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Chapter Text

Atsumu used to tell people that if he’d never found volleyball, he would’ve been an actor.

They always assumed his unnaturally loud and egotistical personality couldn’t have possibly been a result of his family circumstances—so they chalked it up to a performance.

People usually thought growing up without a father meant a quiet household. No banter, no rough laughter, no sports TV blasting at ungodly hours and even ungodlier volumes. But when Atsumu thought about life without his father, nothing screamed quiet except his absence. The Miya household was full of banter, loud laughter, and watch parties of all his high school, V.League, and Olympic games.

Atsumu didn’t often think about the hole left in his heart when his father abandoned them at seven, because his big, vibrant family had filled it with love, support, and more.

And honestly—what was volleyball, if not a performance of athleticism?

Miya Atsumu took everything as a challenge. With a twin to outdo and a career that thrived on constantly winning, how could one not?

When their mother noticed Atsumu’s drive, her siblings suggested putting him in volleyball like the rest of his cousins. Naturally, Osamu was dragged along too.

A few years later, the Miya Twins were a household name in the high school circuit. Osamu, ever stoic, had talent in his hands, picking up the sport with ease. Atsumu, who struggled more (not that he’d admit it), worked endlessly to beat his brother—even if it meant being a “lil’ bitch,” as he called it. Losing was never an option. Especially not against Osamu.

Practices often ended in fistfights—with Kita and Aran trying to mediate and Suna recording smugly—but no one could deny the brothers loved each other despite it all.

After their last high school game, Osamu hung up his jersey for good, trading the court for the kitchen. And though Atsumu always liked to win, that didn’t mean he wanted losing his brother as the cost.

So Atsumu threw everything into volleyball. He turned down every university scholarship and went straight to the pros. School had always been Osamu’s thing anyway. Without his brother beside him, Atsumu had to learn to adapt. He had to learn to set to someone whose mind he couldn’t read.

That’s when Sakusa Kiyoomi entered the stage.

Sakusa wasn’t a new face when he joined the Jackals’ court four years ago after tearing up the college circuit. Far from it, in fact.

He’d always been in Atsumu’s peripheral. The twin moles above his brow always caught his attention. The snap of his wrist on a spike always made Atsumu’s jaw drop. But Sakusa’s talent came with a catch: he wasn’t exactly pleasant.

If Atsumu was evil, then Sakusa had to be the devil himself.

Together, they became the cream of the crop—the best of the Monster Generation, as it would later be coined. Coaches couldn’t resist pairing them, and because of that, they could never avoid each other. Even if Sakusa had tried.

When Sakusa and Atsumu became training camp roommates (surprising because Sakusa’s cousin, Motoya, was also in attendance), he had a feeling he was in for a ride. 

Atsumu didn’t think he was messy. Compared to Osamu—the unexpected slob—he thought he was quite organized. Or so he thought, until he watched Sakusa throw a fit over misplaced socks on the first night of  their first ever training camp.

Atsumu had maybe known the guy for ten minutes before he found himself getting a lecture about cleanliness and discipline. Yet somehow, he didn’t mind. He found something familiar, something comforting about getting ripped to shreds.

So in the middle of Sakusa ranting about laundry and the proper way to separate whites from colors to “maintain the pristine condition” of nylon athletic socks, Atsumu leaned against the bathroom doorframe, smirking.

“Ain’t that so, Omi-kun?”

A grand pause.

“…What the fuck did you just call me?”

And that’s how the most anticipated partnership turned into the most unexpected best friends of all time.

Maybe their brand of friendship came with more insults than most, but it worked and it lasted.

So when Sakusa became the Jackals’ new first-string outside, he was greeted by a horde of loud men—and his even louder best friend-slash-not-so-temporary roommate, Miya Atsumu.

Now, after a decade of friendship, Atsumu had no shame asking Sakusa for favors way out of his comfort zone. And for whatever reason, Sakusa let him. At least, every now and then. 

“Omi-kun, please,” Atsumu begged, nearly on his knees, clasping his hands in front of the taller man.

“You’re not taking my fucking Porsche. For the last time, your family’s meeting at your brother’s Osaka location anyway,” Sakusa muttered, slipping on his shoes by the door. “Take public transport like usual. Or—crazy idea—buy your own Porsche. You’re rich, Miya!”

Atsumu groaned, following him out the door.

“But Omi, Suna just bought Samu a BMW as a pre-wedding present. What the fuck is a pre-wedding present? Was the ring not enough?” he whined, flailing his arms.

“How many times do I have to tell you not everything is a competition? You don’t need to one-up your brother. And they know it’s not your car, so I don’t get your point.”

“But everything is a competition, Omi-kun. I know ya didn’t have to compete with yer ancient siblings, but I’m a twin. Someone always wins. Samu’s getting married first. I at least need the cooler car.”

“It’s not your car.”

“Semantics!”

Sakusa stopped walking, making Atsumu smack right into his broad back. Atsumu rubbed his head, blinking around. They were in the apartment garage.

“Get in the stupid vehicle, Miya,” Sakusa huffed, pointing at the emerald green Porsche 911 in front of them. He clicked the fob and it unlocked.

“You’re not driving it. But I’ll drive you there so your ego can breathe, drama queen.”

Atsumu looked at the car, then at Sakusa, then back at the car.

“Omi-kun, yer the best best friend ever.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m your only friend.”

“Hey!”

Atsumu bid the mildly annoyed Sakusa farewell, telling him when to pick him up as he sped off in his expensive car.

Atsumu—ever vain—was pleased he showed up to his family gathering in a cool car, even if no one saw it. He was sure Osamu felt the presence of such prestige from inside the restaurant. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

He opened the door to the familiar sound of chaos: kids playing, aunts gossiping, and uncles yelling at the TV over a volleyball game—probably a rerun of one of his own. He breathed it all in.

“Atsumu! Welcome!” his mother called, and the whole family swarmed the entryway of Onigiri Miya. He laughed, greeting everyone, catching up with people he hadn’t seen since last year.

The immediate Miya family had always been tight-knit, but it was rare to see all twenty-four of them (twenty-five, if you counted Suna—and Atsumu supposed you had to) together. His mother and her siblings rotated who hosted the annual dinner, and this year was his mother’s turn. Unfortunately, it landed just weeks before Osamu and Suna’s destination wedding. Since most of the family couldn’t make that trip, tonight was meant to be a celebration for them.

Atsumu loved his brother more than anything. He was happy Osamu and Suna were tying the knot after nine years together. They were perfect for each other, and Atsumu was glad his twin was happy. He just hated the feeling of falling behind.

His brother had been the first to settle, the first to calm down, the first to build a steady life. Atsumu, meanwhile, was always teased for being too loud, too reckless, too single.

Being the youngest cousin and the only single one wasn’t easy. It wasn’t like he’d never dated—please, with his face? Of course people lined up. But nobody got him. His career came first. Girls got upset when they weren’t his top priority, and guys couldn’t stand feeling like they were in constant competition for his attention.

Miya Atsumu had always strived to win—but at what cost?

“Long time no see, brother-in-law,” Suna smirked, slipping an arm around his shoulder. Atsumu gagged loudly, ignoring his mother’s scolding about his indecent behavior.

“Hold yer damn horses, Rin. Give it a few weeks and then I’ll begrudgingly accept that disgusting title.”

“Be nice to my fiancé, ya scrub,” a familiar voice called. Suna spun him around, letting Osamu scoop Atsumu into his sturdier arms. Atsumu relaxed instantly—he’d recognize that touch even if he lost every sense.

“Tell yer fiancé to be nice to me. Might I remind ya he was my friend first,” Atsumu teased, hugging his twin tightly. He leaned into his slightly longer dark brown hair, looking up at his own blonde locks.

It had been a while since they’d looked identical. Don’t get him wrong, they still have the same face. But ever since their paths diverged, the twins slowly but surely grew into themselves.

Osamu retired the hair dye in his third year, growing it out before chopping it all off. While Atsumu built up his thighs to be able to do his famously low sets; Osamu worked on his upper body, his arms muscular from lugging around bags of rice and shaping hundreds of onigiri a day. 

“Nice biceps.” He commented, squeezing a hand over them. 

Osamu scoffed, “Oh thank ya, professional athlete. Do ya want me to compliment ya on yer physique too?”

They both cackled loudly, garnering the attention of the rest of the family.

They stayed like that until a playful slap landed on both their backs.

“Now, I know it’s been a few months since ya boys saw each other, but go set the table. This is a reunion for all of us, not just ya two,” their mom scolded softly, pinching both their cheeks before heading back to finish off the dishes.

“Yer not in the kitchen?” Atsumu asked his professional-chef brother. They were in his restaurant for God's sake. Osamu shook his head, and they grabbed cutlery for the freakishly long table Atsumu had commissioned as his first paycheck gift. Osamu kept in the back for when either family or the Olympic team came over. 

“Man of honor. They thought they’d spare me today,” Osamu grinned, flashing his silver engagement ring in Atsumu’s frowning face.

Atsumu ignored him, setting his side of the table. Suna whispered something to Osamu, taking over as he ushered his fiancé to sit. Atsumu rolled his eyes.

“You know, Tsumu? You don’t have to be single. The last girl you dated was nice,” Suna said, squinting as he tried to remember. “Yuzu? Was that her name?”

“Yuna,” Atsumu corrected, taking his seat across from Osamu. (It used to be beside him, but that was Suna’s spot now.) “Yes, she was nice. After she told me she deserved an Academy Award for pretending t’like me.”

“And you wanted to be an actor. What a perfect match!”

Atsumu fought the urge to strangle Suna but was saved when the aunts and cousins filed in with food. Osamu went to assist, but Atsumu wasn’t feeling helpful today. He’d set the table—that was enough. Especially since he’d just come from practice. Yeah, that was his excuse.

Once everyone was settled, chatter filled the room. Atsumu gravitated toward his favorite cousin, Ayame. Turning thirty soon, happily married, with two little kids that Atsumu adored babysitting (only sometimes—because Sakusa would implode if toddlers set foot in their apartment).

The best thing about Ayame? She never asked about his love life.

The noise went on for hours. Atsumu leaned over the food to chat with his uncles about volleyball. His only blood uncle, Kazo, proudly showed off his new national team jersey with the large eleven donned on his back—Osamu’s old jersey number. 

“Tsumu, I wore this to work the other day. Bragged to everyone that my nephew represented Japan at the Olympics with our last name on his back.”

Miya was his mom’s last name. Even when the twins were born, their dad had been in and out, so she gave them her name—and he hadn’t been around enough to notice.

“Speaking of Atsumu making us proud,” his oldest aunt chimed in, getting the attention of her fraternal twin. Auntie Chiyo and Keiko had always said they saw themselves in Osamu and Atsumu—the only difference was that they were identical. Whenever Auntie Chiyo chimed in, Atsumu knew it meant trouble. Sure enough, the whole table quieted, including his mom at the head.

“When are ya gonna settle down, Tsumu?”

“Right, you’re not getting any younger.”

“Yer brother’s getting married in weeks.”

“You’ve dated nice people before. Why don’t you try again?”

“Volleyball ain’t forever, Tsumu. But love can be.”

“I can introduce you to some friends. They’d love to meet you.”

Atsumu wanted to slam his head into the table. He’d thought he’d escape the interrogation this year. Now his entire family was dissecting his love life like a science project. He was only twenty-five. He was an Olympian, for god’s sake. Not his fault Osamu had been in an almost decade-long relationship. He wasn’t behind—he was just… taking his time.

As he looked around the table, he spotted Suna, of course, recording the whole thing.

“So, Atsumu, when are we finally going to meet your special someone?”

Being an actor had always been in the back of Atsumu’s mind. He’d even gotten a few small drama and voice roles. 

And you know actors do? They improvise.

Atsumu made a choice—the only logical one in his head.

He lied.

“In Switzerland. At Samu and Suna’s wedding,” he said, flashing his trademark grin.

The table went dead silent. Sweat gathered at Atsumu’s temples as every face turned toward him.

Maybe this wasn’t the smartest choice. But a good actor can turn a bad choice into a good one.

“Ya didn’t tell me you were bringing a plus-one?” Osamu raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“I didn’t need to. He was already invited,” Atsumu blurted before he could think. 

Shit. How do I save this?

“Who’s the lucky man then, Atsumu?”

Enter Sakusa Kiyoomi: jangling his keys as he stepped into the restaurant.

“Miya, I’ve been calling you for fifteen minutes. Check your phone. It’s almost midnight, the apartment’s half an hour away, and we have practice tomorrow. If I don’t get enough sleep, I swear I’ll spike directly into your skull during drills.”

The whole Miya family turned to look at the new entrance. Sakusa, being Sakusa, didn’t even blink.

At least, not yet.

Atsumu’s leg bounced under the table. Then Ayame’s daughter, five-year-old Hana, piped up:

“Is it Uncle Kiyo?”

And the room exploded.

Atsumu shot up, striding toward the very confused Sakusa.

“Miya Atsumu, how could you not tell us?” his mom scolded, smiling despite herself. “How long have you been dating, Kiyo-kun?”

Sakusa choked on air. A cousin shoved him a glass of water, which he downed before glaring daggers at Atsumu.

“It’s been about six months since we made it official,” Atsumu said smoothly.

“Six months?!” Sakusa barked, eyes bulging.

“Right. Sorry, darlin’.” Atsumu winked, sliding an arm around his waist. He felt Sakusa tense—even despite annoying Sakusa for the last ten years, he knew better than to try and cross his physical boundaries.

“We hit a rough patch last June. Omi doesn’t think a three-week break means we should restart the clock,” Atsumu told the family, nuzzling closer. “So I guess that means we’re comin’ up on a year. Ya know what they say—June showers bring July flowers.”

“That is not the saying,” Sakusa muttered because even in confusion, it was his God given right to prove the blonde wrong.  

“And why didn’t ya tell us ya’ve been dating Sakusa this whole time?” Osamu asked, sounding more hurt than suspicious. Atsumu winced.

His brother was the person Atsumu went to for everything. He would be hurt if Osamu had hidden his relationship with Suna. But Samu can get over it. He would rather tarnish his relationship with his brother than admit that he was still single. 

So he’s really got to sell this performance.

“We’ve lived together for four years. Not much has changed. Except… well, let’s just say now we have two guest bedrooms.”

“Miya!”

“Sorry, y’all. Omi gets shy when I talk about how much I love to ravish him.”

Ayame’s husband, Kentaro, grimaced. “Atsumu, we do not need to hear about your bedroom activities.”

Atsumu peeked up—Sakusa’s face was red. Oh, he was dead later. But no way was he breaking his character yet.

“We kept it quiet so nothing distracted us from the Olympics,” he said, dimples out in full force.

“Well, that makes sense,” his mother agreed. “I’m so happy to see you again, Kiyo-kun. Ya should’ve came with Atsumu like ya usually do. But I’m glad my Tsumu finally snatched ya up. Ya were always too good to him.”

Sakusa smirked down at Atsumu. “Hear that?”

Atsumu flushed, letting the chaos resume as his mom packed leftovers for her beloved Kiyo-kun.

Then Sakusa’s arm slid around his waist, fingers digging in hard. Atsumu winced as Sakusa leaned close, whispering,

“You have so much explaining to do.”

Atsumu gulped.

He was so, so dead.

Chapter Text

After the most awkward half an hour drive home, Atsumu found himself sitting on their couch in front of a fuming Sakusa. 

“Care to explain why your family thinks we’ve been dating for a year?” 

Atsumu rubs the nape of his neck.

“Well, ya see. It’s a really long sto-”

“I’ve got time. Speak.”

And who was he to deny him?

So Atsumu spent the next hour or so rambling about his family joking about his love life, him getting tired of it, and somehow finding himself in a lie that he’s been in a relationship.

“And what does that have to do with me?” 

Atsumu shrugs. 

“It was probably a combination of a few things, to be honest.” Atsumu chimes after thinking about it for a second. Sakusa raised a brow. Not the one with the moles. He could only raise the other one, as he’d learned when they were teenagers. 

“First, ya were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Second, ya kinda matched the description that I was giving them,” he paused for a moment, “And ya know, Omi-kun. I think there’s a lot of people that associate me with ya. We’re kind of a pair.”

“I did not consent to being roped into your nonsense.” Sakusa says matter-o-fact. Atsumu deflates. Sakusa was right. 

“I know and I’m sorry but ya know how my family is. I can’t tell them now. Especially not before the wedding. I’ll become even bigger of a laughingstock.”

Sakusa softens a little at that.

“Your family loves you, Miya.” 

Sakusa, by extension, had become part of the Miya family. Due to his complicated relationship with his parents and large age-gap with his siblings, he spent a lot of his childhood on his own. When Atsumu barged his way into his life, he couldn’t help but share the joy of having a large and vibrant family. With Atsumu’s hometown, Amagasaki, being only twenty minutes away from the Jackals gym, Sakusa had spent every holiday since his college years with them. He’d take the Shinkansen down from Tokyo with Osamu since their time in the capital overlapped. 

“They love me but that doesn’t stop them from dissecting my love life as if it’s a game.” Atsumu starts,  “I’m sick of feeling behind. It’s not my fault that I’m too much!” He yelled, slapping a hand over his mouth and looking up at the ceiling when he realized it was the middle of the night. He couldn’t bring himself to look Sakusa in the eye. Especially not after verbalizing something he’d spent years too scared to admit. 

In the distance, he feels the ticking of Sakusa’s clock get louder as each second passes by. 

“Fine.” Sakusa breaks the silence, causing Atsumu to finally look up at him. He’s frowning, as usual, but Atsumu swears he sees something shy of tender in his gaze. “I will entertain your ruse until and during your brother's wedding.”

Atsumu beams. If Sakusa weren’t Sakusa, he’d be engulfed in the biggest hug. Instead, he has to settle for his arms twitching at his sides. 

“We’ve got to set some ground rules. You can’t keep making up a story every time someone asks you about us. Eventually the pieces aren’t going to align.”

“So you want to write a script? A storyboard of some sort?”

“We’re fabricating a relationship. Not filming a feature film.”

Atsumu nudges Sakusa’s shoulder with his elbow. 

“Maybe this story will be good enough? We could recreate it. Maybe it’ll be able to put us into retirement?”

Sakusa scoffs.

“Do you really want to retire early?”

Atsumu bites his lip.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Sakusa leaves the couch to go rummage through their drawers. Atsumu lifts his legs onto the couch, resting his head against his arms as he watches his roommate rustle around until he returns with two pens and a piece of pink cardstock. 

Sakusa hands him the purple pen, keeping the black one for himself. In his perfect script he writes, “Miya and Sakusa’s Dating Agreement” at the very top of the page. 

“Are ya going to get this notarized? I’m a little scared.” Atsumu chuckles nervously as Sakusa begins numbering the page, writing “this relationship will be effective from the day written until our flight lands back home after the wedding”. 

“I don’t trust you to keep a promise. We’re gonna write the rules down. I’ll think about the notarizing thing.” Sakusa explained as he continued writing. Atsumu sat quietly and before he knew it, there’s a whole contract in front of him. 

Miya and Sakusa’s Dating Agreement 

1. This relationship will be effective from the day written until our flight lands back home after the wedding
2. Both parties must agree on a story to tell everyone involved to avoid suspicion 
3. PDA only if 100% necessary 
4. Communication is key
5. At the end of the trip, both parties must mutually decide on a story to end the relationship with the least amount of fallout 

“Well this is great and all but don’t ya think I should get a say in this?” Atsumu inquired as Sakusa drew out a line for him to sign on at the very bottom of the pink cardstock. 

“No. You put me in this mess. I get to choose how to deal with it.” 

Atsumu signed on the line with purple ink, his signature looking like chicken scratch next to Sakusa’s as his pen danced along his line. He clicked the pen close against the table and got up. 

“If you sleep in, I’m leaving for practice without you.” 

And with that, Sakusa retreated into his bedroom, his door shutting with a click. 

Atsumu stared at the piece of paper in front of him. How did he get into this mess? That might have singlehandedly been the most ridiculous thing he’d ever had to sign—and to be honest, he thinks some of the stipulations on his modeling contracts are pretty wack. Like, what do you mean he can only wear Calvin Klein underwear for the next three years? How would they even check? 

Atsumu ran his fingers through his blonde locks, taking one more glance at the “contract” before making his way to his own bedroom. 

Dating Sakusa Kiyoomi couldn’t be all too difficult, could it?

When Sakusa and Atsumu entered the Black Jackals locker room only a few hours after the night's adventures, they could tell that the energy was a little off. 

