nudged the offered glass back toward Atsumu with pointed fingers. “I don’t need your pretty words.”

Atsumu blinked, his mouth still half-open around the next sugary word. The air between them rippled, tension snapping like a paper getting torn in half.

From down the bar, Osamu muttered, “Dodged it clean.” He had a contemplative look on his face as he studied Sakusa. Pulling out another glass, he filled it with plain, ordinary water, and slid it to Sakusa without further comment.

Suna grinned like he was watching the world’s slowest car crash. “I was two syllables away from betting the bar on Atsumu winning.”

Komori, frowned, leaning toward Suna. “Wait—was that supposed to be dangerous?”

Suna didn’t look away from Atsumu’s stunned face. Then he slowly turned to Komori, pinning him under his gaze. “Nahh. Don’t worry. Clearly, your cousin can look after himself.” Komori didn’t think he imagined the sharp canines he saw peeking out from Suna’s mouth as he grinned.

Atsumu’s smile slid back into place tighter this time. Though his eyes didn’t sparkle with anger but something stranger—amusement, hunger and curiosity. Strangely enough Sakusa’s eyes seemed to mirror Atsumu’s feelings.

“Ohh, Omi. You knew what I was doin’ and still broke it? That’s just rude.”

“Good,” Sakusa said, finally reaching for the glass Osamu had poured him, taking a measured sip, his eyes never leaving Atsumu.

“I like being rude.” Sakusa briefly nodded to Osamu in acknowledgement, before his gaze fixed on Atsumu again. Sakusa let his gaze wander across his face, taking in the glint of his eyes, resting on his plush lips for just a beat too long.

Atsumu laughed under his breath, low and warm, looking at Sakusa from hooded eyes. “Then this is gonna be fun.”

Atsumu recovered fully from the failed toast with a grin that screamed trouble. He didn’t seem to want to give Sakusa any break today.

“Guess you’re not the drinkin’ type,” Atsumu said lightly, leaning over the bar. “That’s fine. I’ve got other means to get what I want. And I always get what I want.”

Sakusa leaned in too, closing the space between them. But before he could ask what the hell that meant, the bar’s low chatter dipped. A flute started playing a hypnotising melody accompanied by ominous drums. The music moved through the room when the side stage lights in the corner of the bar warmed to life, bathing the room in shimmering golden light.

A three-piece band materialized from the shadows, all dressed in deep velvet and silk. The lead singer’s smile was too wide, his sharp teeth catching the light. The flute player’s long fingers moved with hypnotic precision, and the drummer tapped out a beat that felt like it was syncing with Sakusa’s pulse.

“You have…live music here?” Komori asked, eyes darting between the stage and Atsumu, Osamu and Suna.

“Sometimes,” Osamu said, lighting up some candles placed around the bar and the tables as if this was routine. Komori’s fingers started tapping against his thigh with the beat before he noticed and forced them still.

“Translation,” Suna added, gesturing vaguely toward Atsumu, “whenever Atsumu gets in the mood to show off.”

The band launched into something upbeat and rhythmic, the kind of song that gripped your heart, making your entire body thrum with the beat and your feet itch to move.

Atsumu’s gaze slid back to Sakusa, golden eyes burning with the heat of the sun, lighting Sakusa’s skin on fire and letting a pleasant warmth settle in his stomach.

“Come dance with me, Omi,” Atsumu said, holding out a hand. His voice was low and smooth, like honey in warm milk, and threaded with something that made Sakusa’s neck prickle in warning.

“No,” Sakusa replied instantly quickly looking away from Atsumu and breaking the enchanting charm of his eyes he almost had lost himself in. He could feel the wish to accept Atsumu’s invitations getting stronger, the wish to get closer to him, to get to know him and figure him out. It was getting harder to ignore the pull he felt towards Atsumu, but Sakusa was nothing if not stubborn and determined.

Osamu smirked; the flames of the candles reflected in his eyes and a shimmer settled around him. “Fastest rejection yet. That’s gotta be a record.”

But Atsumu wasn’t deterred. He leaned in even closer to Sakusa over the bar, the glow of his hair catching the light in molten waves, eyes dropping to Sakusa’s lips.

Sakusa could feel Atsumu’s breath caressing over his lips as he coaxed, “Don’t think of it as dancin’. Think of it as… lettin’ the music borrow you for a minute.”

Sakusa’s breath hitched, and he swallowed thickly as to not embarrass himself.

“That sounds worse.” Sakusa forced himself to lean back, to get some much-needed distance between him and Atsumu. He took a deliberate sip from his drink to cool down his body. He felt like he was overheating from Atsumu’s intensity.