It had only been a few months since the Olympic season had ended and with half of their roster being on the team, it would make sense that they were still tired. But Atsumu doesn’t think tired is the right word to describe the silence that engulfed the room as soon as they walked in. 

The entire first string of the team stared at them as they began to make their ways to their lockers—side by side, funnily enough. As they both changed into their uniforms in silence, Atsumu couldn’t shake the awkward feeling that was seeping through him. Sure, he was no stranger to people watching him undress but at this very moment, he didn’t think they were staring at him to catch a peek at his abs. 

“Alright, what on earth are y’all doin’? What’s up with y’all? Yer freakin’ me out.” Atsumu exclaimed, violently turning his head to make eye contact with his teammates. 

Sakusa didn’t seem to mind at all, but when did anything ever shake him?

Unsurprisingly enough, it was Bokuto Koutarou that spoke up first. 

“We just can’t believe that you and Sakusa have been hiding your relationship from us.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened at the statement, watching as his teammates muttered about him and the man standing right next to him. He looked up at Sakusa, obviously panicking. Of course his team would’ve found out. 

Suna can’t keep anything to himself and Bokuto is coming to the wedding. If Suna had told Bokuto, Bokuto would’ve told anyone that gave him the time of day.

Oh my God, how many more people knew about their relationship? Or lack thereof.

“We didn’t want our personal life to get in the way of our professional life,” Sakusa answered. He looked down at Atsumu before giving him the most unnatural smile he’d ever seen in his life. “Does us dating cause an issue?”

“Well, of course not.” Inunaki chimed, “But we’re not just your coworkers, guys. We’re your friends as well. We never wanted you to feel like you couldn’t tell us about your relationship.”

And once again, Atsumu felt bad. 

“It’s not that we didn’t feel comfortable at all. Y’all are the best. We just didn’t know how to approach it. That’s all. And now ya know!” He grinned, stepping a little close to Sakusa. “Ain’t that nice, darlin’?” 

Tomas gags from afar. 

“Just because we know you’re dating now doesn’t mean you should bring your gross flirting here.”

“Atsumu’s always flirted with Sakusa. It just feels even worse with the context now. I always chalked it up to his personality.” Barnes adds, staring at the pair as if they were a pile of trash.

“The rest of us have to spend eight hours a week without our significant others. You lucky bastards never need to be apart. Don’t remind me or else I’m coming for your ankles.” Inunaki concludes before the rest of the team begins heading out to the court at the sound of the whistles. 

Sakusa and Atsumu spend a moment just looking at each other, realizing that this little lie might be going too far. Their moment is broken when they both feel a sturdy hand on their backs. 

“You know they’re just teasing you.” Meian, their dependable captain, reminds with a gentle smile, “We’re glad you two are finally official.”

And with that, it’s just the two of them. 

“Miya,” Sakusa calls as they finally make it onto the court, the sound of bodies and balls thudding against the hardwood echoing through Atsumu’s ears. “Buckle up.”

Wait… finally?

“I’m invoking rule number four.”

“You’re not in Harry Potter. You’re not invoking shit”

“Ya know what I mean, ya scrub.” Atsumu exasperates, gesturing towards the food he’d so neatly set out on their island-slash-dining-table. Sakusa muttered something under his breath before taking a seat on one of their bar stools and thanking Atsumu for the food. Atsumu rounds the island and takes the seat beside his fake-boyfriend, tucking into his mother’s leftovers before speaking.

“Obviously, this has gone completely off the rails,” Atsumu analyzes, tapping his chopsticks gently against the side of his porcelain bowl—a gift from Sakusa’s mother, who was slightly more bearable than the rest of his uptight family. 

“You think?” 

“Omi-kun, please let me speak without patronizing me.”

“Wow, Miya. That’s a big word for you.”

“Ya and yer college degree can shut it. This is what I wanna address, actually.” 

Sakusa looks at him for a second, squinting his eyes to see if the sudden seriousness in the blonde's tone would falter. When it didn’t, he gestured for him to continue. 

“Samu and Suna’s wedding is in two weeks. Suna clearly told anyone with access to the internet about our relationship,” Atsumu begins, “We need to start acting more like a couple or else people’s suspicions are going to make our lives harder. I saw the way Barnes was trying to analyze us when ya began berating me. Omi-kun ya need to pretend like ya love me.” 

Sakusa stills at that statement. Atsumu ponders it for a little longer. 

“Actually, I'll take it back. Ya need to act like yer in love with me.”

Sakusa swallows hard.

“What exactly is the difference?” 

Atsumu stops to think again.

“I don’t know. I feel like loving someone doesn’t need to be romantic… like I love a lot of things. I love volleyball, and chocolate, and my friends, and my family… but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck them or somethin’.”

“I would really hope not.” 

“But in love. That’s intimate. I feel like that’s reserved for romantic feelings. I think I could only ever be in love with one person at a time. Maybe only one person altogether. That’s what makes it different, ya know? The depth and the context of the emotions associated with the person.”

Atsumu turns to Sakusa, whose interest in his food had completely migrated to his words. He nodded slowly, processing everything he’d had to say. 

“That was… oddly profound, Miya.”

The blonde patted himself on the back with a satisfied smirk, stuffing his food in his mouth after speaking for so long.

“It doesn’t take a college education to be smart, Omi. And that’s actually what I want to address first. I think ya need to stop calling me Miya. No one calls their partner by their surname.”

Sakusa grimaces.

“So, what am I supposed to call you?”

Atsumu laughs at the man’s genuine confusion, wondering how he ever got close enough to someone with such little knowledge of how to be a social being. 

“I don’t know, Omi,” Atsumu says in between chortles, “Maybe my name? Ya know, the thing I begged ya to call me for years before I gave up?”

“We’re not tight like that.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi, we've lived together for the last four years. Ya are a proxy Miya. I am the only person outside of your family that you talk to everyday. And by family, I mean Motoya.” Atsumu sighs, taking their empty plates to the sink for a rinse. Sakusa began to wash them immediately, knowing that he would never leave dirty dishes to sit in the sink—just as they’ve been doing for half a decade. “Most people refer to their partner by a pet name. I’ve been calling ya ‘darlin’’ in public so far.”

Atsumu ignored the tingling feeling that arose as he was reminded of it. 

“W-well,” Sakusa stammered, “What do you want me to call you?”

He wrapped up his dishwashing before placing everything in the dishwasher for a second run. Their water bill was psychotic but utilities were included in their lease. And even if it wasn’t, Sakusa wouldn’t have cared. 

“I’m not too sure,” Atsumu admitted, leaning against the marble by the stove top, watching his roommate’s fingers dance around the buttons on their dishwasher, “My other relationships never got to the ‘pet name’ stage. I haven’t thought about anything remotely romantic since my last one—and that was well over a year ago.”

His last relationship was with Yuna, a sweet girl that attended a university in the Osaka area. But between Atsumu’s Olympic training and her student life, she couldn’t handle being an occasional thought in his head. It was a common pattern in most of his romantic relationships. None of them ever got past surface-level feelings or purely physical attraction. 

“Try some out. I’ll tell ya which one I like best.”

“I don’t get to pick mine but you get to go through a process of elimination?” 

“Ya got an issue with the one ya got now, darlin’?”

Sakusa’s milky white skin flushed aggressively. 

“Fine. Babe?”

“Too overused.”

“Baby?”

“Too infantilizing.” 

“Sweetie.”

“Too outdated.”

“Darling.”

“Too unoriginal. Plus it’s the accent that makes that one charming.” 

“Okay. Honey?”

“Just no.” 

“Love?” 

The blonde felt his heart stammer in his chest. He couldn’t think of a response to that one. He opened his mouth to refute it but he was choking on his words. Sakusa smirked at Atsumu’s flustered state, his face creeping closer as he straightened to his full height. It was times like this where Atsumu was reminded of how significant two-and-a-half inches could be. 

“Looks like we’ve got a winner.” A satisfied look spread across the ravenettes face. He neared Atsumu only to smirk once more and start retreating back towards his bedroom, leaving a blushing Atsumu behind.

“I’ll see you in the morning, love.”

The sound of Sakusa’s door shutting was nowhere near as loud as the pounding in his chest. 

Atsumu pulled out his phone and rang his mom—just to make sure heart disease didn’t run in the family.

Chapter Text

Osamu and Suna’s home was situated at the very top of Onigiri Miya’s Shizuoka location. 

His brother had built his brand up in Tokyo, spending his time directly out of high school to pursue a business degree in the mornings and a culinary one at nights. Between working before and after volleyball practice and studying hard to get full scholarships at both programs, Osamu had managed to save just enough to rent a little building to start his restaurant. 

Suna had deferred his start with the Raijins for a year to help Osamu get on his feet—even despite his pleading for Suna to prioritize his own career first. They’d only just passed their first anniversary at that point. Eighteen, young, and in love. Suna worked at a local volleyball gym, teaching children to play the sport that he’d learned to love so dearly. When money got even tighter, he’d pick up shifts at a bar down the street from their dingy one-bedroom, learning both how to make drinks and start in the industry.

The first year was rough on them both but to this day, Osamu tells everyone that he would’ve given up if Suna hadn’t been there with him

The severity of his decision hadn’t hit Atsumu until Suna had moved three hours away to start his professional volleyball career. 

Though Onigri Miya was picking up traction, Osamu was only one man. With Atsumu and the rest of his family a flight away and without Suna to depend on financially, the only money he made got reinvested into the business. When things got hard, he would sleep on one of the tables in the restaurant. He’d only ever had enough money to keep the electricity on in one place.. 

However, with both Atsumu and Suna’s promotion, on top of Osamu’s delicious food, Onigiri Miya blew up. 

He’d spent the next two years building his brand, expanding his menu and appearing across all media platforms for both his spectacular dishes and looks. And though his career was taking off, his relationship with Suna was limited to facetime calls and bi-annual meetups during the season.

So, in secret, Osamu began saving up again. And yes, that meant he had to go back to living frugally for another year. And maybe that meant sleeping in the restaurant more often than not. But in the end, Osamu was able to purchase a second location in Shizuoka, only five minutes away from the Raijins gym. 

Osamu moved his entire life once more, taking what few personal items he had, loading them into Uncle Kazo’s minivan and making his permanent move to Suna’s city—so he didn’t have to choose between his love of cooking and the love of his life. He saved up a little more to buy a duplex—opting to live on top of his restaurant so that he’d never have to go without electricity. Suna moved in immediately after, scolding Osamu for making such a crazy decision but also thanking him for loving him enough to make it. 

Now, Osamu was a Michelin Guide certified restaurateur and owner of four Onigiri Miya locations across Japan. Suna was a Division One V.League volleyball player, vice-captain, and Olympian. And still, they were just as in love as they were at seventeen. 

So when Atsumu entered their quaint little home, filled with knick-knacks and photos of them over the last nine or so years, he couldn’t help but feel emotional. 

“Are ya hungry?” Osamu called out. He rubbed the sweat of his forehead, his chocolate brown hair getting increasingly damper. 

“I don’t even know why y’ask anymore.” Atsumu rolled his eyes, settling at their dinner table, resting his arms against it and placing his head on top. He watched his brother move around the kitchen like it was a dance, only for Suna to come and slip his arm around Osamu’s waist. He leaned back into the slightly taller man’s shoulder with a smile, letting Suna place a kiss on his temple. 

Atsumu had been used to being the third wheel in Osamu and Suna’s relationship. He’d been watching it since his first year of high school, when he became Suna’s friend and introduced him to his brother. Atsumu never had an eye for romance but could tell immediately that Suna had been interested. He’d watched them fumble around each other until Osamu finally grew a pair and asked Suna out after a really tough match their second year. 

Suna carried a plate of onigiris out to the table, placing it in front of Atsumu before pulling out the chair to his left and sitting down. 

“How was the train?” He asked, copping one from Atsumu’s plate. Suna had begun growing his hair out again—much to Osamu’s delight. Every time he spoke, his front pieces would fall into his eyes the same way they did in high school. 

Atsumu realized that everyone around him had grown up yet he feels the exact same. 

“It was fine but y’two are visitin’ me next time. I’m sick of the train, honestly.” 

“Actually, while you’re mentioning it, we might crash at yours the night before the flight. We’re having some difficulties finding a flight that leaves from our airport so we might leave from Osaka.” Suna explains, beckoning for Osamu to come sit down. He does but not before bringing some freshly squeezed lemonade. 

To compensate for the inconvenient time and location of their wedding; on top of the hotel, Osamu and Suna had offered to cover everyone’s flight costs.

“Would yer boyfriend mind?”

Oh. He forgot about that for a second. 

“Course not. Let's ask him.” Atsumu shakes his head, pulling out his phone with his pretty pink phone case that Sakusa had bought him for a Jackals’ Secret Santa. He couldn’t bring himself to buy a new phone because he was so attached to the case. 

Sakusa answers in four rings. 

“What do you want?” 

Osamu chuckles and Suna smirks at the sound of Sakusa’s annoyance.

“Well darlin’, I can’t really discuss what I want from ya in front of m’brother, can I?” He flirts, unconsciously smiling at his phone as he puts it up to his ear. 

Osamu sighs. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.” 

“You didn’t call for no reason. What do you need, Miya?” 

Suna’s eyes narrow at Atsumu’s phone, “Your boyfriend still calls you by your last name?”

Atsumu stills and he can hear Sakusa’s voice hitch from across the line.

“No! Babe, I’m puttin’ ya on speaker,” Atsumu explains, “Only when he’s annoyed with me.”

“Which is most times.”

“Okay, okay, we get it. Can ya please ask him?” Osamu rolls his eyes, gesturing towards his phone. Atsumu nods, rolling his eyes back at his older brother. 

“Samu and Suna are having trouble booking everyone’s flight tickets out of Shizuoka. They’re tryin’ for Osaka instead. They were wonderin’ if they could spend the night before with us?” He explained, looking up at the pair to make sure he’d gotten it right. 

“You guys still haven’t booked flight tickets?”

“You know how the Miya’s are,” Suna responds, looking at the twins, “They always change their minds.” 

“Don’t insult the family yer marrying into, Rin.” 

“I don’t even know who on your side is coming anymore. I’ve just got my parents and sister.”

Osamu shrugs, “We’ve got a large family.”

Most of the family was unable to move their schedules around for the week. His family was filled with doctors, lawyers, and other higher profile jobs that limit their ability to take time off. While some were able to manage, others weren’t. 

Osamu and Suna promised to throw a party a few weeks after they return as their “domestic wedding”. 

“How many people are coming?” Sakusa asks. Atsumu can hear him opening his laptop. He whispers it to the two by his side and clicks the FaceTime button. Sakusa groans when the notification makes it to his side. In a matter of seconds, the man appears on his phone with his glasses perched atop his nose; and just as Atsumu predicted, in front of his laptop. 

“Rin’s family is three. My mom and our uncle. His wife. All of our cousins except Hana. All of their spouses except Aoi. Ya two. I think ten of our friends—oh but Kageyama and Hinata are meetin’ us there because Kageyama is still in Italy and Hinata went to visit.”

Suna shifts the phone so that Sakusa can see his deadpanned face. “You see what I mean?” 

Sakusa nods, doing the math in his head. “Twenty-five counting you two then… have you looked into chartering a jet?”

Osamu laughs out loud at that statement, a little chuckle escaping from Suna’s lips as well. 

“I appreciate that ya think private is in our budget.” His brother manages to make out between laughs, “We’ve already looked into it. It’s way cheaper to get everyone business class seats on commercial.”

Sakusa goes quiet for a little bit, staring off into the distance. He scrunches his nose to readjust his glasses and Atsumu can’t help but find it endearing. He’s been doing it for years. 

“… I might be able to help you out with that.”

The entire table's attention had been successfully caught, the couple's laughter finally dying down. 

“My family has a jet that I would be able to borrow. I’ll double check with them but they shouldn’t be using it this time of year.” Sakusa explains, causing everyone’s jaws to drop. 

“Darlin’, ya’ve failed to mention in the past that ya’ve just casually got a private plane?”

“Jet. There’s a difference. We don’t own a plane.” 

Sakusa’s family was wealthy. Atsumu’s known since the first day he’d met him—when he strolled into training camp with shoes that cost the same amount as their family’s monthly rent. Granted, Sakusa never acted like a spoiled brat. He wouldn’t have been able to tell by his personality alone. In fact, Sakusa was surprisingly frugal when it came to most things—hence why they only order out on Fridays. 

Atsumu wasn’t entirely sure what The Sakusa Corporation really did. All he knew is that they had enough money to ensure Sakusa would never have to work a day in his life. Although his older brother was the heir to the company, his father had made it clear that if he ever chooses to give up “his silly excuse of a job”, a position would be waiting for him. 

“Sakusa, we couldn’t ask you to do that.” Suna says quietly, looking at his fiancé. 

“It’s no problem at all, honestly. I can sit through dinner with my father if I can make your lives a little easier. The Miyas have always been nothing but hospitable and accepting of an outsider like me. Consider it repayment for a decade of support.” He assured, “And yes, you can crash at ours. We’ll set up the guest room for you.” 

Atsumu swears he’d never heard Sakusa so earnest in his life. Osamu and Suna had obviously been stunned into silence, staring at each other for what felt like forever. 

“Thank ya, Kiyoomi.” Osamu finally choked out, snapping his head to Atsumu, “Ya do not deserve him. What on earth made ya decide ya wanted my swine of a brother?” 

Sakusa shrugs, taking off his glasses and searching for Atsumu in the frame. 

“Call me when you’re heading home. I’ll wait for you,” Sakusa says, picking up his phone from his desk and waving at the three, “Bye, love.” 

And Sakusa disappeared from Atsumu’s screen. He clutched his chest, begging for his heart to calm and his cheeks to cool. 

“That was surprisingly sweet,” Suna inferred, “Never thought I’d see the day Sakusa Kiyoomi would be all… mushy.” 

Atsumu chuckles awkwardly, “That’s my boyfriend for ya.” 

Osamu and Suna watch him as he rubs his neck nervously, turning his face to the side to hide his reddening cheeks. What was wrong with him?

“We have somethin’ else to ask ya.” His brother starts, his hand reaching out his fiancé’s before they clasp together. Atsumu watches the interaction with his head still tilted down. He stretches his own fingers, ignoring his brain, reminding him that he didn’t have anything to grab himself. 

“Tsumu, we may butt heads but yer my brother and I love ya before I love anythin’ else.”

“Are ya dyin’, Samu?” The blonde whispered, completely frazzled at the unprompted confession.

“Please, let me have a nice moment with ya, scrub!” Osamu snapped, calming himself when Suna’s hand moved to his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles around it with his thumb. 

“What your brother is trying to say,” Suna starts, oddly serious, “Is that we love you, Atsumu. We kinda owe our relationship to you. Or at least, I do.” 

“Damn right, ya do.”

“Tsumu, I’m goin’ to deck ya.”

“What your brother is trying to say again,” Suna sighs, “Is that although our wedding is anything but typical and even though we’re not having groomsmen… we would love it if you could be our best man. I can’t marry your brother without marrying you, after all.”

Atsumu pauses. Then his jaw drops. And then he feels his vision begin to cloud.

Osamu and Suna’s wedding really couldn’t be called a wedding. When Osamu had planned out their wedding on the bottom bunk of their bunk beds when they were seventeen, he’d mentioned that the only things he wanted were something untraditional and Suna. And Suna never had the heart to deny Osamu of anything he wanted. Their wedding was simply just a trip with the people closest to them, celebrating their love. 

“We decided we wanted to have some semblance of a traditional weddin’. Well, Rin did.” He smiles, “We reserved a beautiful venue for a little bit of a ceremony”

“Samu…” 

“It didn' t feel right gettin’ married without ya as my best man. Ya would’ve been the unofficial one, but Rin decided he wanted ya too. We thought we’d formally ask ya. Of course, yer gonna get all the best man duties but we’d be real happ- oof.” 

Atsumu didn’t wait for his brother to finish before getting out of his seat and tackling him into a hug. He buried his face into his solid shoulder, letting the tears that were welling up soak his gray t-shirt. Osamu laughed wetly, rubbing his back the way he did when they were younger. 

“Don’t cry, ya fucker. Yer makin’ me cry.” Osamu rested his head atop his. Atsumu felt his brother’s tears begin to seep through his scalp. If he weren’t crying himself, he’d whine about his recent bleach job getting ruined. 

“Oh you, Miya’s and your dramatics.” Suna chuckled, wrapping his long arms around them both.

They stayed like that for quite some time.

“Of course, I’ll be yer guys best man.” Atsumu choked out, wiping his face all over his brother's shirt—and for once, he didn’t complain about it. When he looked up, he’d come face to face with Suna’s phone because when could Atsumu do something without the brunette recording his every move?

“Great. I’ll forward you all the things we need you to do before and during the wedding. Thanks a bunch, Tsumu!”

“I do not understand why I have to accompany you to this, Miya.” Sakusa huffed, reading the news on the couch while Atsumu was standing in front of him, looming.

“Because my mom is going to be there and if I don’t bring ya, she will not stop asking about her precious Saku-kun. Plus Suna told me that ya were welcome to come—which means he’s telling me to bring ya!”

Atsumu’s first job as best man was to accompany the grooms-to-be to their outfit fitting. It was t-minus two weeks to the wedding and though the tuxes had already been made, they wanted their families to be present when they wore them out for the first time. 

Sakusa, adorned in navy flannels and a loose black t-shirt, looked nowhere ready to join him. He swore he reminded him that they were going last night. 

“I am not a Miya nor am I a Suna. Frankly, it feels disrespectful to intrude.” Sakusa adjusts his glasses, not even bothering to look at Atsumu while he debates him. 

“Omi, please! They’ll ask so many questions if ya don’t come. What if they realize we’re not a real couple?” Atsumu slides onto the couch, scooching as close as he possibly could without the other man spraying him with bleach. Sakusa takes off his glasses, sets them on the side table and starts heading for his room. Atsumu sputters, frantically following.

“Where are ya going?” He calls.

Sakusa sighs, “Getting ready. I wanted to get an idea of what everyone else was wearing anyway.”

An hour later, Sakusa’s emerald Porsche pulls up to the tuxedo shop. About thirty minutes after Osamu had told them to be there. 

The tuxedo shop buzzed with soft chatter and the faint hum of a piano through the speakers. Mannequins lined the walls in sharp blacks and blues, but all eyes were on the two grooms who stood on the platform in front of the full-length mirror.

Osamu smoothed the lapel of his jacket. The white tuxedo he wore was a classic cut: clean, structured, timeless. He looked the way he always did—steady, grounded, dependable. On his breast pocket was a viridian boutonniere, a delicate flower chosen because it mirrored the exact shade of his fiancé’s irises.

Beside him, Suna adjusted his own jacket. His tuxedo was equally white but softer in shape: a looser drape, modern lines, and a glint of silver at the cuffs that caught the light when he moved. Subtle, understated, but undeniably stylish—just like him. His boutonniere wasn’t green, but a cool gray bloom, matching the stormy depth of Osamu’s eyes.

They looked at each other then, quiet smiles tugging at their lips. Matching but distinct.

“Look at ya two! Damn, Rin, ya actually clean up nice.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Suna laughed, tugging lightly at his sleeve. “You’d think you’ve never seen me in formalwear.”

“Not since prom! Ya always show up in sweats and a hoodie.”

Everyone laughed. Even Sakusa’s mouth twitched at the corner.

Osamu caught his brother’s eye. “What about me, huh? Think we pulled it off?”

“Pulled it off? Ya look amazin’,” Atsumu said, a little too earnestly. His throat tightened as he clapped again, louder, ignoring the sting in his eyes. “I’m so proud of ya, Samu.”

The twins embraced.

“Oh lord, would y’look at my boys?!” she sniffled, waving dramatically at them both. “Samu, Rin… y’look like men out of a magazine spread.”

“Ma, stop.” Osamu muttered, ears already turning pink.

Suna, in a deep navy tux with a silk lapel, turned and tilted his head. “You’re crying already? Save some for the actual wedding, Ma.”

“Dontcha sass me,” she half-sobbed, half-laughed.

Suna’s mother was equally in shambles, being comforted by his father. Suna was spitting image of him—with the same fox-like eyes and lean stature. The striking green of his eyes and his chestnut brown hair, however, came from his mother. Despite knowing them for a decade, Atsumu never thinks he’ll get used to the resemblance. 

A voice chimed from the corner as he stared at the grooms. “They’ve been crying since before Samu and Rin even got the jackets on.”

Sakusa turned toward the speaker: a teenage girl with sharp green eyes, phone in hand, and the exact lazy smirk Suna wore when he thought he was clever. She leaned against the wall like she’d been born there.

“Rina,” Atsumu greeted warmly, walking over to tug her into a quick hug. “Don’t bully yer ma too much.”

Suna groaned. “Stop encouraging her, Atsumu.”

Atsumu just grinned before turning to Sakusa. “Omi—this here’s Rina, Rin’s kid sister. Known her since she was ye-high.” He held his hand just above his waist. “She’s like the little sister I never had.”

“Translation: he used to annoy me just as much as Rin did, but I tolerated him. And by the way, I’m twenty. I’m no kid.” She huffs before smirking, “I go to this thing called college? Ever heard of it?” 

Sakusa snorted, slapping a hand over his mouth. Atsumu kicks his shoe jokingly before turning back to Rina.

Atsumu pressed a hand to his chest, feigning wounded pride. “Yer lucky yer family.”

Rina rolled her eyes but grinned. 

Sakusa, who usually kept his greetings polite and distant, surprised Atsumu by inclining his head. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m S-.”

“Sakusa. I’m aware,” Rina finished before snapping another candid photo of the grooms, “You’re Atsumu’s boyfriend. Plus you were on the national team with my brother. You do not need an introduction. Honestly, it’s surprising we’ve gone this long without meeting.” 

Osamu sighed at the interaction, turning his attention to the three of them from the platform. “Rina, please don’t scare Sakusa away. I don’t know any more people that would willingly date Tsumu if we lost him.”

“We as a society have really normalized disrespect.” The blonde whined, shuffling close to his partner, “Omi, defend my honor.” 

Sakusa looks down at him and suddenly Atsumu is very aware of their proximity. Sakusa’s gaze for whatever reason felt like it was stripping him down to his core. He’d never really looked at his eyes from this close. As the light glints over them, Atsumu notices that his eyes are not black but more of a dark jade. 

He doesn’t realize how close they’ve gotten until he begins to feel the other’s breath rustle his blonde locks. 

Sakusa, who had been standing stiffly at his side, shifted almost imperceptibly. He delicately wrapped his fingers around the nape of Atsumu’s neck, tucking his face against the taller man’s arm.

Atsumu froze. His ears went pink as he lifted his head, chin resting against Sakusa’s soft muscles. “What’re ya doing?” He whispered, praying that the man couldn’t see his blush.

What was wrong with him?

“You’re the most physically affectionate person I know. Your family would think something was wrong if we weren’t, you know….” His voice dropped even quieter, just for him. “This is what they expect.”

There was a long pause. Sakusa’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “…Part of the contract,” he said finally, though it came out softer than intended.

“Right. Yes. Exactly.” Atsumu squeezed his arm for emphasis, trying to play it casual. But his pulse was racing, his chest too tight.

“You’re quieter than I thought, Sakusa.” Rina chimes, breaking the two from their moment, “Like I knew you were on the more introverted side but I figured anyone dating Atsumu had to be… louder, I guess.”

Atsumu leaned into the ball of Sakusa’s shoulder. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you never shut up.” She snapped a photo of them because violating people’s right to privacy ran in the family. “But I guess it works. You two make sense.”

The parents picked up on that immediately. Suna’s mother tilted her head with a smile. “You know, she’s right. Atsumu, you seem a little different now.”

Wow, Miya Atsumu must be the world’s greatest actor. The tingling sensation he felt everywhere he and Sakusa were touching must be because he was super in character. 

“Atsumu’s always been a clinger. When he was little, he used to latch onto me in public just the same. Couldn’t go shoppin’ without him hangin’ off my arm.”

“Ma!” Atsumu whined, his head moving with Sakusa’s chest as he quietly laughed.

Suna’s father leaned back, studying the pair. “Still. It’s… strange, in a good way. Atsumu’s always been Rin’s loud best friend. Didn’t think I’d see him like this. But looking at you two now… opposites balance each other out, don’t they?”

“Exactly!” Atsumu cut in quickly, arms squeezing tighter around Sakusa’s. “That’s us. Yin and yang. Sun and moon. Peanut butter and jelly—”

“Peanut butter and hand sanitizer, maybe,” Rina muttered.

That drew another round of laughter, even from Osamu across the shop, who called, “She’s got ya pegged, Tsumu.”

His mother’s eyes softened. “Ya really do look happy, Atsumu.”

That word—happy—landed heavier than Atsumu expected. He laughed too loudly to cover it, patting Sakusa’s bicep as if it was all a joke. “Course I am. Who wouldn’t be?”

Sakusa, quiet, kept his gaze lowered. But his hand twitched, just once, as though resisting the urge to cover Atsumu’s where it rested on his sleeve.

Osamu and Suna had just stepped down from the little platform, still in their gleaming white tuxedos, when Suna glanced toward the racks by the wall. His long fingers idly flicked a hanger forward, then stopped. He pulled a dark green suit—so deep it nearly passed for black—and held it out.

“Sakusa,” Suna called, tone light but pointed. “Try this one.”

Sakusa stiffened immediately. “No. That’s—no. I wouldn’t want to… intrude. This is your fitting, not mine.”

“Yer not intrudin'.” Mama Miya cut him off before Atsumu could. She rose halfway from her chair, still clutching a tissue, eyes shining. “Sweetheart, ya’ve been family since the first time Atsumu dragged ya to Christmas dinner. Don’t ya dare act like ya don't belong here.”

Sakusa blinked, clearly taken aback. “I…” His gaze darted to Atsumu, searching.

Atsumu grinned, bumping his shoulder into Sakusa’s. “Ya heard her. Go on. Humor Rin. Besides, ya need somethin’ for the weddin’ anyway.”

Sakusa hesitated another long second before sighing, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine.” He took the hanger carefully, disappearing behind the curtain.

The family chatted idly while they waited, but Atsumu found himself watching the entrance to the dressing room, waiting. Sakusa and him had been in plenty of situations like this. The Jackals had done plenty of professional photoshoots and Hinata—back when he was on the team—always insisted on doing a fashion show. 

Atsumu loved modeling. Sakusa hated it. He loved watching the displeased look on his face when he exited to the hoots and hollers of their teammates.

But when the curtain finally pulled back, Sakusa stepped out—and the air left Atsumu’s lungs.

The deep green suit clung perfectly to his frame, cool against his raven black curls and bringing out the jade tones in his eyes. He'd skipped a tie, leaving the first button open and Atsumu had to look away when he caught a glimpse of a mole on his collarbone..

He had always known Sakusa was handsome, sharp, untouchable in some impossible way—but seeing him now, standing there made it painfully clear. This was the first time Atsumu truly understood it.

He couldn’t stop staring. Sakusa’s posture was rigid, controlled, yet somehow the suit softened him. The fabric fell flawlessly over his shoulders, the lines of the jacket accentuating the lean strength of his torso.

Atsumu’s throat tightened, and he felt heat crawl up his neck. He wanted to reach out, to touch the sleeve of the jacket, to anchor himself in something familiar. Instead, he kept his hands at his sides, letting his gaze linger on every detail. The tilt of Sakusa’s head, the slight furrow in his brow, the way his lips were pressed together in a line that said nothing and everything all at once.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Every step Sakusa took toward him made his stomach flip. Atsumu’s fingers twitched, wanting to curl into Sakusa’s arm again, and without thinking, he slid closer, brushing slightly against him as if it were accidental.

The sight of Sakusa like this, poised and impossibly sharp in the suit, left Atsumu dumbstruck. He’d always thought he could handle his own confidence, his own bravado, but the pull Sakusa had over him was sudden, undeniable. Every measured movement, every slight glance, felt like it was magnified tenfold.

And yet, Sakusa said nothing. He simply stood there, quiet, unreadable, and it made the tension between them electric. Atsumu’s gaze flicked over the faint blush creeping up his own neck, and he couldn’t help but imagine what Sakusa looked like without the suit, without the barrier of calm composure—if he ever let that side show.

For the first time, Atsumu understood what it meant to be caught off-guard by someone he thought he knew completely.

“Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Sakusa’s brow furrowed. “Is it… bad?”

“Bad?” Atsumu nearly choked. “Yer—yer fuckin’ gorgeous.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. His ears burned crimson, and he scrambled to add, “I mean, uh, it fits ya. Real well. Yep. Good tailorin’. They don’t even need to fix it.”

Suna smirked behind him, and Osamu snorted into his sleeve.

“Alright, Tsumu,” Osamu said pointedly, “yer turn. Go pick somethin’ out.”

“I’m not sure about that…” Atsumu dragged his feet until Suna nudged him toward the racks.

“Pick a color,” Suna suggested casually. “Like your boyfriends. It suits the theme better than plain black. Even if it is on the darker side”

Atsumu’s eyes gleamed. “What about pink?”

“No,” Osamu said flatly, arms crossed.

“I’d allow it if it was hot pink,” Suna deadpanned, lips twitching.

Atsumu gasped dramatically. “See, Rin’s got taste! Thank y—”

“Absolutely not,” Sakusa cut in, voice steady but quiet. His eyes flicked over Atsumu, then softened just slightly. “… Burgundy. It would go well with your eyes.”

Atsumu swore the room went still.

His jaw went slack. Compliments from Sakusa were rare—earnest ones, rarer still. His cheeks flushed, and he fumbled for words. “B-Burgundy’s fine. Yeah. Whatever y’think, darlin’.”

Sakusa looked away, hiding his face.

“Oh my god,” Osamu drawled, “ya sound like a couple pickin’ out prom outfits.”

“Cute, though,” Suna added, biting back a laugh. “Gross, but cute.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu yelped, but instinctually reached for Sakusa when he’d gotten between arms reach.

Oh no. He’d already gotten too used to it.

The tailor, sensing momentum, swooped in and plucked a burgundy suit off the rack before Atsumu could change his mind. “Here you go, sir. Excellent choice.”

“Yeah, sure.” Atsumu took it with clammy hands, glaring half-heartedly at his brother and Suna as he disappeared into the fitting room. “Don’t peek, ya assholes.”

They didn’t peek—but they whispered plenty.

Atsumu stepped out of the dressing room, sliding into the burgundy suit like it had been made for him. The deep red hugged his shoulders and chest, tapering perfectly at the waist. His matching tie was neatly done, and the warm hue brought out the amber in his eyes.

Immediately, the room erupted.

“Look at ya!” Mama Miya exclaimed, dabbing at her eyes again. “Ya look… so dapper! My baby boy!”

Rina clapped her hands, grinning. “I understand why you’re signed to Calvin Klein now.”

Suna crossed his arms, smirking. “Osamu might have some competition in the looks department.”

“I will divorce ya before we even get married.”

Atsumu puffed up, chest swelling at the praise, but his gaze kept drifting toward Sakusa. The other man had stepped back slightly, hands at his sides, and for a moment, Atsumu thought he looked… frozen.

Osamu nudged Sakusa lightly. “Burgundy was a good call.”

Sakusa’s eyes didn’t move from Atsumu, and his jaw tightened subtly. Atsumu’s heart tripped over itself. He thought he saw a flicker of pink on Sakusa’s cheeks, but… no. Sakusa would never blush over him. That was ridiculous.

Rina, however, was grinning knowingly. “Oh, come on, Saku. You’re smitten, aren’t you? Can’t hide it.”

Sakusa’s dark eyes stayed locked on Atsumu, and he didn’t deny it. He only blinked, faintly stiff, but the lack of denial was enough to make Atsumu’s chest pound. He was so gone that he didn’t even flinch at the nickname he’d been called.

Atsumu tried to force his face into a neutral expression, reminding himself: this was just acting. Just showing affection so their families believed their relationship was real. Nothing more. That’s all it was.

But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t ignore the flutter in his stomach, the heat in his face, the way his fingers itched to reach out and curl into Sakusa’s sleeve again. Every glance Sakusa gave him, every second of silent attention, made the tension between them coil tighter.

“Seriously, I can’t wait to see you two in Switzerland,”. Suna’s mother said, clapping her hands together. “You’ll be all lovey-dovey!”

Mama Miya nodded, wiping her eyes. “It’s goin’ to be so special. All my boys together… it’s just… wonderful.”

Rina leaned against the chair, smirking at the still-stunned Sakusa. “Better not faint when he smiles at you again, Saku.”

Sakusa’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes never left Atsumu. He said nothing, but that silent focus made Atsumu’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

Even so, with the family gushing around them, the suits perfectly fitted, and the tension simmering between them, Atsumu couldn’t help the little grin tugging at his lips. Sakusa was still impossibly captivating, and Atsumu’s chest burned with a mix of nerves and something… else.

For now, though, they stayed close, shoulders brushing, quiet and composed on the outside, while inside, feelings bubbled up, tangled and confusing, and a small, secret warmth settled in Atsumu’s chest.

Chapter Text

If it were up to Atsumu, they would have left for the airport an hour before boarding. Their apartment was only a fifteen minute train ride to KIX.  But if Sakusa was anything in life, it would be paranoid. So, Atsumu and Sakusa loaded their four large suitcases (three of which were the latters) into the car. A whole three hours early. Granted the car ride took double the time of the train but Atsumu knew that Sakusa wouldn’t get on any public transport if he could avoid it. He would rather pay to park the car at the airport lot.

“Omi. We’re going to be there for a week. Why do ya need this much stuff?” Atsumu asked as he dropped the suitcases into the trunk. Now he could lift quite a bit but he couldn’t lie, he felt his knees buckle at the sheer weight of Sakusa’s luggage. 

“If anything, you’re underpacked.” He bites back, looping the strings of his mask around his ears. The blonde rolled his eyes, leaping into the passenger seat. Sakusa didn’t hesitate to shift the car into drive and start heading out. Atsumu leaned his head against the back of his seat. He’d barely gotten any sleep because his roommate had spent the entire night pacing with his packing list. 

Atsumu knows he’s just coping. Sakusa wasn’t the biggest fan of heavily crowded places—airports not being an exception. He’d been going to therapy for his mysophobia since college and these days, he could brave most situations without a mask. Airports just really freak him out. 

It’s a valid concern as well. With people going in and out from all around the world; who knows what they could’ve brought with them? Not that he’d ever voice that to his partner. He’s watched Sakusa break down in the past. He’s not going to incite that. 

“Samu isn’t even done packing yet. Suna is still asleep. I don’t understand why we’re leaving so early.”

Suna and Osamu had decided, after failing to finish gathering their things, that they’d just drive to Osaka instead of staying the night.

“You never know what could happen. What if the plane leaves?”

“It’s yer fuckin’ plane, Omi-kun. Stop yer blabberin’.” Atsumu snapped, unable to fight the smile that was threatening the corners of his lips. 

“Do you realize that your accent gets stronger when you get mad?” Sakusa noted unexpectedly. Atsumu’s head snapped towards him. 

“Eh?” He’d straightened in his seat, trying to find a way to respond.

“Or when you’re nervous. When you’re with your family too. It’s been mellowing it out since you started with the Jackals though.” 

Atsumu paused.

“Well, I mean that makes sense.” Atsumu shrugged. He hadn’t lived in the countryside since he was a teenager. Sure, staying in the same region helped in keeping it but he spent all his time with people from the city. None of his teammates had strong accents, except their foreign members. 

“Why, Omi-kun? Dja’like my accent?” He drawled, giving him a little wink. 

Sakusa paused, finally turning to meet his face at a red light. 

“… I don’t know. I just can’t really imagine you without it. I hear the Kansai accent and I think of you.”

Atsumu’s heart stalls. Get a grip. Miya.

“Aw, Omi. I didn’ realize I was runnin’ through yer mind like that.”

“I’m gonna leave you on the side of the road.”

Sakusa was panicking.

Atsumu could see it in his eyes.

Up until now, he’d actually been doing fine—remarkably fine, considering. He’d managed the jostling of the crowd with only the occasional pause to steady his breathing after someone bumped him a little too roughly. Atsumu had been watching closely, proud of him even, but he should’ve noticed the warning signs sooner: the way Sakusa’s tall frame had been steadily shrinking as they pressed deeper into the chaos of the airport.

Arriving early had been their first mistake. Instead of dodging the flood of travelers, they’d walked right into peak hour. Security had been a nightmare—crowded, loud, and slow—and though they were flying on the Sakusa family jet, it had only been officially cleared for their use a week ago. Sakusa hadn’t wanted to be listed as a registered user—insane, Atsumu thought—but that decision meant going through all the necessary checks like everyone else.

Osamu and Suna had both thanked and apologized to him profusely for dealing with everything. 

They were nearly at the gate, cleared to board early, with the rest of the group arriving together in half an hour. Everything should have been fine. But when Atsumu noticed the absence of Sakusa’s steady steps beside him, his stomach dropped. He spun around and froze.

Sakusa was hunched over in the middle of the airport, horror etched across his face, eyes locked on his trembling hands.