Suna raised his own drink in mock salute. “I like this guy.” His teeth seemed even sharper than before and there was a faint flicker curling behind him.

Komori studied the developments with burning curiosity. The entire bar seemed to be under a spell. The other patrons seemed to bask in the magical atmosphere initiated by the music. Tense and avoiding eye contact just minutes ago, they now seemed to relax and unwind. A golden shimmer hung in the air, shadows curled unnaturally, causing goosebumps to erupt on Komori’s skin as he let the strange atmosphere sink in.

Komori’s eyes had an eerie glaze to them when he turned to face Sakusa.

“It’s up to you, Kiyoomi. I’ll be right here.” His words came out slow, as if he had to really concentrate to form them, he seemed to be at the same time here and somewhere far away.

For a moment Sakusa held his cousin’s gaze, before his eyes flicked toward the stage. The music was… strange. Not bad, just strange. It seemed to call to him, tempting him to let go of his inhibitions.

Atsumu noticed Sakusa hesitating. Of course he noticed. He stepped around the bar, moving with that prowling grace, and offered his hand again.

“Come on, Omi. Just one dance.”

Sakusa stared at the hand, every fibre in his body telling him it was a trap. The music swelled as if sensing his weakness, the rhythm making it hard to sit still. It covered him like a weighted blanket, settling in his bones, his heartbeat syncing with the beat of the drums.

Behind the bar, Osamu shook his head slightly at Suna, whose arm curled around Komori’s shoulders, Komori leaning into Suna’s side.

“If he says yes, is that… bad?” He asked his two companions.

Osamu didn’t look away from his twin. “Depends who you’re rootin’ for.” His eyes kept flicking to Atsumu and Sakusa even while his hands worked — his shoulders a little too tense to be casual.

The song shifted, the singer’s low voice thickening, the music embracing the room. Sakusa’s foot tapped against the barstool rung before he caught himself and stilled.

Atsumu’s smirk sharpened, eyes burning like two candle flames. He stepped closer until he was just inside Sakusa’s personal space, palm still extended.

“See? The music’s already in you,” he said, low and coaxing. “Just one song, Omi. Nothin’ more.”

Sakusa gave him a long, flat look. Atsumu looked enchanting standing in the low candlelight, shadows dancing across his form, highlighting his sharp edges. His eyes glowed with the warmth of the early spring sun, his hair shimmering golden like stardust, even his skin seemed to shine faintly. He looked otherworldly, like he stepped out of a fairytale.

Sakusa wanted to say yes. To feel Atsumu’s warm hand in his, his other hand settling at the small of his back bringing their bodies even closer together. He wanted to dance with him.

Sakusa set his glass down and stood.

From behind the bar, Osamu stilled. He didn’t think Atsumu would succeed this time. Actually, he had hoped that this time would be different…that he would finally fail. Osamu muttered to himself. “Maybe he’s not immune after all.”

“Ohhh, he’s actually doin’ it,” Suna drawled, leaning forward like he was watching the dramatic plot twist of a soap opera. 

Komori’s eyes were still glazed over as he was lounging against Suna and the bar but he frowned faintly.

“Or maybe he’s just humouring him,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced, mostly because the shadows near the stage were curling towards Sakusa’s feet, pulling him in like claws.

Atsumu’s smile could’ve lit the entire bar as Sakusa followed him to the small patch of open floor by the stage. As they passed the band, the singer glanced at them and something hungry flashed in his eyes — the tempo seemed to adjust, just for them.

The moment Sakusa’s hand touched Atsumu’s, the air shifted. An electric feeling slid up his arm, making his veins thrum beneath his skin. His eyes glazed over just like Komori’s. He could see the shimmer in the air, electric sparks flying between him and Atsumu. He could smell the faint aroma from the candles, could feel the music wrapping tighter around him.

For the first time in a long time Sakusa felt truly alive. For a dizzy, dangerous moment, he wanted more.

“Atta boy,” Atsumu murmured, voice brushing Sakusa’s ear like velvet. “Now, just follow my lead…”

Sakusa's free hand was halfway to resting against Atsumu’s shoulder, his heart stuttering at the thought of finally closing the distance.

Then that same prickling warning he’d felt when the blonde asked for his name, when he’d tried to toast him, flared at his neck, dragging him back. That same sense of ominous foreboding that shadowed every word between them tonight overcame him, making him hesitate. His spine locked, his hand freezing in the air between them.

He quickly dropped Atsumu’s hand like he’d been burned, caught between longing and a spike of fear.

“Mm. No.” Sakusa slowly stepped back out of Atsumu’s reach, eying him warily. His palm still tingled where they’d touched, and he hated that he missed the warmth.