Atsumu sprinted back, heart hammering. He unzipped his bag mid-run, rummaging with frantic fingers until his palm brushed the familiar shape of a sanitizer spray. Relief was short-lived—Sakusa’s breathing was shallow and uneven based on the way his mask was moving. He wasn’t responding to any of Atsumu’s gestures either.

“Shit,” Atsumu muttered under his breath, guiding him toward a cluster of empty seats without touching him. He scrubbed down the chair with wipes before motioning for Sakusa to sit. His best friend obeyed mechanically, still staring at his hands like they weren’t his own.

“Omi-kun? Omi-Omi?” Atsumu tried softly, crouching low to meet his gaze. Nothing. “Sakusa.” His voice wavered. Still nothing.

Memories flashed—spring training camp, sixteen years old, when Atsumu had seen this once before. A sneeze had set it off then, and Motoya hadn’t been around. Atsumu had panicked, frantically fumbling with his phone to call him as Sakusa folded in on himself. 

Back then, Atsumu had been terrified—completely useless, really—panicking as Sakusa shut down in front of him. He’d begged Motoya for help over the phone, practically in tears, and afterward, when everything had calmed, he’d cornered Sakusa with the only question that mattered: “What do I do if it happens again?”

To his surprise, Sakusa had answered him. Carefully, methodically, like he’d rehearsed it, breaking down each step as though he were handing Atsumu an instruction manual. Atsumu had clung to every word.

In college, Sakusa finally started therapy. His parents had always said the medication would solve everything, but Sakusa knew that other things had to be addressed before the attacks could. It hadn’t been easy—he didn’t like talking about it—but little by little, Atsumu noticed the changes. The attacks became less frequent, less consuming. He learned new coping mechanisms, healthier ways to ground himself. Even then, though, Sakusa never liked being seen. If one hit, he’d lock himself away until it passed, determined to handle it alone.

Atsumu respected it—hell, he admired the work Sakusa put in—but he hated it too. Hated that Sakusa thought his struggles were something to hide, something shameful. Sakusa was his best friend, after all. He’d always told him, over and over, “Ya don’t gotta go through it by yerself, Omi.” And every time, Sakusa would nod politely, then go right back to shutting the door when things got bad.

But Atsumu remembered. He remembered every instruction Sakusa had given him that night when they were sixteen. He kept them tucked away in his heart, waiting—hoping—he’d never have to use them again.

And now, nine years later, here they were.

“Kiyoomi.” He dropped to his knees, voice low and pleading.

Finally, Sakusa’s eyes flicked up. For one raw, brutal second, Atsumu saw the terror there—saw Sakusa stripped bare of every ounce of composure. It nearly broke him.

Atsumu forced a small, gentle smile. “Hey there, darlin’. Watch me, yeah?”

He spritzed sanitizer into his palms, rubbing it in with exaggerated care. “See? Can I give ya some?”

Sakusa’s nod was shaky, hesitant.

“Okay.” Atsumu sprayed his hands liberally, then glanced up again. “Can I touch ya?”

A pause. Then, another nod.

First, Atsumu unhooked the mask from his ears, tucking it away into the bag. He took his hands gently, rubbing the sanitizer into them. They were icy, colder than usual, and Atsumu flinched inwardly at the thought of just how far gone he was. When he finished, he squeezed Sakusa’s hands tightly, then pressed one large palm against his own chest.

“Feel that? Breathe with me, darlin’. Real deep. Otherwise yer gonna collapse.”

He inhaled theatrically, his chest rising beneath Sakusa’s hand. At first, Sakusa’s breath caught painfully, shallow and uneven.

“That’s okay. Don't push it. Nice an’ slow. In… and out.”

It took several tries, Atsumu coaching each inhale and exhale, until Sakusa’s breathing finally evened out. His grip tightened, head bowing low, but he was there again—tethered.

“Fuck, is he okay?” a voice cut in, sharp with worry.

Atsumu glanced back to see Komori Motoya rushing toward them. From behind him, he could see the rest of the group in the distance. He must’ve caught them in the corner of his eye. Relief unfurled in Atsumu’s chest at the sight of him, steady and familiar.

“He’s okay now,” Atsumu assured, though his voice was still tight. He gave Sakusa’s hands another squeeze. “It was just too much. He held it in all the way here.”

Motoya’s hand pressed warmly against Atsumu’s back, steadying him. “Thank you.”

Together, they guided Sakusa to the jet, Motoya discreetly clearing a path until they reached a quieter corner. He didn’t even have time to take in the embellishments and the luxurious interior. When they made it to a more private couch at the back of the plane, Atsumu repeated his sanitizing ritual, then coaxed Sakusa into one of the plush seats. The rest of the party filtered in, loud and cheerful, but Osamu caught Atsumu’s quick signal and made sure no one bothered them.

The blessing of having someone that understood you, even without words.

Finally, after making rounds and forcing some smiles, Atsumu returned to Sakusa’s side. He doused his hands in sanitizer again—out of habit—and collapsed into the seat with a weary exhale, head tilting back, eyes shutting.

Then, a weight on his shoulder.

Atsumu blinked, glancing down. Sakusa. Resting his head against him. Voluntarily.

No way. He had to be hallucinating.

But then Sakusa shifted closer, curling carefully around Atsumu’s arm, voice so quiet it was almost a secret:

“Thank you, Tsumu.”

Atsumu’s lungs forgot how to work. He couldn’t remember the last time Sakusa had thanked him so unguardedly. He’s almost entirely certain he’d never called him by his given name, let alone a nickname.

Heat rushed to Atsumu’s face, his throat tightening. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he let instinct guide him. One hand found its way into Sakusa’s curls, carding through them with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. The other pressed against his own chest, as if to keep his racing heart from giving him away.

Sakusa sighed, the faintest noise of relief, and burrowed closer.

And Atsumu—loud, cocky, unflappable Atsumu—sat there stunned, realizing he could die right then and there and he wouldn’t even care.

Because Sakusa Kiyoomi trusted him enough to fall apart in front of him. Trusted him enough to rest against him. Trusted him enough to whisper his thanks like it meant something.

And as Sakusa nestled deeper into him, Atsumu thought he’d never seen him look so peaceful.

It was the last thought he managed before sleep dragged him under, too.

“You know, I didn’t believe you when you said they were dating,” Komori whispered, peering down at the sight before him. “But I’m starting to get it now.”

The entire jet had gathered, hushed but wide-eyed, staring at the unlikely picture in front of them.

Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu—fast asleep. Sakusa tucked against Atsumu’s side, arm wrapped tight around his waist, head nestled on his shoulder. Atsumu leaning into him, one arm draped across his back protectively, the other resting at his side, his cheek resting in Sakusa’s curls.

From the side, Suna and Rina were already snapping photos, grinning mischievously.

Chapter Text

Sakusa had returned to his normal self by the time their seventeen-hour flight landed. When Atsumu woke up, the man was already upright, mask back on, acknowledging him with a single nod before going to Motoya. They didn’t talk about what happened back earlier.

In a normal scenario, they would’ve had a layover. But since they were flying private with two very seasoned pilots, they’d committed to the stretch.

By the time they made it out of the airport, it was early afternoon in Geneva.

Atsumu didn’t know what he was expecting. He’d excitedly Googled photos upon photos of Switzerland when Osamu first told him the location of the destination wedding. He’d kicked his feet on the couch like a teenager, scrolling through Instagram tags of vineyards and snow-tipped mountains. He’d even memorized random trivia, like how Geneva was home to the world’s longest bench. The only fact that really stuck in his head, though, was that Switzerland didn’t have a men’s volleyball team—but their women’s beach team was damn impressive.

Still, nothing prepared him for the moment the glass doors slid open.

The air hit him first. Crisp, impossibly clean, with a faint bite of alpine chill despite the late summer sun. It was the kind of air that made him feel like his lungs had been doing it wrong all his life. Even Sakusa abandoned his mask the moment they stepped outside.

Beyond the airport’s steel-and-glass facade, the city unfolded in postcard layers. Streets ran neat and orderly, cars gliding in silence. Distant mountains loomed, their crowns still dusted with snow. And then there was the lake—shimmering in the distance, so clear and vast it looked like the earth itself had cracked open to reveal a mirror.

“Holy shit,” Atsumu muttered, nudging Sakusa with his elbow. “It looks fake.”

Sakusa didn’t answer, but his gaze was fixed on the horizon, jaw slack in a way Atsumu rarely saw.

Once they slid into one of the sleek black cars waiting for them, the view only grew more surreal. Geneva’s city streets softened into Montreux's neighborhoods, shuttered windows and flower boxes spilling with geraniums. Cafés with awnings in muted reds and greens dotted every corner. And then the lake—Lake Geneva—unfurled like a ribbon beside the road, the water so close Atsumu felt like he could roll down the window and drag his hand through it.

The water stretched wide, endless, bordered by green vineyards climbing the hillsides in careful, terraced rows. Mountains rose behind them like guardians, mist clinging to their peaks. Each bend in the road revealed another view so staggering that Atsumu eventually stopped trying to take photos. No camera could catch this.

Beside him, Sakusa murmured something about the air quality, voice so soft Atsumu almost missed it. But he caught the way Sakusa’s shoulders eased, his posture loosening as he watched the horizon.

Their resort stood at the base of the lake like something out of a movie—massive and white, with yellow awnings shading every balcony. Flowering trees lined the paths, the scent of lavender thick in the air.

Inside, the lobby gleamed. Chandeliers glowed overhead. Marble floors echoed under their steps. Bellhops in neat uniforms whisked luggage away.

Atsumu spun in a slow circle, wide-eyed, taking it all in. He hadn’t grown up with money. Nationals and training camps in Tokyo had been the closest thing to luxury he’d ever known. Even after making it pro, he’d barely traveled outside volleyball commitments. The Jackals tried planning a trip after the end of every season, but no one could ever commit to planning since Sakusa wanted no part. The rest of them were kind of hopeless. 

But this? This was on another level.

Sakusa, on the other hand, though seemingly curious, was not nearly as awestruck as him. This kind of thing must be just another day to him. 

“Hey, Prince Omi!” Atsumu called toward Sakusa, who was already two steps ahead, helping Osamu at the check-in counter. “Ya look like yer in yer element!”

Sakusa didn’t bother turning around, taking the stack of passports from his twin and beginning to organize them. 

“You must have me very misunderstood. I didn’t grow up frequenting palaces.” He rolled his eyes, handing them over, “Miya, you act like my family is royalty.”

“Ya’ve really got to stop calling him Miya. It’s goin’ to get confusin’ with all of us here.” Osamu chimed, smiling at the receptionist with a stack of keycards in his hand as he retreated towards the group. 

“Old habits die hard.” Sakusa countered, making up for his slip up.

“Well kill it,” Suna agreed as he slid his arm around his fiancé’s shoulders, “The world’s about to gain another Miya.” 

Suna was not changing his name. He felt it would be too confusing if he’d suddenly changed his name at the height of his career. If he was lucky, he had another decade left in him until retirement became inevitable, so he decided to stay Suna professionally but go by Miya in more social scenarios. In fact, he’d changed his instagram handle to m1yarin as soon as they’d gotten engaged two years ago.

He took half the stack from Osamu, catching the large group’s attention. 

“I’m so excited!” Bokuto exclaimed perhaps a little too loud.

Akaashi smiled at his husband, patting him gently, “Let’s let them speak, Kou.”

“Alright,” Osamu started, holding up the keycards, “We have ya all split into rooms of two for the most part. Some of ya got lucky and get yer own rooms.” 

Beside him, Atsumu swore he saw Sakusa praying. 

“Let’s start! Uncle Kazo and Auntie Ume.”

“Ma.“

“Ren and Ao—fuck yer wife isn’t here. It’s just ya. Sorry, forgot.”

“Fuck you, Samu.” Their oldest cousin, Ren muttered. His wife was a pediatric neurosurgeon. Long story short, she had a lot of lives to save this week and couldn’t make it. 

“My lovely parents.”

“Rina, yer room is connected to theirs but it’s all yers.”

“Ayame and Kentaro.” 

“Kaori and Hitomi.”

“Bokuto and Akaashi.”

“Kita and Akagi.”

“Oikawa and Iwaizumi.”

“Toya and Kuroo ya have yer own rooms but they’re connected.”

“Sweet.” Kuroo nodded, turning to Motoya and dapping him up. 

“Hinata and Kageyama are already checked in.”

“... and of course, m’brother and Sakusa.” He grinned, holding out a different-looking keycard. “Special upgrade. Consider it a thank you for hookin’ us up with the jet. Atsumu, ya just benefit by association.”

“Yer forgettin’ who has yer weddin' rings, ya scrub!” 

Sakusa clapped his arm around Atsumu’s shoulder, silencing him. Atsumu looked up to the man who he was now nestled against, his face impassive. 

“He’s just being dramatic. Upgrading us was unnecessary but thank you very much.” Sakusa says with what Atsumu swears is the slightest of smiles, “I will make sure he doesn’t lose your rings.” 

“We’re counting on you, Sakusa.” Suna smirked, sticking out his tongue at the blonde before attaching himself to his fiancé.

Atsumu sputtered, but the heat creeping up his neck had nothing to do with the teasing.

Their room—no, their suite—was absurd.

A living room with couches that looked too expensive to sit on. Floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a balcony with a view that made Atsumu’s stomach drop. The lake stretched like glass beneath them. Mountains loomed in the distance.

Atsumu whispered, running to press his nose against the glass. “This is insane.”

He ran around the suite a little longer, taking it in. It was easily the nicest place he’d ever stayed in—and he’d slept over at the Sakusa residence once in high school. He turned to call for his roommate, but the man was already in the bedroom calmly unpacking their luggage, like this was all perfectly normal.

Atsumu wandered deeper, throwing open doors, until—

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw it.

One bed.

Not just any bed—a massive, king-sized monstrosity that screamed honeymoon suite. With a big frilly duvet and enough throw pillows to drown a man. 

He was going to kill his brother.

“Well.” Atsumu let out a low whistle. “Ain’t this somethin’.”

Sakusa stayed unpacking on the carpeted floors. Too casually.

“Don’t tell me ya planned this,” Atsumu attempted flirtatiously, but his voice cracked halfway through.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sakusa replied, putting away his many styles of black shirts. “It’s a room. We’ll manage.”

Atsumu scratched the back of his neck. He couldn’t make Sakusa sacrifice his comfort for him. 

“I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miya.”

“I ain’t bein’ ridiculous! I’ve slept on worse couches than that beauty in there. In fact, I’ve got options,” He laughed, “And ya’ve gotta stop callin’ me that.” He grabbed a pillow dramatically and started toward the door.

But then—fingers curled firmly around his arm.

Atsumu froze, dropping the pillow.

“Stay,” Sakusa said. Quiet. Steady, “. . . Atsumu.”

Not a plea. Not an order. Just… sure.

For once, Atsumu wished Sakusa hadn’t listened to him because hearing his name come out the ravenettes mouth felt tingly.

Atsumu swallowed hard, pulse hammering. “… Fine. But if ya hog the covers, I’m fightin’ ya for ‘em.”

Later, they lay stiffly on opposite ends of the bed, as far apart as humanly possible. Sakusa’s breathing evened out almost immediately, calm and steady. He must have fallen asleep.

Atsumu, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling, wide awake.

They’d lived together for nearly half a decade. Trained side by side. Traveled. Won championships. Hell, they played together in the Olympics. But never—not once—had they shared a bed.

It was nothing. It was just a bed. He’d shared a bed with many people. He’d shared a bed with his brother’s fiancé numerous times, for fucks sake. There was nothing weird about sharing a bed with someone else. 

He rolled onto his side, eyes tracing Sakusa’s silhouette outlined by the moonlight through the curtains.

Stay, Atsumu.

Atsumu pressed his face into the pillow, heart pounding so loud he was sure it would wake Sakusa.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

The lobby was alive with motion and noise. Twenty-four people seemed to occupy every corner, bouncing suitcases and opinions off the marble floors. Auntie Ume fussed over a wayward bag, and Uncle Kazo asserted that everything was alright. Ren ranted about missing his wife and kids. Sakusa had somehow already been with the group.

Atsumu planted himself in the center, hands on his hips, trying to assert some control. “Okay, everyone! Eyes on me! The best man—me—is about to lead you through Montreux in style. Follow my instructions and survive this day without losing anyone. That’s rule one.”

“Rule two,” Osamu quipped from the side, “is admit ya only Googled the itinerary yesterday.”

Atsumu shot him a glare. “I curated an experience, thank ya very much. Not Googled. Curated.”

Sakusa, predictably, was already half a step ahead of him, scanning the lobby with an expression that said: humans are amusing but exhausting. He didn’t comment, didn’t correct anyone, just observed.

The volleyball crew, of course, didn’t make things easier.

“Are we walking? Are we walking? Can we run?” Hinata bounced in place like a pogo stick, his wide grin threatening to stretch his face in half. 

“I don’t think we should run,” Iwaizumi muttered, gripping his backpack straps. “Or at least you shouldn't. You could trip.”

“Tripping never killed anyone.” Oikawa countered smugly.

Bokuto barreled into the conversation, voice booming, “Yes! And we can take group selfies! And wine!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but Atsumu caught the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Kita, ever the anchor, folded his arms, quiet but present, giving Atsumu the occasional approving nod. Atsumu decided that this was his target audience.

Rina scooted past him, elbowing Atsumu in the ribs. “Try not to lose half the group before lunch, big guy,” she teased. Her grin was filled with mischief.

His mother fussed over everyone—making sure everyone was comfortable—but her eyes never left Atsumu for more than a second. He felt simultaneously proud and slightly smothered.

“Let’s head out!” He yelled over the group, starting his march out the doors of the resort. Sakusa—with his long legs—caught up to him, staying by his side. 

He turned around to see everyone slowly but surely begin to file out.

Atsumu had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.

After making it to town center with the help of Google Maps, Atsumu had successfully led all twenty-five of them to their main activity of the day—a walking tour of the prettiest sites around. He had found it last week when he remembered it was his job to organize activities and had booked it after skimming through the description. 

It looked great and perfect to organize with a large group. 

Atsumu skipped towards the information desk, recognizing their Japanese tour guide from the booking website. He greeted him with a happy “boujour” which was reciprocated. He couldn’t hide his giddy smile when he realized how amazingly his haphazardly thrown together plan was working.

That was until the tour guide began speaking spit-fire French.

For the first time all day, the entire group went silent. 

The blonde frantically pulled out his phone, scrolling through his booking confirmation before seeing “only French” written in italics at the very bottom. He hadn’t made it all the way down before he booked it. Auto-translate had led him into a false sense of security. 

Atsumu realizes he might have overshot his organizational capacity.

The guide launched into rapid French, sweeping gestures, voice bouncing across the cobblestones outside. Atsumu opened his mouth. Closed it. It opened again. He tried a “Um… merci… croissant?” and immediately realized it was all wrong.

The group, still silent, looked at him. Rina snorted. Kuroo burst out laughing. Ayame looked panicked. Osamu just groaned.

“Miya Atsumu, ya had one job.” His brother chastised, shushing a cackling Suna. 

“Uh—uh—I’ll fix this,” Atsumu muttered, spinning to face the guide again, flailing his arms. “Tiny… hiccup! No French, s'il vous plate!”

The guide looked polite but clearly puzzled. He tried the few languages in his roster. It appeared that his very Japanese looking tour guide spoke nothing but French. Atsumu swallowed, wiped sweat from his brow. He could yolo it, right? Improvise? Just nod a lot? Smile like he knew what was going on? They didn’t need to understand anything to enjoy themselves. It’s not like the entire tour was supposed to be educational. 

Hinata whispered to Kageyama, “Do you think Italian is close enough to French?”

Kageyama frowned. “No, it’s not close enough.”

But in the chaos—Sakusa stepped forward.

“Excusez-moi,” he said to the man, low and even. “Puis-je traduire pour le groupe?”

The guide’s face lit up. Relief. He repeated everything in slower, carefully articulated French. Atsumu’s jaw hit the cobblestones—almost literally.

“I’ll be translating. Is that alright with everyone?” Sakusa informed. Amidst the shock, the group nodded and they began their trip. With Sakusa translating. In French. Because Sakusa knew French.

“I didn’t know ya were fluent in French, Omi.” Atsumu strided up to his side during a pause, completely out of his mind. Maybe his fancy private school taught him?

Sakusa shrugged, “I did summer semesters at a university in Paris. Was able to declare a minor. How else do you think I graduated in three years? You were literally at my graduation.” 

“Yer the smartest person I know, I never questioned it!” Atsumu exclaimed, getting a little too worked up, “So all those summers when ya said ya were busy, ya were bein' busy in another country?” 

Sakusa tilted his head. “It didn’t seem important enough to mention.”

Atsumu looked at him, dumbfounded, feeling the familiar, familiar panic rise. He had known this man for a decade—or thought he had. And now, there were entire years, entire experiences he hadn’t known about.

At the sound of the tour guide starting back up, Sakusa turned and began translating once more.

Atsumu tried to wave it off, but inside, his thoughts were spiraling. How much else do I not know about him?

“Alright! That concludes the tour portion of today,” Atsumu announced, chest puffed up like a general addressing his troops, sweat already dampening his temples. “Y’all are officially free to roam! Explore the streets, buy somethin' nice, find a view ya like! But—” He pointed dramatically toward the decorative fountain at the center of the promenade. “Meet back here at 5 PM sharp. No excuses!”

Akagi cheered. Oikawa and Kageyama immediately began chasing each other around a market stall. Rina rolled her eyes but smiled, running off with Kaori and Hitomi to browse a jewelry shop. The group split into pairs and small clusters, disappearing in every direction.

Atsumu took a step toward Osamu, intending to join him, but froze. Him and Suna were walking arm in arm, heads bent together, whispering and laughing.

Of course they’d want to spend time together—it’s their wedding. Don’t be sad, idiot.

His chest tightened. He wanted to walk over anyway, just to be part of it, but the sight of his twin’s content smile and Suna’s soft laughter twisted something inside him. He took a deep breath, reminded himself, It’s their week. This is their happiness. Not mine.

He lingered on the promenade alone, lost in thought, until a calm voice interrupted.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa said, stepping alongside him, hand casually in his pocket. 

“I assumed ya were joining yer cousin?” He’d said, pretending not to be incredibly grateful that he’d been approached.

“No. Traveling with Motoya is one of my least favorite things.” Sakusa pulled out his phone, typing something out in French before a beautiful little store appeared on his screen. “The gelato here is really famous. If you’re interested.”

Atsumu blinked. Then he broke out into the brightest of grins. “Yes! Definitely.”

Kuroo, leaning against a lamppost nearby, snorted. “Aw, look at you two lovebirds being sneaky.”

The blonde’s face flamed. “Shut up!”

As they walked, Atsumu couldn’t help but glance at the man next to him. Between all the chaos, he hadn’t had the time to really take him in. Today he’d opted for a loose black cotton button up and white linen pants. They hung loose, not doing much for his frame but somehow oddly chic. 

Atsumu tried to focus elsewhere. “Paris… the summers ya were there. What were they like?”

“Nothing special. Just wanted a break from Tokyo,” Sakusa replied casually.

“Why did ya never mention it?” He finally asked, needing closure. 

Sakusa was impassive, shrugging, “You never really texted me over the summer anyways. You were always busy doing conditioning. It never came up and I didn’t think you’d get so worked up about it.” 

Atsumu ignored the last comment. “City of romance, huh? Anything… romantic happen while you were there?”

Sakusa hesitated, just a fraction, then leveled his gaze. “You know I haven’t been involved with anyone since high school.”

His mind drifted back to their second year spring training camp, the last one before they moved onto U19. He remembered how Sakusa had confided in him about realizing he was gay. Atsumu—not knowing what to do at Sakusa’s sincerity—had laughed in his face. It was only after he noticed the dejected look on Sakusa’s face that he realized what his reaction implied. Quickly, he thanked him for coming out to him and came out himself—asserting that he would be the biggest raging bisexual Sakusa would ever meet. 

It was a fond memory now. That was the year they had really became best friends. 

Sakusa had never brought any partners home. He never spoke of any either. Once in a blue moon, he’d mention in passing hooking up with a guy after returning from a bar night with his cousin—but past that, Sakusa had never dated. Not since he came out. 

Atsumu felt a brief rush of relief at the confirmation that Sakusa hadn’t had romantic partners since then. Then, almost instantly, he caught himself. Wait… why am I relieved about that?

He shoved the thought aside and focused on the gelato shop ahead, a small place tucked along the boardwalk with colorful awnings and the scent of creamy sweetness drifting through the street. He excitedly looked around the store before his eyes landed on the ridiculously large menu. Atsumu stood there for five whole minutes before he’d even been able to bring his choices down to two. 

“Alright, Omi. Should I get raspberry or stracciatella? I’m not hungry enough for both and I can’t decide.”

Sakusa, calm as ever, offered, “We could get both and share.”

Atsumu’s jaw dropped. Sakusa Kiyoomi was full of surprises today. 

“Share?”

Sakusa shrugged. “I don't have a preference and it seems practical.”

Dumbstruck, Atsumu barely managed to nod. They walked out of the gelato shop with one scoop of each.

They settled along the boardwalk, gelato in hand, the lake glittering beside them. The world was calm for the first time all day, a sharp contrast to the chaos of the lobby and tour. When Atsumu took a bite, he’d practically squealed at the taste.

“Ya have to try!” He exclaimed, taking a generous spoonful and extending it out to Sakusa. Sakusa blinked at him, expression neutral, then awkwardly took the bite. He nodded, muttering in agreement under his breath. Seconds later, when Sakusa offered Atsumu a taste of his own gelato, Atsumu felt his heart thump a little faster. He was so endearin'.

Atsumu couldn’t hold back. He had cuteness aggression, after all. With his free hand, he grabbed the side of Sakusa’s face and smacked a kiss on his cheek. It took Atsumu a few seconds to realize what he had done before his whole body went up in flames.

Before he could explain himself to a frozen Sakusa, a few tourists approached, smiling. “Would you like us to take a photo?”

Atsumu, trying to brush it off, eagerly stepped forward before handing off his pink phone. “Yes, please!”

He gingerly slid his open arm around Sakusa’s waist, leaning against him and giving the camera the largest of smiles. He could feel the man’s gaze on him for a few moments more before his own free arm rested across Atsumu’s shoulders, facing the camera.

The tourists snapped a few shots, chatting cheerfully. “Enjoy your honeymoon! What a cute couple!” they exclaimed when finished.

Atsumu’s blushed. “Uh… thanks! Totally… not us.” He muttered internally, 

Sakusa, quiet as ever, glanced at the time. “We should start heading back to the fountain.”

Atsumu fished out his phone, scrolling through the photos. They were all great, but one made his chest flutter—a picture where he wasn’t looking at the camera, just at Sakusa. And… he looked completely smitten.

Wow, his acting skills were getting better by the day. No one would be able to tell them they weren’t a couple if they saw the photo.

When he looked to his side, he noticed Sakusa scrolling through as well, picking a different photo before setting it as his phone wallpaper. 

Maybe he just liked the scenery. Or the water. Yeah. Totally innocent.

He shoved the thought aside and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

Chapter Text

Atsumu woke to an empty bed.

It was subtle at first—the shift in temperature, the lack of quiet breathing beside him. But when he rolled onto his side, the proof was there in the mattress: a shallow indent pressed into the sheets, still faintly warm. Sakusa had only gotten up a little while before. Which was strange because he was by no means a morning person. 

For a long moment, Atsumu just stared at that hollowed space. It shouldn’t have mattered—they were just sharing a room, after all. Just teammates. Just best friends caught in a ruse. And yet something about the absence it left behind gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t name.

His mind drifted back to the day before, to the tour. Atsumu could still picture the way his twin had looked at his fiancé—soft, steady, like gravity itself had shifted and planted him there. Suna’s gaze matched it, patient and unshakable, the kind of look that didn’t just see someone but chose them.

It had unsettled Atsumu more than he wanted to admit. This wasn’t new. They’d been together since high school. Atsumu never remembered feeling like this before. He didn’t know why he was feeling it now.

He’d laughed and made his usual noise, of course, but underneath it all he’d felt small. Restless. Like he was stuck watching a play from the wrong side of the curtain. Osamu had always been his other half. 

He sighed, throwing an arm over his eyes. He shouldn’t be thinking about it first thing in the morning. He should be excited. He was excited. But—

The sharp click of the bathroom door cut him off.

Atsumu lowered his arm, and his entire train of thought derailed.

Sakusa stepped into the room, steam curling out behind him, nothing but a towel slung low around his waist. His hair was damp, drops of water tracing lines down his temple, his adams apple, then lower across pale skin. Atsumu’s breath caught.

He’d seen Sakusa shirtless before, of course. Locker rooms, practice, their apartment—it wasn’t new. But there was something different about this, about waking up groggy and vulnerable only to be hit with the sight of him framed in the morning light.

Sakusa’s body wasn’t flashy, not like the hulking build of some of their teammates, but it carried a quiet kind of strength. Lean muscle etched along his frame, taut in the arms, steady in the shoulders. His abs weren’t sculpted for show but for control, every line the result of years of discipline.

Atsumu’s eyes dragged upward again, over the stretch of pale, milky skin that looked impossibly smooth, to the scattered moles dotting it like stars against a blank sky. Tiny constellations that only Sakusa carried. Atsumu found himself tracing patterns with his gaze, as if they might tell him a story no one else knew.

Tall. Strong. Unshakably composed.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was like the night sky itself—vast, unreachable, close enough to see but always just beyond grasp. Atsumu felt the ache of it in his chest. He’d spent years chasing stars on the court, but this one… this one left him staring, quiet and unmoored.

And for once, he didn’t even bother to hide it. His gaze lingered too long, trailing down the slope of Sakusa’s collarbone, over the steady and wide shoulders, the curve of his tiny waist, the towel hanging precariously low. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Are you done eye-fucking me?”

The voice snapped like a whip, jolting Atsumu so hard he nearly tumbled out of bed. His face flushed hot, ears burning as his head jerked up.

“Wh–what?” His voice cracked embarrassingly on the syllable.

Sakusa arched a brow, unbothered, and crossed the room with calm precision. He bent to snag the hair dryer from the desk, the towel shifting just enough to send Atsumu’s heart into his throat. “You’re staring. Jealous?”

The word hit Atsumu square in the chest. Jealous? Him?

“Jealous? Of ya? Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!” Atsumu scrambled upright, his hands gesturing wildly in defense. “I got the best thighs on the team. Bet I could squat two of ya without even breakin’ a sweat.”

Sakusa didn’t even blink. He flipped the dryer on, voice steady over the hum. “True.”

The agreement was so casual, so genuine, it left Atsumu reeling.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then sputtered like an engine trying to start. “Hey! Yer not supposed t’ just—agree with me!”

“Why not?” Sakusa asked simply, like he was inquiring about breakfast options. “You work legs more often than I do.”

Atsumu gawked at him, heat crawling down his neck. His heart thudded erratically, equal parts indignation and something he refused to put a name to.

And then, mercifully, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He snatched it up, clinging to the distraction like a lifeline.

It was from Osamu.

Samu: Meet me in the lobby? Got some best man stuff to run by u

Samu: Rin’s with me

Samu: Your boyf is welcome 2

Atsumu typed back a quick reply, then glanced at Sakusa, still half-naked and nonchalant. “Samu wants us to meet him and Suna in the lobby. Best man duties. He said yer welcome to join.”

Sakusa looked up at last, towel still around his waist. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

Atsumu blinked at him. For someone so intimidating on the court, Sakusa could be excessively polite. “Intrudin’? Omi, yer literally invited. He asked for ya. Yer not intrudin’ on nothin’.”

Sakusa studied him for a beat, then gave a slow nod. “Alright. If you say so.”

Thirty minutes later, they saw Osamu and Suna were waiting near the doors. Osamu had dressed neatly—dark jeans, a pressed button-up rolled to his forearms, hair combed in a way that reminded Atsumu of when their mom used to fuss over them before family pictures. Beside him, Suna leaned casually against the wall, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, eyes half-lidded but glinting sharp with amusement.

“Yer late,” Osamu said the moment Atsumu was within earshot, voice dry but tinged with fondness.

“We ain’t late,” Atsumu shot back, rolling his eyes. “Yer just early. Big difference.”

Suna smirked, barely moving from his slouch. “You two argue the exact same way, you know that?”

“Shut it,” Atsumu and Osamu snapped in unison, the words tumbling over each other.

Suna snickered, shoulders shaking. “See?”

Beside Atsumu, Sakusa gave a quiet hum of acknowledgement, as if silently agreeing but refusing to add fuel to the fire. His presence was solid—not overbearing, not loud, but anchoring in a way Atsumu had grown used to.

They piled into the resort buggy idling outside the lobby. The driver greeted them in French-accented English, cheerful, and Osamu exchanged a few words before they all settled into their seats. Atsumu squished against the window, sprawling in a way that stole too much space. Sakusa shot him a side glance but didn’t complain.

The drive took them away from the bustle of the main property and deeper into the resort grounds. The cobblestone pathway narrowed, the large buildings moved to the distance, before opening into wide stretches of green. Hills unfurled before them, draped in neat rows of vines that climbed upward like fingers reaching for the sky. Beyond it all, the lake gleamed—a vast sheet of emerald, broken only by the shimmer of sunlight and the occasional boat cutting across.

Atsumu pressed his forehead to the glass, breath fogging the pane. “Holy hell…”

The words slipped out unbidden, reverent.

“Told ya,” Osamu said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. It wasn’t his vineyard, but the satisfaction in his tone said it didn’t matter. He’d chosen this place with Suna, claimed it for their moment, and that was enough.

“Ya could’ve told me it looked like this, but I wouldn’t have believed ya,” Atsumu muttered, eyes darting to catch every shifting angle as the van climbed higher. “It’s like somethin’ outta a damn storybook.”

“Exactly,” Suna said. “Figured if I’m marrying into the Miya’s, I might as well make it dramatic. In family tradition, of course”

Osamu elbowed him, though his grin betrayed him. “Don’t listen to him. He loves every second of this.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Ya planned half of it.”

“I tolerated that too.”

Their bickering drew a laugh out of Atsumu, a real one that bubbled up before he could stop it. For a fleeting second, it softened the tightness in his chest. But the moment passed quickly, the reminder of why they were here pressing back down.

The buggy curved up a final hill and came to a stop along a stone path lined with lavender bushes. The air shifted the moment they stepped outside—lighter, sweeter, infused with the faint buzz of bees and the earthy tang of ripening grapes.

At the top of the path, the vineyard opened into a broad terrace overlooking the lake. A stone balustrade framed the view, the vines rolling down toward the water in regimented lines. Across the lake, mountains rose jagged and snow-dusted despite the warmth of the day.

Atsumu turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. The wind tugged at his hair, carrying the scent of sun-warmed stone, soil, and lavender. He felt small in the best way, as though the world had opened wide just to show him this one view.

“Yer shittin’ me,” he breathed. “This looks like a movie.”

Suna grinned, spreading his arms with mock flourish. “The ceremony’s gonna be here. Picture it—sunset, wine, perfect backdrop. No way Samu escapes me now.”

Osamu’s ears turned faintly pink, but he smiled anyway.

Beside Atsumu, Sakusa approached the terrace’s edge. He braced his hands lightly against the stone, scanning the horizon with the same quiet precision he gave to reading serves. His profile was sharp against the morning light, eyes narrowing slightly before he finally spoke.

“It’s beautiful.”

The words were simple, but they landed heavy. He swallowed hard, throat tight.

He followed Osamu and Suna as they began pacing the terrace, pointing out where tables would go, how the chairs would be arranged, where the officiant—their mother, since they’d already gone through the legal process in Japan—would stand. Osamu rattled through logistics like he’d been rehearsing them for months, and maybe he had. Atsumu nodded here and there, throwing in the occasional joke, but the longer it went on, the blurrier it all became.

His gaze slid back to Osamu and Suna—to the way they brushed shoulders easily without thinking, to the private glances they exchanged mid-sentence, to the gravity that pulled them toward each other. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t showy. But it was there. Solid.

Legally bound, Atsumu thought.

The words echoed like a bell. Not just dating. Not just engaged. In a matter of days, Osamu would stand here and tie himself to someone else—not by blood, not by shared history, but by choice. A choice strong enough to last a lifetime.

And where did that leave Atsumu?

For as long as he could remember, it had always been the Miya twins. Their names strung together like one word, their lives intertwined so tightly people rarely said one without the other. But after this? Would it be Osamu and Suna first? Would Atsumu be reduced to an afterthought?

It hit him hard, sudden and sharp: Osamu had grown up.

Atsumu still felt like the same brash kid he’d always been—chasing attention, cracking jokes too loud, desperate to fill silence. Osamu, though, had built something solid. Something lasting. And for the first time, Atsumu felt like he was standing still while his twin stepped forward without him.

Atsumu’s vision blurred at the edges, not with tears but with a restless, frantic energy he couldn’t shake. He tried to focus on Osamu’s voice, on the details of the schedule, but everything slipped past him. 

And then—

A hand closed firmly around his own.

Atsumu jerked, startled, and looked to his side.

Sakusa’s fingers interlaced with his, steady and deliberate. His thumb brushed once across Atsumu’s knuckles, not absentmindedly but with intent. His eyes, dark and sharp, met Atsumu’s with quiet weight.

“Are you okay?” Sakusa asked, low enough that the others couldn’t hear.

Atsumu’s heart slammed against his ribs. He forced a grin, though it wavered at the corners. “Course I am. Don’t worry ’bout me.”

But even as the words left him, they rang hollow. He gave Sakusa’s hand an assuring squeeze before pulling away. 

He wanted to believe himself. He wanted to shrug this off, laugh it away like he always did. For the first time, Atsumu felt how fragile his facade really was.

He wasn’t okay. Not even close.

Atsumu’s phone buzzed in his pocket while he was half-listening to Suna joke about some detail on the seating chart. He pulled it out, ready to ignore whatever message it was, but the name on the screen made him pause.

Sho-kun

He blinked, then answered. “Yo?”

“Tsumu~!” Hinata’s voice blasted through the receiver with the same uncontainable energy it always had. “Tell me you’re free. Please. Pretty please.”

Atsumu rubbed his temple. “Free? I’m in the middle of my brother’s weddin’ prep, dumbass.”

Hinata laughed sheepishly on the other end. “I feel like we haven’t talked since we got here. And I haven’t seen you since the Olympics. You have to tell me all the Jackals drama! Just us. Duo edition. Coffee, maybe food. Just an hour?”

The corners of Atsumu’s mouth twitched despite himself. Hinata had that effect—exhausting, but impossible to say no to. “An hour, huh? Yer plannin’ to talk my ear off for way longer than that.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Atsumu sighed, already resigned. “Yeah, it’s a yes.”

He beelines to Osamu, crouched over his notes app of final details. “Oi, Samu. Hinata called. I’ll head out for a bit. Just forward me all the crap ya need me t’ look over later, yeah?”

Osamu straightened, brows knitting. “Now? Yer ditchin’ me for Hinata?”

Yer ditchin’ me for Sunarin. He wanted to bite back.

Atsumu shrugged, trying to play it casual. “Don’t worry, I’ll get everythin’ done. Just… need a break.”

His twin looked at him a moment longer, puzzled, then glanced toward Suna. Suna only lifted a brow, like he knew there was more to it than Atsumu was letting on.

“Fine,” Osamu said slowly. “I’ll text ya later.”

“Okay.” Atsumu forced a grin and clapped his brother on the shoulder.

Before leaving, he ducked back toward the balcony where Sakusa was scanning over a set of table cards, methodical as always. “Omi-Omi. Don’t wait up for me, yeah? I won’t be back to the room ‘til later.”

Sakusa looked up immediately, a crease forming between his brows. “Where are you going?”

“Hinata. A little setter-spiker catch-up. Just for a while.” Atsumu waved a hand, trying to sound lighter than he felt. “You’re welcome to come, but I think it’s better if it’s just us. Don’t wanna bore ya.”

Sakusa’s gaze lingered on him, sharp, assessing, but he didn’t push. “Alright”

And with that, Atsumu intercepted the buggy, heart pounding faster than it should’ve. He told himself the fresh air would help, that Hinata’s endless chatter would drown out the ugly tangle of thoughts he’d been carrying since he’d seen Osamu and Suna hand in hand.

The café at the resort was warm and sunlit, nestled by the water with little wicker chairs outside. Atsumu spotted Hinata instantly—not because he stood out, but because he was practically bouncing in his seat, waving both arms as if Atsumu might miss him otherwise.

“Oi, quit wavin’ like a lunatic,” Atsumu said as he approached. “People are starin’.”

“Good!” Hinata grinned, springing up to hug him. “Let them stare. It’s not every day the Black Jackals’ best duo reunites.”

Atsumu snorted, tugging him down into his seat. “Best duo, huh? Not sure how my boyfriend would take that.”

Hinata rolled his eyes. “I hope you still like caramel macchiatos.” 