The music faltered for half a beat before resuming, but it faded into the background as Sakusa regained his focus.

Atsumu blinked at the sudden empty space between them, surprise breaking through the charm, the moment between them broken. For a moment, he looked like he too had woken from a strange dream, his hand that held Sakusa’s only moments ago falling limply to his side. He lifted his head to look at Sakusa, searching his face with an unreadable expression.

From the bar, Osamu’s voice carried over the music. “Guess it didn’t stick.”

Suna grinned openly. “That’s three strikes, you're out, ‘Tsumu.”

Komori blinked between them, baffled. “What was—did he just—?” The dreamy glaze was gone from his eyes, now clear and alert, darting between Atsumu, Sakusa, and the others.

“Yes,” Osamu and Suna said in unison.

Atsumu shook his head as if trying to clear the fog in his mind. His usual slow, wicked smile curled back into place as he recovered, but now it held a fondness that hadn’t been there before.

“You keep runnin’ from me, Omi,” he said, voice still all challenge, but his eyes unexpectedly warm and soft as they settled on Sakusa. “You’re only makin’ me chase harder.”

Sakusa straightened his jacket to stop himself from reaching out again, pretending to be utterly unruffled. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing in his ears.

“Then I suggest better cardio.”

To Atsumu’s own surprise, he laughed. Not the sharp, mocking bark he used to cover irritation, but something warm and unguarded that slipped out before he could catch it. The sound startled even himself. He couldn’t stop, his whole body shaking in genuine delight. When he looked at Sakusa, he caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—almost a smile, almost. It made him want to try again and hope to see a real smile.

Osamu joined Atsumu's laughter, barking out a laugh of his own, while Suna nearly toppled off his stool again, dragging Komori with him. The brief, uncomfortable atmosphere dissipitated around them.

But Atsumu only watched Sakusa return to his barstool on slightly unsteady legs. His golden eyes gleamed with renewed determination—and something warmer, something he didn’t usually let anyone see. Sakusa walked away like nothing had touched him, but Atsumu couldn’t stop staring at the sharp line of his shoulders, the quiet elegance threaded through his defiance. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

As the night wore on Atsumu continued to move around Sakusa like a moth to flame— if the moth had sharp teeth and the flame couldn’t care less. But something had undeniably shifted between the pair. Their banter carried a new layer, each exchange tinged with fondness, sounding more like inside jokes than real insults. Osamu, Suna and Komori noticed the change immediately, gleefully commenting on their new dynamic as a bickering old married couple.

Time slipped past in a slow, careful tug-of-war. Atsumu kept trying, a comment here, a compliment there, a snack slid across the bar that went untouched, a joke that almost cracked Sakusa’s mouth into a genuine smile. Almost. And yet… nothing stuck. Sakusa avoided every trap, not by cleverness, but by sheer, immovable stubbornness.

By the end of the night, Atsumu leaned behind the bar, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, chewing a cherry stem in fond exasperation. Across from him, Sakusa mirrored the pose, calm and maddeningly unruffled, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“I really don’t like you,” Atsumu announced.

Sakusa raised a brow. “Then stop trying to date me.”

“Who says I’m tryin’ to date you?!” Atsumu shot back instantly, way too fast and way too defensive.

Sakusa’s lips twitched. “You’ve spent the whole night flirting, asking for my name, and trying to rope me into a deal with you. That’s either fae courtship or a pyramid scheme,” he accused.

Atsumu choked on the cherry stem he had been chewing. “…You knew I was fae?!”

His voice cracked with surprise, but beneath it also flickered something else— relief. Sakusa saw him for what he was and still hadn’t left.

“I’m not stupid.”

A slow grin spread across Atsumu’s face, dangerous and delighted. “Oh, I'm so gonna date you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Sakusa’s smirk softened. The words should have been dismissive. They weren’t. They sounded a lot like an invitation.

From the bar, Osamu groaned, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed his words. “Great. Just what we need—‘Tsumu finally meeting his match.”

Suna sipped his drink like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week. “Better than TV.”

Komori beamed. “I’m rooting for you, Omi.”

“Don’t,” Sakusa said flatly.

There was a bar with no real name. It existed in the space between, neither here nor there. The wind carried laughter that belonged to no voice, the thrum of unseen drums and a faint crystalline chime.

Behind an unassuming wooden door, the bar pulsed with life. And within it, something old, something sharp—and something faintly glittery and ridiculous —had begun to bloom.

It sounded a lot like:

“Omi, babe, just let me braid your hair—”

“Stop talking.”