Atsumu grinned, “Of course I do.”

They sipped on their drinks, commenting about how much better coffee tastes in Europe. Hinata argues that nothing will beat the coffee in Brazil.   

“So,” Atsumu started, resting his chin on his hand, “how has Brazil been treatin’ ya these days?”

Hinata lit up. “Good. Really good. Volleyball’s insane there, you know? The crowds, the energy—every single match feels like a championship.”

Atsumu smirked. “Sounds like yer kinda place.”

“It is,” Hinata agreed quickly, maybe too quickly. He took a long sip, set his glass down, and fiddled with the straw. “But…”

Atsumu raised a brow. “But?”

Hinata laughed softly, almost self-conscious. “Sometimes I just… get homesick. Especially after the Olympics. It sneaks up on me. Like, I’ll be walking back from practice and suddenly I miss the convenience store near my old place, or I’ll see a little kid playing and think about my sister, and—” He shook his head. “It just hits me. That Japan’s still home.”

Atsumu leaned back, arms crossing. “Makes sense. Bein’ across the ocean’s no joke.”

Hinata nodded. “Yeah. And the distance makes it harder with Tobio. Especially since he’s in Europe now. Not in a scary way, but we’re in different countries, and sometimes that sucks. Calls and visits only do so much.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Atsumu teased, though his tone was softer than usual.

Hinata rolled his eyes. “Not really. We’ve been through worse. Way worse.” He smiled faintly. “The first two years I spent in Brazil, right after high school? That was rough. I didn’t know the language well, didn’t know anyone, felt totally out of place. I thought I’d made a mistake. I almost gave up.”

“But ya didn’t,” Atsumu said, watching him closely.

“Nope.” Hinata’s voice warmed, steady. “Because of Kageyama. Even from Japan, he didn’t let me quit. He yelled at me over the phone, reminding me of what we promised each other, that we’d play on the world stage no matter what. Every time I felt like crumbling, he held me together. We already survived being continents apart once—we can survive it again.”

Atsumu swirled the foam in his cappuccino, glancing at Hinata across the table. “How’d ya figure it out? Like, that it wasn’t just… friendship?”

Hinata leaned back, fingers drumming lightly against his iced coffee. He grinned faintly, teasing, but his eyes softened. “Honestly? I just felt different around him. Nobody else made me feel the way he did. Nobody gave me butterflies, nobody made me blush without even trying. Nothing else in my life grabbed me like that did. Not even volleyball.”

Atsumu tilted his head, processing. “So it’s just natural, huh? Ya didn’t have to think about it?”

“Not exactly,” Hinata admitted. “I think the distance helped. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? And it’s true. Being away from him… man, it physically hurt sometimes. Not like sad—more like I’d left a piece of me behind.”

He laughed, a little rueful, and Atsumu could almost see the memory replaying in his mind. “The first time I went to Brazil, I loved the experience, but I missed everything. Friends, home… but missing Tobio? That was on a whole other level. No one else mattered the same way. I realized that being apart made me realize how important he was. And by the time I got back and joined the Jackals officially, there wasn’t even a question. We belonged together.”

Atsumu nodded slowly, tracing the rim of his cup. “Guess it makes sense. Ya guys were already close before.”

Hinata smiled, relaxed now. “Exactly. Best friends first. We’d been through everything together, so when it came time to be more… it just clicked. The foundation was already there.”

Atsumu chuckled, though it was half-hearted. “I’m glad yer happy, Shoyo.”

Hinata laughed at that, shaking his head. “Me too. I’m envious of you though. You and Sakusa are together and on the same team. You live together too! Though I know it was our own decision, I would give anything to be in the same city as Tobio again.”

Atsumu stirred his coffee absentmindedly, heart tightening. He’s never been apart from Sakusa the way Hinata and Kageyama were.

He laughed, a little forced. “Guess bein’ on the same team has its perks.”

Hinata cackled, nudging him with his elbow. “Yeah, but don’t take it for granted. Those perks make you lazy sometimes. You gotta appreciate it.”

Atsumu stared into his coffee again, uncomfortably aware of his own heartbeat, the pit forming in his stomach. Maybe it’s not just thinking too hard. Maybe it’s…

Stop. 

And just like that, the café, the iced coffee, the sunlight on the lake—it all became too loud in a quiet, overwhelming way.

Atsumu left the café and walked back toward his room slowly, almost mechanically. The path felt narrower than usual, the sunset lower and colder in the sky. His mind churned with thoughts he didn’t want to face, spinning faster with every step.

Why do I care so much? It’s ridiculous. I’ve never even thought of him like… that.

And yet, he couldn’t stop. His mind traced back to Hinata’s story, how absence had made him realize his feelings for Kageyama. Atsumu tried to dismiss it, tried to shove it into the corner of his mind labeled overthinking, but the idea refused to be ignored.

He imagined walking through their shared apartment, coming home from practice or a long day, and the quiet emptiness hitting him first. The absence of Sakusa, that familiar rhythm of his presence, that unspoken comfort of him simply being there—gone.

What if he left me for someone else?

The thought was involuntary, jagged, painful. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But maybe it was? Osamu had a life outside of him, a lover he adored—and Atsumu remembered the small, bitter ache of realizing he was no longer the center of his twin’s world. Could Sakusa… could he do the same? Leave him like that? For someone he…

Atsumu’s legs moved faster, pacing through the long hallway of the resort, almost wanting to outrun the thoughts, but every step only seemed to amplify them. The polished floors reflected the dimming light, stretching his shadow long and thin, like some distorted version of himself.

Why am I thinking like this? Why does it hurt so much?

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to slow his heartbeat, but when he opened them, he saw Sakusa through the doorway of their room—casual, domestic even, adjusting the throw on the bed, hair slightly mussed, sleeves rolled up. The sight stopped him cold. His chest clenched.

What if I walked home one day… and he wasn’t there?

The thought made his stomach drop. Sakusa gone. And worse—imagining him gone for someone else. Someone who could claim the quiet mornings, the small routines, the closeness Atsumu had greedily assumed was theirs alone.

“You okay?” Sakusa asked, calm, but with that edge of focus that made it clear he noticed everything.

Atsumu froze, chest constricting, words lodged in his throat. He forced a grin anyway, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… yeah, m’fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

Sakusa didn’t move, just studied him quietly, and Atsumu felt it—that unwavering gaze. The one that always made him feel like he was being seen, fully, completely, even when he didn’t want to be.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, shoulders tense. “I… I just needed some air,” 

Sakusa sat beside him, voice low and measured,  “You’re not fooling me, Atsumu. Talk to me.”

Atsumu’s stomach twisted in knots as he slumped, shoulders hunched like he could shrink himself small enough to disappear. “It’s… it’s embarrassing,” he muttered, voice tight. “That ya can see right through me.”

Sakusa’s gaze softened but didn’t waver. His hand lifted, brushing Atsumu’s shoulder in a small, grounding gesture. “It’s not that,” he said quietly. “It’s that I know you. I’ve known you long enough to tell when something’s off.”

Atsumu swallowed, words catching in his throat. 

“M’scared,” he admitted, voice almost breaking. “Scared of bein’ left behind. Osamu… he’s movin’ on. He really has Rin now, and I… I feel like I’m losin’ him. And maybe I’m bein’ stupid, but,” He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to be left behind by the people I… care about.”

Sakusa shifted closer, the faintest crease forming between his brows as he studied Atsumu. “You’re not alone,” he murmured, voice gentle, almost intimate. “Not ever. You’ll never be alone. Your brother will always be your brother. Literally nothing could change that. And it’s okay to feel scared. You’re allowed to feel. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

Atsumu blinked, swallowing hard. His chest tightened, the weight of his own vulnerability pressing down on him. “Thanks for always picking me up when m’down,” he whispered, voice trembling. “And… for bein’ my best friend.”

The words felt heavy on his tongue, and for the first time, best friend tasted bitter. It was a term that once felt safe, neutral, light. Now it carried the weight of inadequacy, of attachment he hadn’t wanted to name.

Sakusa said nothing at first, the look on his face unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join ya.” Atsumu murmured, voice low, uncertain, almost afraid to admit he wanted to stay close.

They changed quietly, the small, mundane motions of pajamas and brushing teeth grounding in a way that contrasted sharply with the storm in Atsumu’s mind. He slipped into his side of the bed, the soft sheets wrapping around them, the darkness pressing close.

The silence stretched, and Atsumu couldn’t stop thinking. His mind raced with images from earlier in the day—the vineyard, the conversations, Hinata’s words—and then it landed on Sakusa, right beside him. Calm. Present. Patient.

Sakusa shifted, turning to face him “I can hear you thinking,” he said softly, the warmth in his voice anchoring Atsumu in the moment.

Atsumu flushed, embarrassed, the confession lodged in his throat. “Sorry… I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said quietly, trying to cover the rising tide of emotion.

Before he could move, Sakusa yanked him to his chest, hand rested gently on the nape of his neck, pulling him close, while the other lightly caressed his back. The gesture was tender, grounding, yet intimate in a way that made Atsumu’s heart ache.

“You don’t need to bottle it up, Atsumu.” Sakusa murmured. “You don’t have to put up a facade. No one can be strong all the time.”

Atsumu’s defenses finally crumbled. The tears he had been holding back all day slipped freely as he pressed his face against Sakusa’s navy t-shirt, letting himself be held. The warmth, the steady rhythm of Sakusa’s heartbeat, the gentleness of his touch—it all enveloped him, breaking through every wall he had built.

“I don’t wanna lose anyone,” Atsumu whispered into Sakusa’s chest, voice muffled by the embrace. “Not Samu… not ya.”

Sakusa placed a feather-light kiss on his temple, drawing comforting circles on his back. “You won’t lose me,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu sobbed harder, clutching onto Sakusa’s damp shirt. The warmth, the care, the small gestures—the quiet intimacy of shared space and mutual understanding—had shifted into something real, something unspoken but undeniable.

This isn’t pretend. It hasn’t been for a while. Not for me. 

The thought struck him like lightning, and he hugged Sakusa tighter, as if grounding himself in the truth of it. He realized that all the teasing, the flustered mornings, the quiet moments like this one—all of it—had been slowly, imperceptibly turning into something far deeper.

The room was still, save for the quiet hum of the air conditioner and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Sakusa whispered soothing words, almost like a lullaby, letting Atsumu feel safe enough to drift off.

As his eyelids grew heavy, Atsumu’s last conscious thought was the bitter-sweet acknowledgment of intimacy. 

Atsumu realized he’d stopped acting a long time ago. In fact, maybe he’d never been acting to begin with. 

Chapter Text

Atsumu stirred before the sun had climbed past the mountains outside, though he couldn’t say what exactly woke him. The room was quiet, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of someone else’s breathing. His cheek rested against warmth—firm but comfortable, moving with each exhale—and his first bleary thought was that he must’ve stolen Osamu’s blanket again, like when they were kids.

Except it wasn’t a blanket. It was warm in a different way. Solid. Alive.

And wrapped around his waist.

Atsumu’s eyes snapped open.

Sakusa.

He didn’t dare move at first. His brain scrambled to make sense of it: Sakusa Kiyoomi, the same man who never let anyone invade his personal space, was curled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Atsumu’s back pressed into Sakusa’s chest, the heat of him bleeding through Atsumu’s shirt. Their legs were tangled under the blankets, and Sakusa’s hand—large, steady, protective—rested just above Atsumu’s hip. The weight of it made Atsumu feel pinned, though not in a bad way.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

Cautiously, Atsumu shifted, testing the hold, but Sakusa only made a low noise in his throat and tightened his arm, pulling Atsumu closer. The sound was groggy, unguarded, and so unlike him that Atsumu froze all over again.

High school Motoya’s voice rang in his head, smug as hell: “Kiyo’s a big cuddler.”

Atsumu had laughed at the time. He couldn’t reconcile the image. Sakusa, with his sharp eyes and sharper tongue, letting someone close enough to hold him in his sleep? Yeah, right.

But this—this was proof. Atsumu was living it.

His lips twitched despite himself. Guess ya were right, Toya.

For a long moment, he simply let himself be held, listening to the even thrum of Sakusa’s heartbeat against his back. It was steady, grounding. Too intimate. Atsumu should’ve pulled away, should’ve made a joke, should’ve done anything to break the spell, but he didn’t.

Curiosity won out.

Careful not to wake him, Atsumu shifted enough to face Sakusa. The sharp lines he was used to—the cut of his jaw, the stern set of his mouth, the intense brows—were softened in sleep. His perfect lashes cast faint shadows against pale skin. His lips were parted slightly, plush and unguarded. He looked younger, almost childlike.

Atsumu’s chest tightened. Endearin’. That’s what he is. Damn it all, he’s endearin’ like this.

His hand twitched against the blanket. Against his better judgment, Atsumu lifted a finger and traced, feather-light, along Sakusa’s cheekbone. Down the bridge of his nose. Across the line of his jaw. He paused when his eyes caught on the twin moles at the base of Sakusa’s collarbone, nearly identical to the ones above his eyebrow.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But his thumb brushed over them anyway, soft circles he hoped Sakusa wouldn’t notice in sleep.

And then came the thought.

What would it feel like to kiss them?

The realization hit him like a ball to the chest. His breath caught, his hand stilled. He stared at those faint dots of ink against Sakusa’s skin and felt the idea lodge itself in his mind with terrifying weight.

He yanked his gaze upward, desperate to think of anything else—but that only made things worse. His eyes landed on Sakusa’s mouth. Plush. Soft. Infuriatingly kissable.

Heat coiled low in Atsumu’s stomach, sudden and overwhelming. The thought wouldn’t leave him now. What would it taste like? What sound would Sakusa make if—

Atsumu slapped the thought down so hard he nearly jolted. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Can’t go there, Miya. This is fake. This whole thing is fake. Don’t get carried away.

But his body didn’t seem to listen. His eyes stayed on Sakusa’s lips, his own tingling with the ghost of something he hadn’t dared to do. The need built so intensely it scared him.

And then Sakusa stirred.

Atsumu snatched his hand back, heart pounding as if caught red-handed. Sakusa blinked groggily, rubbing at his eyes with the hand not wrapped around Atsumu’s waist. His curls were mussed, his expression still dazed with sleep.

“Morning,” Sakusa mumbled, voice low and rough, dragging over Atsumu’s skin like gravel in the best way.

Atsumu swallowed hard, forcing a smile to his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

Sakusa hummed in acknowledgment, still half-asleep, but he didn’t move his arm away.

The room was quiet except for the rustle of blankets and the faint wind outside the suite’s window. Atsumu should’ve cracked a joke, something stupid to cover the pounding of his heart. But he didn’t. Instead, he just lay there, studying the man beside him, and a single dangerous thought slipped through the cracks.

What would it be like—wakin’ up like this every day?

It was so different from their usual mornings, meeting in the living room with coffee and walls already back up. This was softer. Private. Like they’d stumbled into a version of life that wasn’t theirs but could be.

And Atsumu wasn’t sure whether the idea thrilled him or terrified him.

Sakusa didn’t let go of him right away. His arm stayed heavy around Atsumu’s waist, like it was instinct rather than choice, and Atsumu didn’t dare point it out. He wasn’t sure if Sakusa even realized he was doing it.

Instead, he cleared his throat and forced some lightness into his voice. “Ya always this cuddly in the mornin’, or should I feel special?”

Sakusa’s lashes lifted halfway, his gaze still hazy with sleep. “Shut up,” he muttered, but it lacked bite. His arm gave the faintest squeeze before finally loosening, allowing Atsumu to roll onto his back.

Atsumu grinned at the ceiling. Motoya’s gonna love hearin’ about this. Except—no. He wasn’t telling anyone. This moment felt too private, too fragile to share.

He turned his head just enough to catch Sakusa rubbing at his temple. His curls were sticking out in every direction, his expression softened by the remnants of sleep. Atsumu’s chest gave a painful squeeze at how unfairly adorable he looked.

“So,” Sakusa rasped, voice still rough, “what’s the agenda for today?”

“Agenda?” Atsumu snorted. “Ya make it sound like we’re in a board meetin’.”

“We’re traveling in a group,” Sakusa said, always practical. “There’s an agenda.”

“Fine, fine,” Atsumu said, propping himself up on an elbow. “Today’s snow sports on the mountains. Whole group’s goin’. Gonna be a blast.”

Sakusa made a quiet noise that could’ve been approval, though he still looked half a breath away from falling back asleep. Atsumu found it endearing in a way that made his stomach twist.

“Ya ever been skiin’ or snowboardin’?” Atsumu asked.

Sakusa’s gaze flicked over to him, still sluggish but clear enough to carry the sharp honesty Atsumu knew too well. “Snowboarding. Komoris have a place up north. Motoya and I used to go during breaks in middle and high school. You know this”

Atsumu’s mouth dropped open. “I always forget yer a rich little snow bunny?”

Sakusa’s brow twitched. “That’s not what I said at all.”

“Ya basically did!” Atsumu cackled, pointing. “Komoris got a house up north, ya go boardin’ on breaks… what else am I supposed to think, little prince?”

Sakusa rolled his eyes, turning his head away, but Atsumu swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Relax,” Atsumu said, flopping onto his back again, a grin still plastered on his face. “Ain’t judgin’, darlin’.”

Sakusa huffed.

The silence stretched, warm and strangely comfortable.

Finally, Atsumu broke it with a crooked smile. “Well, that works out nice, don’t it? ‘Cause I’ve only been skiin’ once. High school trip with volleyball team. Spent more time fallin’ on my ass than actually skiin’.”

Sakusa turned his head just enough to arch a brow at him. “And you still want to try snowboarding?”

“Course I do. New adventure, right?” Atsumu said with exaggerated confidence. He shot Sakusa a grin. “Teach me?”

For a beat, Sakusa just studied him, unreadable. Then, to Atsumu’s surprise, his mouth quirked in the faintest almost-smile. “Fine. But don’t complain when you fall on your ass again.”

Atsumu laughed, flopping back dramatically against the pillows. “Deal.”

The sound of Sakusa’s soft exhale beside him felt like a reward.

And then, unbidden, the thought returned: What would it be like, wakin’ up like this every day? Planning their day together, teasing, promising to teach each other things. It was so different from their usual mornings, meeting in the living room with coffee and all their walls back in place.

He shoved the thought down, but it clung stubbornly, leaving a warmth in his chest he couldn’t quite ignore.

The mountain air bit at Atsumu’s cheeks the second they stepped outside, sharp enough to make him hiss through his teeth. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, but it didn’t do much—he was a southern boy at heart, and this kind of cold felt like punishment.

Meanwhile, Sakusa looked maddeningly composed.

They were bundled head-to-toe in rental gear: thick jackets, snow pants, helmets clipped under their chins. Sakusa had pulled his hood up over his curls, his face half-hidden by the collar of his jacket. If Atsumu didn’t know better, he’d think Sakusa was completely unfazed.

Except for the way he was fumbling with his mittens.

“Ya need help with that?” Atsumu teased, his own gloves tucked under one arm as he adjusted his board. “Ya look like a kid who can’t figure out how to tie his shoes.”

Sakusa shot him a flat look, but his mitten slipped again, proving Atsumu’s point. Atsumu chuckled, breath puffing out in white clouds.

“Here,” Atsumu said, grabbing the mittens and shimmying them up his slim hands. He then pulled his scarf loose from his own neck. His skin immediately prickled with cold, but he ignored it. Stepping close, he looped the scarf around Sakusa instead, tugging it snug over the space his jacket didn’t cover.

Sakusa froze, his eyes flicking down in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Sharin’,” Atsumu said simply, tucking the scarf ends into Sakusa’s jacket like it belonged there. “Yer strugglin’ with yer mittens, and I don’t mind sacrificin’ a little warmth for ya. ‘Sides—” he leaned back, admiring his work with a grin—“I feel warmer seein’ ya all bundled up like this.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. He meant it as a joke, but it came out softer than he intended.

Sakusa’s expression shifted—something fleeting, unreadable. His eyes lingered on Atsumu a beat too long before he finally said, low and sincere, “Thank you, Atsumu.”

It wasn’t the first time Sakusa had used his given name. In fact, he’d been using it more than any other name since they’d arrived in Switzerland. But something about the way he said it now, muffled through the scarf Atsumu had wrapped around him, sent a sharp ache straight through Atsumu’s chest.

He swallowed, covering the feeling with a crooked grin. “Ya gotta promise somethin’, Omi.”

Sakusa tilted his head.

“Don’t stop callin’ me that when we get home,” Atsumu said, trying to sound casual, like it wasn’t important. But it was. God, it was.

There was a pause. Then Sakusa nodded once. “Alright, Atsumu.”

The sound of it—the easy way it rolled off his tongue—settled deep in Atsumu’s stomach. He wanted to bottle it, to keep it.

But then the realization hit: when they get back home, this whole thing’ll be over. The fake relationship, the excuses to stay this close, the mornings and scarf-sharing and—everything. They’d go back to being teammates. Roommates. Just friends. 

The thought hollowed him out in an instant.

“Oi! You two coming or making snow babies over there?”

Kuroo’s voice cut through the moment, and Atsumu whipped around to see the rest of their group clustered near the ski lift. Motoya waved both arms, Ren and Akagi already chatting with their boards strapped on.

Atsumu shot them a scowl. “Keep yer hair on! We’re comin’!”

Sakusa adjusted his mittens—finally comfortable—and gave a small nod toward the lift. “We should go.”

Atsumu forced himself to shake off the ache. He wasn’t gonna ruin the day by sulking.

They trudged over, snow crunching beneath their boots. The ski lift loomed above, chairs swinging gently as they passed. The cold gnawed at Atsumu again, biting through his layers, but he plastered on a grin.

“Alright, Omi,” he said, puffing his chest. “Which slope we hittin’ first?”

Sakusa glanced at him, then at the lift. “Beginner.”

Atsumu balked. “Beginner? Ya kiddin’ me? I’m a professional athlete! I got balance, coordination, and the reflexes of a God!”

“You’ve never snowboarded before,” Sakusa said flatly.

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine on intermediate. Watch.”

Sakusa’s brow furrowed, mouth tightening in that way Atsumu knew meant he was seconds away from scolding. “That’s stupid. Start small.”

Atsumu waved him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not some fragile—”

“Oi! Intermediates are headin’ up!” Ren’s voice rang out as he skated by, board already strapped on. Before Atsumu could react, Motoya had flanked them, steering them both toward the lift.

“Guess that’s settled!” Kuroo said cheerfully, ignoring Sakusa’s look of protest.

Atsumu smirked, triumphant. “See? Majority rules.”

Sakusa muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an idiot.

Atsumu only laughed, letting the lift scoop them up into the sky. The chair swayed as they rose, snow glittering below like a blanket of diamonds. The mountain stretched around them, sharp and endless, the air crisp and clean in his lungs.

And beside him, bundled in Atsumu’s scarf, Sakusa looked like he belonged here in a way Atsumu never could.

Atsumu’s grin softened without him meaning to.

The small group of them shuffled themselves onto the ski lift at the base of the slope. 

The chairlift rattled as it carried them higher, a steady rhythm that did nothing to soothe the tight coil in Atsumu’s chest. His board hung heavy from his boots, the metal bar pressing cold against his gloved fingers.

Beside him, Sakusa sat unnervingly still. He looked straight ahead, eyes hidden behind dark goggles, but the scarf Atsumu had given him shifted with every slow, even breath.

Atsumu cleared his throat, desperate to fill the silence. “Y’know, I ain’t scared of heights or nothin’.”

Sakusa hummed noncommittally.

“I’m just sayin’. If I scream when we get off this thing, it’s cause I’m practicin’—for dramatic effect.”

That earned him the faintest quirk of Sakusa’s mouth from above his scarf. Not a smile, not really, but something close enough to make Atsumu’s stomach swoop harder than the lift’s sway.

The world opened wide around them as they neared the top—an expanse of blinding white, the horizon sharp and endless. Atsumu had never seen anything like it.

And he wanted to say that. To turn to Sakusa and admit that the view scared him and thrilled him in equal measure. But before he could, the lift jolted, and they were unloading in a clumsy scramble of boards and limbs.

Atsumu stumbled, nearly face-planting into the powder. Sakusa caught his arm with a steady grip, hauling him upright before he could crash.

“Careful,” Sakusa muttered.

Atsumu blinked, breathless—not from the fall, but from the hand still firm on his arm. Even through layers of fabric, the touch burned.

“Thanks,” Atsumu managed, his voice lower than intended.

Sakusa let go, but the ghost of it lingered.

They shuffled to the edge of the slope, where the mountain dipped into a long stretch of packed snow. Motoya and Ren had already thrown themselves downhill, whooping like idiots. Kuroo followed with more grace, though he shouted something teasing that was carried away by the wind.

That left them.

“Alright,” Atsumu said, puffing up his chest as if he hadn’t nearly eaten snow thirty seconds ago. “How hard can it be? Ya just—lean and go, right?”

Sakusa turned to him, expression flat but eyes sharp. “No. That’s how you break your neck.”

“C’mon, Omi, I’m an athlete. I got this.”

“You don’t.”

The bluntness should’ve annoyed him, but instead it made Atsumu grin wider. He liked it when Sakusa didn’t sugarcoat. Liked being the one Sakusa spoke to without pretense.

“Fine,” Atsumu said. “Show me.”

Sakusa sighed, but crouched slightly, adjusting the strap on his board. “Start with your weight centered. Knees bent. Don’t fight the board—let it move under you.”

Atsumu mimicked the posture, wobbling immediately. “Like this?”

“Not like that,” Sakusa said dryly, stepping closer. He reached out, gloved hands bracing Atsumu’s hips to adjust his stance. “Here. Lower your center of gravity. Loosen up. You’re too stiff.”

Atsumu forgot how to breathe.

Sakusa’s touch was steady, firm, guiding him into balance. No hesitation, no distance. Just precise, unthinking closeness. The world narrowed to that point of contact—the weight of Sakusa’s hands, the calm authority in his voice, the fact that they were chest to chest in the open expanse of a frozen mountain.

“Better,” Sakusa murmured, pulling his hands back.

Atsumu forced a laugh, too loud in the crisp air. “Ya just wanted an excuse to touch me, admit it.”

Sakusa tilted his head, unreadable behind the goggles. “If I did, I wouldn’t need an excuse, love.”

The words hit Atsumu like a punch. His mouth went dry.

He was saved only by momentum—literally. His board slid out from under him, sending him sprawling into the snow. He landed on his back, arms flailing, and groaned.

Sakusa stepped down after him with practiced ease, stopping at his side. “You’re hopeless.”

“Ya could at least pretend to be worried about me,” Atsumu complained, squinting up at him.

Sakusa crouched, brushing snow from Atsumu’s jacket with gloved fingers—quick, efficient, almost tender. His touch lingered a moment too long at Atsumu’s collar before he pulled back.

“I am,” he said simply.

Atsumu’s laugh caught in his throat. He couldn’t tell if Sakusa meant worried about him falling, or something deeper. He couldn’t even ask. His chest felt too tight.

“Alright,” Sakusa said, standing again and extending a hand down. “Try again. I’ll hold you steady this time.”

Atsumu stared at the offered hand. Strong, steady, wrapped in the scarf that still smelled faintly like him.

And he realized, with bone-deep certainty, that he wasn’t scared of the mountain. He was scared of this—of how badly he wanted to take that hand and never let go.

Atsumu stared at Sakusa’s hand like it was something dangerous. Which was ridiculous. It was just a mitten. Just wool, fabric, fingers. Nothing special.

Except it was. Because it was Sakusa’s.

“Are you going to take it,” Sakusa asked, voice mild, “or are you going to lie there until you freeze?”

Atsumu barked a laugh to cover the way his pulse jumped. “Alright, alright, bossy.” He slid his palm against Sakusa’s, the gloves catching for half a second before his fingers settled into the space offered.

Sakusa pulled him up easily, strength smooth and unshowy. He didn’t let go right away, even once Atsumu was steady on his feet. His grip lingered, steadying, grounding.

And Atsumu—the idiot that he was—didn’t want him to let go.

“Okay,” Sakusa said, shifting slightly closer, their shoulders brushing. “Focus on your stance. Knees soft. Don’t fight the board.”

“Yer makin’ it sound like I’m dancin’,” Atsumu muttered, but he obeyed.

“You are dancing. With the snow. With gravity.”

Atsumu’s head whipped toward him, startled. “That’s… weirdly poetic, Omi.”

Sakusa’s mouth twitched. “Don’t make me regret saying it.”

But Atsumu couldn’t stop grinning. He liked this side of Sakusa, the one that slipped out when he wasn’t guarded. The one that said things in quiet honesty, like he forgot who he was talking to.

“Alright,” Sakusa continued, all business again. “Shift your weight gently. Like this.”

He moved first, demonstrating the subtle rock of his body over the board. Controlled, fluid. Atsumu tried to mimic it, but his balance wobbled, and his board slid unexpectedly.

He cursed, arms flailing—

—and Sakusa caught him. Again.

This time, instead of just steadying him, Sakusa stepped in close, one hand gripping Atsumu’s wrist, the other braced firm against his back. Their chests nearly touched, breath fogging between them in the cold air.

“Relax,” Sakusa murmured, voice low enough that Atsumu felt it more than heard it.

“I am relaxed,” Atsumu lied through his teeth.

Sakusa’s head tilted, skeptical, but he didn’t call him out. He adjusted his hold instead, sliding a hand along Atsumu’s arm until their elbows hooked together, guiding him into balance like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Atsumu’s skin prickled hot under every place Sakusa touched through his jacket.

“Better,” Sakusa said after a moment, calm as ever.

Atsumu swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Y’know, ya could just… let me fall.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So ya don’t gotta keep catchin’ me.”

Sakusa’s gaze flicked to him then, sharp and unreadable behind the goggles. “I don’t mind.”

The words landed heavy in Atsumu’s chest. Not minding wasn’t the same as liking, but it wasn’t indifference either. It was something else—something closer.

For the first time in a long time, Atsumu didn’t want to fill Sakusa’s silence.

They did drills until the sun began to set. Shift your weight. Lean into the turn. Bend the knees. Atsumu stumbled, skidded, laughed, and cursed in equal measure, and each time Sakusa’s hands found him—on his waist, his shoulders, adjusting, steadying, teaching. Atsumu felt heat rush to his face at every touch, a low hum of awareness threading through him.

“Alright,” Sakusa said finally, stepping back but still close. “A few more drills.”

Atsumu groaned loudly. “No! We’ve been doing this so long I think I can see the moon. I’m ready! I’ve got this. I can feel it!” He planted his board firmly, flexed his knees, and shot Sakusa a grin that was more daring than confident. “I’m goin’ first!”

Sakusa’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t done enough drills—”

“I’m not goin' to die, Omi! I’ll be fine!” Atsumu interrupted, shoving off the snow with a push of his board. He wobbled for half a second and then found his balance enough to start gliding down the slope.

Sakusa’s eyes narrowed, a silent scolding in his sharp gaze, but he didn’t stop him. His body tensed slightly, just enough to show that he was watching every movement, every shift of weight.

Atsumu couldn’t help the grin splitting his face as the wind hit him, snow spraying around the board’s edges. He glanced back over his shoulder, heart hammering—not from the speed, but from the thought that Sakusa was watching him like this, close enough that every turn they’d practiced together just moments ago made him feel tethered, alive, and painfully aware of everything.

Sakusa didn’t move immediately. He waited until Atsumu was a few meters ahead, then followed, precise and fluid, mirroring every motion, silent but present. And Atsumu knew—he felt it in his bones—that every touch during practice had been building to this: a first run together, a dangerous mix of freedom, closeness, and…something else he wasn’t ready to name.

The snow crunched under Atsumu’s board as he picked up speed, wind tugging at his scarf and pulling his curls free from under his helmet. He felt…alive. Every sense was heightened: the crisp mountain air, the biting cold at his cheeks, the vibration of the board under his boots.

He glanced back, heart skipping. Sakusa followed, his form perfect, controlled, moving effortlessly down the slope. Every time their eyes met through the goggles, Atsumu felt heat coil low in his chest. He couldn’t help it—his pulse, his thoughts, his body were all tuned to Sakusa in a way he hadn’t allowed before.

“Slow down!” Sakusa called, voice low but sharp over the wind.

Atsumu grinned wildly. “Can’t! I’m unstoppable!”

He kicked up a little spray of snow, half-laughing, half-taunting. He wanted Sakusa close, wanted to feel him near as they raced down, but he also wanted to impress him. Show him he wasn’t just a bumbling rookie.

Sakusa’s voice followed him again, “Stop showing off and focus!”

“Never!” Atsumu yelled back, feeling reckless in the cold. His knees bent just slightly off, weight leaning too far forward—and then he slipped.

Atsumu felt his board wobble mid-turn, the snow beneath him uneven and sharp. He shifted weight instinctively—but too late. One edge caught in the snow, and his momentum pitched him sideways.

The world spun violently, a blur of white and sky, and then he was tumbling, arms flailing, snow packing into his gloves, helmet, and jacket. His breath hitched in his throat, a strangled laugh mixed with panic escaping his lips.

Atsumu groaned as he finally landed hard on the ground, a spray of snow dusting over his helmet and jacket. He lay there for a beat, blinking up at the pale sky. His heart hammered, but he realized—miraculously—that nothing seemed broken.

Sakusa was on him in seconds, dropping to a crouch, one gloved hand bracing against the snow for balance, the other already hovering over Atsumu’s torso. His eyes were wide behind his goggles, his voice sharp.

“Atsumu! Don’t move. Where does it hurt?”

Atsumu snorted. “Calm down, Doc. I’m fine. Just bruised my pride.”

Sakusa’s jaw clenched. “Don’t joke. I saw how you went down—your board caught wrong, and your knee—”

“My everythin’s fine,” Atsumu interrupted, a grin tugging at his lips. He leaned back on his elbows and wiggled his legs exaggeratedly. “See? All still attached. No tragic ending to my illustrious snowboardin’ career.”

Sakusa glared, unconvinced. “You’re reckless. You don’t even know how to fall properly yet, and you insisted on doing a run. Idiot.”

That only made Atsumu laugh harder. The sound bubbled out of him, warm and bright against the frozen air. Something about Sakusa scolding him like that—tight, clipped, full of concern—sent a strange thrill through him.

“Ya sound like my ma,” Atsumu teased, shaking his head. “Nag, nag, nag—”

But when he pushed himself up onto his knees, a sharp stab shot through his leg. The breath whooshed out of him, the laugh dying mid-sound. He winced, trying to mask it, but the pain made him falter. His balance slipped, and before he could catch himself, he tumbled back into the snow with a hissed curse.

Sakusa’s reaction was immediate, visceral. “Atsumu!”

He dropped lower, both hands gripping Atsumu’s arms to steady him. His voice shook, barely restrained. “Where? Tell me where.”

Atsumu bit his lip, grimacing. “… Just my knee. I must’ve twisted it a bit. It’s not—”

“Not serious?” Sakusa cut him off, voice sharp, almost frantic. His eyes, normally so guarded, were blazing. “Do you realize how stupid you sound right now? That’s the same knee you injured before, isn’t it? You told me—”

Atsumu blinked at him, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized Sakusa remembered the story of his old overuse injury from his second year on the Jackals.

Sakusa’s grip tightened, almost desperate. “Do you want to risk blowing it out again? Do you want to spend another season sidelined, watching everyone else play while you limp around like—” He cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second, like the memory was too much even for him.

“I said I’m fine!” Atsumu protested again, voice rough, though he wasn’t entirely convincing. His laugh trembled, his heart racing. “Yer overreacting, Omi. Yer like—”

“You don’t get to laugh,” Sakusa cut in sharply, eyes narrowing. “I do not like thinking about you getting hurt.”

Atsumu froze at the words. The panic in Sakusa’s voice, the directness of it—it wasn’t teasing, it wasn’t idle concern. It was…real. And it made Atsumu’s chest tighten, pulse racing.

“… Kiyoomi,” he said softly, trying to ease the tension with a crooked smile. “I’m okay. Promise.”

But his wince as he shifted his leg again betrayed him. Sakusa’s eyes snapped back to his, the panic still there, raw and unfiltered.

For once, Atsumu couldn’t laugh it off.

Atsumu tried again to shift, testing his knee, and immediately, a sharp stab shot through the joint. He gasped, stumbling slightly before collapsing back into the snow.

Sakusa froze, eyes widening. The calm, controlled exterior he usually wore shattered for a heartbeat—panic etched in every line of his face.

He crouched, hands bracing against the snow, then reached for the blonde, gripping his arms firmly. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine, Omi—really!” Atsumu protested, trying to laugh, but it came out strained, uneven. His face burned with embarrassment, and his chest tightened—not just from the pain, but from Sakusa’s intensity.

“Fine?” Sakusa’s voice was low and sharp, dangerously close now. His gloved hands were steady on Atsumu, but the tension in his arms and shoulders was obvious. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to yourself? Don’t you dare try to move until I’ve assessed it!”

Atsumu blinked at him, caught between nerves and the undeniable thrill of being this close. “I swear I’m fine,” he whispered again, quieter this time. But his wince betrayed him.

Sakusa’s eyes snapped to his knee, narrowing with a calculating intensity. Then, with a sharp exhale, he muttered something under his breath and moved quickly.

“Hold still,” he said firmly, crouching lower. Without waiting for permission, Sakusa swept Atsumu up over his shoulder. The sudden weight pressed Atsumu against him, chest to back, arms instinctively wrapping around Sakusa. Sakusa’s hands gripped him lightly yet unyieldingly, adjusting their balance as he pushed off down the slope. Each controlled movement, each careful shift, made Atsumu hyper-aware of every inch of contact between them.

“Oi! Omi! Wait—” Atsumu’s words cut off as the cold wind hit his face, snow spraying wildly. The adrenaline spiked, his pulse hammering—not just from the speed, but from the closeness, the way Sakusa’s body felt firm and impossibly steady against his own.

Atsumu buried his face deeper into Sakusa’s back. He could feel Sakusa’s body rising and falling, taut with tension. The heat radiating from him was maddening, the proximity overwhelming, and yet—somehow—utterly comforting.

The slope blurred around them. Snow whipped past, cold and sharp. Atsumu’s entire focus was on Sakusa—the way his gloved hands moved with precision, the way his body absorbed every jolt of the descent, the way his eyes, even behind goggles, never left Atsumu.

Atsumu realized, with a jolt that made his chest tighten, that this wasn’t just about snowboarding anymore. The panic, the care, the proximity—they had become something else entirely. Something that made his stomach twist, his heart race, and his thoughts spiral into places he had been denying for far too long.

Sakusa’s snowboard came to a controlled stop at the bottom of the slope, and he shifted slightly to brace himself. Atsumu was still draped over his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around Sakusa’s torso, face buried in his jacket, completely flushed.

“Ohhh!”

Kuroo’s loud, teasing voice rang across the snow. Atsumu froze. Slowly, he peeked through his fingers, and there they were—the group from the intermediate slopes—grinning, watching the whole scene.

“Did I just see Sakusa carrying you down the slope like a child?” Kuroo cackled, doubling over slightly, laughter spilling into the cold air.

Atsumu’s face turned crimson, heat radiating even through the layers. He buried it deeper into Sakusa’s shoulder, refusing to speak. “Shut up,” he mumbled, voice muffled and high-pitched with embarrassment.

Akagi stepped closer, concern and amusement mingling in his eyes. “Oi, Atsumu, are you okay?”

“… I’m fine!” Atsumu squeaked from the safety of Sakusa’s shoulder, voice muffled as he tried—and failed—to hide. The warmth of Sakusa’s body against him made his face burn even more.

Ren leaned against his snowboard, arms crossed, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “You know, Atsumu,” he said, voice low but audible, “I think Sakusa might be the most caring partner you’ve ever had. Don’t you dare let him get away.”

Atsumu’s pulse jumped. His ears burned hotter, and he tightened his grip around Sakusa instinctively, pressing his face closer. “Shut up!” he hissed again, embarrassed beyond reason, though a tiny thrill ran through him at the comment.

From the side, Motoya leaned toward Sakusa, voice barely audible. “Think it’s time to move before they roast you both alive?”

Sakusa’s eyes flicked toward him, expression unreadable behind his goggles. A brief nod was all it took.

Without breaking stride, Sakusa adjusted his stance, carrying Atsumu firmly yet carefully across the snow. Atsumu’s flustered protests were muffled into the warmth of Sakusa’s shoulder. “Omi! Wait! I’m not done being embarrassed—hey!”

But Sakusa didn’t respond, only tightened his grip slightly to stabilize him. The teasing voices of Kuroo, Ren, and the others faded behind them as Sakusa moved deliberately, taking Atsumu away from the slope and the prying eyes, leaving Atsumu red-faced, flustered, and painfully aware of just how close he was to Sakusa.

The door closed behind them with a soft click, sealing out the chill of the mountain air. The warmth of the suite wrapped around them, soft and inviting, and Atsumu sank onto the couch with a sigh, still flushed from the fall and the teasing on the slopes. Snow-dusted jackets and mittens were shed, boots kicked off, and the room smelled faintly of pine and heated wood.

Sakusa knelt on the floor in front of him, his medical kit open and laid out with precision. He moved with careful, practiced motions as he inspected Atsumu’s knee, fingers tracing the joint, checking for tenderness, wrapping the tape just so. Atsumu watched, captivated, every movement familiar. He had seen Sakusa do this countless times to himself—stretching, massaging, taping his joints to manage his hypermobility—but now, seeing it directed toward him, it felt different. 

He couldn’t help but notice how deliberate every motion was, how Sakusa’s eyes followed each movement with quiet intensity. His chest tightened as he realized that both of them were older now. Feeling Sakusa’s careful hands against him, he understood just how fleeting it all was.

“… Omi,” he said softly, breaking the quiet, voice tentative. “What’re ya goin’ to do when ya retire?”

Sakusa paused, gloved hands stilling for a moment, eyes flicking up to meet his. “… Honestly, I’ll probably have to retire after the next Olympics,” he admitted, quiet but firm.

Atsumu’s chest tightened painfully. Four years. That was all. He swallowed hard, a weight settling in his chest, subtle but undeniable.

“I see,” he murmured, almost to himself, trying to keep the sting from his voice.

Sakusa returned to wrapping his knee, tape smoothing over the joint with careful, precise strokes. “I want to do something with the stars,” he continued, eyes fixed on Atsumu’s knee, voice low, almost shy. “Anything but work at my father’s company. You know I studied astronomy as one of my majors… maybe I’ll write about the stars, watch them forever.”

Atsumu’s gaze flicked upward toward Sakusa’s face, then down again. His pulse quickened. The thought of Sakusa, so meticulous and precise, speaking softly about something he loved beyond volleyball—beyond the court—felt intimate, almost fragile.

“Yer moles…” Atsumu said quietly, almost reverently, tracing the faint twin spots at the base of Sakusa’s neck and collarbones with his eyes. “They’re like stars in the sky, aren’t they? With all this talk about astronomy… they remind me of them.”

Sakusa’s eyes flicked away, voice low and hesitant. “I hate them,” he admitted, almost shy, as if confessing a secret he never shared.

Atsumu blinked, baffled. “Yer kidding, right? They’re beautiful. They’re part of ya. That’s what makes ya, well ya.” His voice softened, almost a whisper, the words heavy with more meaning than he intended.

The room felt suddenly smaller. Warmer. Closer. Every brush of Sakusa’s hands, every tilt of his head, the quiet hum of the heater—they all pressed in on Atsumu’s chest. He could feel the pull of something unsaid, of tension building, almost like the moment could snap in either direction. He wanted to lean in, to close the distance, to kiss him. But before he could, Sakusa’s voice broke the charged silence.

“And you?” Sakusa asked suddenly, gaze unwavering. “What will you do when you retire?”

Atsumu exhaled, trying to break the tension with a laugh, soft and almost nervous. “I always thought movie actors were cool growing up. Been offered a few roles… none of them ever felt right.”

“Write your own movie,” Sakusa suggested lightly, as if the thought were obvious, probing gently.

Atsumu considered it, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But the more practical choice is probably becoming a kids’ volleyball coach. I want them to love the sport the same way I do.”

Sakusa nodded slowly. “You could do both if you put your mind to it. They both suit you.”

The tape was finally secure, Sakusa brushing off his hands and setting the medical kit aside. Atsumu leaned back against the couch, still wrapped in the blanket. The suite was quiet now, the only sound being the soft hum of the heater and the faint creak of the building settling.

Sakusa got up, sitting beside him on the couch, not too close, not too far—just enough that their shoulders almost touched. The large windows framed the night sky perfectly, stars scattered across the dark expanse like glittering jewels. Snow covered the peaks, reflecting their faint light, and the mountains looked impossibly serene from this vantage.

Atsumu’s breath caught. He hadn’t realized how much he craved quiet moments like this—just him, Sakusa, and the night. The energy of the slopes, the teasing friends, the adrenaline from falling and being carried—all of it melted away in the warmth and stillness of the suite.

Without thinking, Atsumu let his gaze linger on Sakusa under the moonlight. The angles of his face, the subtle softness of his lips, the calm focus in his eyes—they were mesmerizing. He could feel the pull in his chest again, a mix of desire, admiration, and something deeper he hadn’t fully named until now.

Sakusa’s eyes flicked to the stars, then to Atsumu, and for a long moment, they simply looked at each other without speaking. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air like the cold mountain night outside, charged and alive.

Finally, Atsumu’s gaze drifted back to the sky. The stars seemed impossibly bright tonight, scattered across the heavens, distant yet eternal. He felt small in comparison, but in a way that made his chest ache with longing. His mind began to wander.

What will our life look like after the court? He thought, tracing constellations with his eyes, imagining seasons spent side by side without games, without tournaments, without deadlines. Will we still find time for moments like this? Will I still get to watch him laugh, to care for him, to feel this close?

He thought about the years they had left, finite and precious. Four years. Maybe less. And the thought hit him harder than he expected. I can’t waste a single one. I don’t want to.

Atsumu turned his head slightly, stealing a glance at Sakusa again. He was still looking out the window, jaw relaxed, eyes calm. And yet, to Atsumu, there was a quiet intensity there, a focus on the stars that mirrored his own racing thoughts.

The quiet intimacy of the suite, the closeness of Sakusa beside him, the stars stretching infinitely above—it all pressed in on Atsumu, leaving him with a single, undeniable truth. He swallowed hard, heart hammering. His gaze drifted back to the constellations, trying to steady himself, trying to imagine the words, the life beyond the court. But even as he pondered, the warmth of Sakusa beside him, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the soft quiet of the night—it all whispered the same thing.

I want him. I want him near. I want this—us—to last forever.

And for the first time in a long time, Atsumu let himself sit with that thought fully, letting it bloom in the quiet glow of the stars outside, in the warmth of the suite, in the stillness of Sakusa beside him. He didn’t speak it aloud—yet—but inside, in the secret corners of his heart, he admitted it clearly, undeniably, completely:

I’m in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Chapter Text

Atsumu sank onto the edge of his mother’s bed, the soft glow from the bedside lamps painting the room in warm amber tones. The hotel room smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood, comforting and homely—a stark contrast to the chill of the mountains outside. He could hear the faint muffled sounds of the other rooms, the laughter and chatter of his friends, but here, in this quiet, he felt like he could finally exhale.

“I wanted to say sorry, Ma,” he began, hesitating as he rubbed his wrapped knee through his jeans. He would take it off later. “I didn’t spend as much time with ya these past few days as I should have.” His voice was quiet, almost fragile, carrying an undercurrent of guilt he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

His mother’s eyes softened, warm and steady. She reached across, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s alright, baby. Truly,” she said, smiling gently. “I’ve enjoyed watchin’ ya and Saku-kun. Honestly, seeing ya two together these past few days has been… well, it’s been wonderful.”

Atsumu blinked, caught off guard. “Watchin’ us?” His voice wavered slightly.

“Yes,” she said, leaning back into the pillows, her hands folded over her lap. “D’ya remember yer second year of high school? That winter after training camp? Ya brought Sakusa over for Christmas.”

Atsumu’s mind drifted, the memory unfolding vividly like a film in his mind. He remembered the quiet ache in his chest as he had dragged Sakusa over to his house for Christmas that year. At winter training camp, only a week before, Sakusa had innocently told him that he’d be alone for the holidays. He’d told him of his significantly older siblings spending time with the families they’d made, and his own parents prioritizing work over their own child. He spoke about it like it was something so… normal. Atsumu had barely recognized the quiet boy sitting nervously on the edge of his bed, looking as though he didn’t quite belong anywhere. He could see him clearly in his mind now: Sakusa’s posture stiff, shoulders tight, eyes flicking around the room as if expecting any warmth to be pulled away. There had been no need for words—Sakusa had made it clear without trying that family, closeness, affection, were foreign concepts to him.

And yet, Atsumu had insisted, had gently pulled him in, encouraged him to accept the care and warmth he had been denying himself. He remembered the slight tension in Sakusa’s shoulders as Atsumu’s mother’s voice filled the room, cooing lightly, trying to make the boy feel welcome, safe. That quiet hesitation, that subtle retreat even as kindness was offered—it had broken Atsumu’s heart in a way he hadn’t fully understood at the time.

His mother’s voice pulled him back. “He was so hesitant back then, y’know, I felt sad for him. But look at him now, beside ya. Look at the way ya’ve both grown.”

Atsumu’s gaze dropped, chest tightening again. She was right. Sakusa had grown beside him, had learned to trust, to accept, to open himself in ways that seemed impossible during that quiet Christmas. And he—Atsumu—had grown alongside him, shaped by those small, intimate moments that had gone unnoticed by everyone else.

“I only came out to ya after I left for the Jackals,” Atsumu admitted softly, “a whole year after that.”

His mother’s knowing smile deepened. “I always suspected, deep down. It was the same for yer brother. I saw the way ya looked at him, the way ya gravitated toward him. Even back then, it was crystal clear.”

Atsumu felt a pang of awe at the thought. Of course. Of course his feelings had been brewing for so long, threading through every interaction, every shared silence, every awkward moment of closeness. And now, he understood why this wedding, this trip, had made everything so painfully vivid. 

He let the words escape finally, aloud, to someone who could understand: “Ma… I think I’m irrevocably in love with him.”

She reached out, gently covering his hand with hers. “I know, baby. I always knew.”

The volleyball gang’s laughter and chatter spilled through Suna and Osamu’s room, filling the room with warmth. Atsumu couldn’t help but notice just how much larger the honeymoon was compared to his and Sakusa’s; high ceilings, expansive couches, and wide windows gave it an almost luxurious emptiness. He didn’t even realize it was possible to have a nicer room. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and leftover hotel cleanliness, and the guys lounged in various positions across the oversized couches. 

Atsumu cleared his throat and raised his hands. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, the practiced confidence of a best man anchoring him. “Tonight we are hittin’ the club! Joint bachelor party! Let’s make it count!”

“Hell yeah!” Bokuto shouted, throwing a playful grin at Atsumu. “As long as no one ends up passed out in the hallway again. Remember last time?”

Laughter erupted around the room. Oikawa groaned dramatically, flopping sideways across a couch arm. “Oh please, Bokuto. That was hilarious. And you, Mr. ‘I’ll just supervise,’almost went down yourself.”

Atsumu shook his head, grinning. “Some of us are professionals,” he said, gesturing to himself, “others are, well, creative disasters.”

Suna leaned over him with a smirk. “You're just mad because you got wasted after Iwaizumi beat you at arm wrestling.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, only half joking. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, “how someone can be that good at arm wrestling.”

There were murmurs and muffled chuckles. The tension and energy in the room was playful, but it was also the perfect prelude to what was coming. Atsumu’s gaze flicked toward Sakusa, standing quietly near the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Even in the chaos, he radiated calm—the kind that demanded attention without demanding it.

Atsumu felt his chest tighten. He wanted to be closer, to cut through the crowd and grab Sakusa’s hand right then and there, but the teasing atmosphere and other guys surrounding him made the timing impossible. Instead, he settled for sneaking glances, noticing the way Sakusa’s jaw flexed when Hinata made a particularly loud joke, or the faint curve of his lips that hinted at amusement he refused to acknowledge.

By the time they’d made it to the flashy night club located in the center of the resort, Atsumu had lost the entire group. The bass from the club thumped through the air, vibrating under Atsumu’s feet. Colored lights flashed across the packed dance floor, painting moving shapes over the walls and ceiling. The group had split up, a couple of guys grabbing Suna and whisking him away into the chaos. Atsumu shrugged, looking for a place to settle down or for a spot to dance before Osamu appeared at his side suddenly, grabbing his arm with unexpected force. “Tsumu, can we grab a drink?” he asked, voice just loud enough to carry over the bass, eyes darting towards the bar. 

Atsumu blinked, following him instinctively. “I’m stayin’ sober tonight but I’ll accompany ya.” he said, a little off balance from the sudden pull. He noticed the way Osamu’s grip on his arm was firmer than usual, subtle tension in the way his fingers pressed. Something about it made Atsumu’s stomach tighten.

They moved toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the throngs of people, toward a calmer bar top that was dimly lit, the bass softened to a dull thrum. Even then, the sound of laughter and music seeped through the walls, making every step feel slightly surreal.

They’d both settled at the high chairs. Before Atsumu could even say anything, Osamu downed four shots in a row, finishing them so quickly it made Atsumu reel back in shock. His chest tightened, the bass thrumming against it, as he struggled to catch the sight of Osamu’s face among the flashing lights.

“What—Samu! What the hell?!” Atsumu yelled, ceasing his brother’s wrist as he went to take another one. His heart was racing, a mixture of concern, disbelief, and a vague prick of panic.

Osamu only let out a thin, shaky laugh and shrugged, though his hands quivered slightly as they set the empty glass down. “M’scared,” he admitted, and the words struck Atsumu like a sudden, sharp gust of wind.

“Scared?” Atsumu echoed, his own voice faltering, barely audible over the pounding bass. His brows furrowed. “Of what?”

“Everything,” Osamu said quietly, his gaze shifting to the floor for a fraction of a second before meeting Atsumu’s. “The future. What comes next. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. I know it’s just not goin’ to be easy.”

Atsumu’s chest tightened further. He’d seen Osamu deal with stress before, but never like this. Never so unguarded, so fragile in a way that made Atsumu’s stomach twist painfully. He stepped closer, instinctively lowering his voice even though the club’s noise was all around them. “Samu, what do ya mean? Ya and Rin… ya’ve never really had serious problems, right? So why are ya like this all of a sudden?”

Osamu’s hands fiddled nervously with the rim of the empty glass, tapping it lightly against the tabletop as if it anchored him to the moment. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and Atsumu’s eyes softened involuntarily. “We almost broke up,” he whispered, voice thick with tension. Atsumu’s jaw went slack for a moment, disbelief crashing into him.

“What?!” Atsumu’s voice rose despite the music, but even in the chaos of the club, he felt the weight of the words settle heavily between them. “Ya almost broke up? When?”

Osamu swallowed, nodding slowly, finishing off another drink that Atsumu hadn’t even noticed him grab. “A few years ago. We had trouble prioritizing each other. Moving to Shizuoka seemed like it would help… and it did, for a little while. But then it hit me just how different our lives had become. Rintarou… he was miserable tryin’ to fit me into his schedule, and I was miserable tryin’ to fit him into mine. We’d spend days without seein’ each other in the house we shared. There were nights we thought maybe… we just shouldn’t try anymore.”

Atsumu’s mind spun. He hadn’t even fathomed that possibility before. The thought of his brother and Suna being on the brink of breaking apart—their love, which had seemed unshakable—now felt fragile in a way that made his chest ache.

“But why didn’t ya tell me?” Atsumu asked quietly, stepping closer, instinctively lowering his voice even further. “I would’ve helped.”

Osamu’s gaze fell, his jaw flexing in tension. “I should’ve. But I was scared. Scared that ya would judge me. That ya would think I wasn’t strong enough to not give up on someone I was so obviously still in love with. Because I loved him. I would’ve never stopped”

Atsumu’s hand twitched, hovering near Osamu’s shoulder. He didn’t touch him yet, but the instinct to reach out was almost unbearable. “Osamu, ya could’ve told me anythin’,” he said, voice soft but firm. “Anything. You know that. I would never judge ya.”

Osamu let out a breath he’d been holding, shoulders relaxing just slightly. “We fixed it,” he said finally, voice quieter. “We’re okay now. We’re good. I love Rin so much… so much. I love him more than I love anythin’ else. But sometimes I get scared we’ll find ourselves there again. That he’ll realize that nine years with me was plenty. That he’ll get sick of me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m enough.”

“Ya are,” Atsumu said firmly, letting the words roll over him like a shield. “I’ve never seen anyone so gone for someone the way Rin is for ya. Yer more than enough. Always have been. If anythin’, yer too good for him.”

Osamu’s chest rose and fell more steadily now, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks for always bein’ there,” he murmured, voice low, almost lost to the club’s chaos.

Atsumu’s heart swelled, warmth spreading through him. “Always. Yer my other half.” he said, letting the conviction of the words linger between them.

“By the way, he’s been starin’ at us for forever now. Go save yer boyfriend.”

Osamu’s eyes flicked toward the edge of the club, to a familiar, quiet figure standing apart from the crowd—Sakusa. Arms crossed, posture impossibly still, gaze fixed unwaveringly on them. Osamu’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, teasing despite the vulnerability he’d just shown. 

Atsumu’s chest jumped, heat rushing to his cheeks. A grin spread across his face as adrenaline and anticipation coursed through him. “Yeah, I should,” he said, moving immediately toward Sakusa, weaving carefully between dancers and the pulsing lights, every nerve alert, every thought racing.

The tension that had coiled in his chest all day—the slow burn of desire, the awareness of Sakusa’s steady presence—tightened as he closed the distance. Every step was a countdown, every glance toward Sakusa a spark threatening to ignite.

Atsumu’s fingers found Sakusa’s, warm and steady. “Wanna dip?” he asked, his voice low, teasing, but the weight behind it made it impossible to dismiss.

Sakusa’s shoulders twitched, and he let out a long, slow breath, almost of relief. His hand, previously stiff in hesitation, finally relaxed into Atsumu’s grip. “Please.” he murmured, voice quiet, steadying himself. Then, almost as a distraction from the sudden intensity, he launched into the story of getting stuck between Oikawa’s drunken antics and his cousin joining in. His words tumbled out fast, precise, and Atsumu laughed, letting himself be pulled in.

They didn’t let go of each other’s hands.

They walked along the softly lit pathway, away from the club, the sounds of music and laughter fading into the background. The summer night air was cool against their flushed cheeks, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. Atsumu felt the warmth radiating from Sakusa through their joined hands, a tether in the crisp night. 

The conversation flowed easily, light, but every word was electric. Every pause between jokes, every glance, every subtle shift in posture was charged. Atsumu’s chest ached with a tension so sharp it felt physical. 

The path along the resort was quiet now, distant thumps from the club fading into the night. Atsumu’s thumb moved absentmindedly over the back of Sakusa’s hand, tracing small, lazy patterns that he barely noticed. He was humming a tune under his breath—a soft, absent-minded melody that somehow made the air around them feel warmer, more intimate.

Without realizing it, he leaned slightly into Sakusa, letting the side of his body press just enough to feel the heat radiating from him. His heartbeat quickened, thumping violently in his chest, and he could feel every subtle reaction in Sakusa’s hand, the tension, the micro-shift of weight, the tiniest tremor under his touch.

The movement of his thumb, the brushing of fingertips over Sakusa’s skin, was instinctive, unconscious. Every small motion drew him closer, the warmth of Sakusa’s body against his side like a magnet. The ache in Atsumu’s chest grew, low and burning, spreading to his stomach. Every nerve ending was alive, pulsing, screaming at him to close the distance, to bridge the small, electrified gap.

Sakusa stopped abruptly. Atsumu collided with him, caught off guard by the sudden stillness. His thumb froze mid-pattern, hovering over the smooth skin of Sakusa’s hand.

They turned to look at each other, and in that moment, the world seemed to shrink into nothing but them. The soft lantern light cast shadows across Sakusa’s face, highlighting the sharp angles softened in the glow, the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered with something that made Atsumu’s breath catch.

It hit like a physical force. Atsumu could feel it in the air, vibrating around them. His pulse spiked. His chest felt tight. Every inch of his body hummed with need. His hand still hovered over Sakusa’s, trembling slightly, thumb brushing against the skin as though seeking permission.

Sakusa’s gaze didn’t waver. His eyes were wide, conflicted, sharp and dangerous, and Atsumu felt the almost-imperceptible hitch of his breathing. The air was heavy, charged, thick with a want neither of them dared speak.

Sakusa began to lean in.

Atsumu’s lips parted slightly. His body shook with anticipation, trembling with the need that had been coiled inside him for weeks, years maybe. He could feel Sakusa’s desire in every line of his body, in the tight clench of his jaw, the subtle flexing of his shoulders, the small twitch of his fingers. It was a pull so intense it made him dizzy, made it impossible to think about anything else.

He leaned slowly, every millimeter deliberate, the slowest, most torturous of his life. His lips hovered near Sakusa’s, so close he could feel the warmth of his breath, mingling against his own. Every second stretched, every fraction of movement electric, almost unbearable.

Sakusa’s free hand twitched, hovering over Atsumu’s face. Just for a heartbeat, just for a flicker, it looked like he might reach out, might let go of restraint—but then, with a sharp jerk, he pulled back. The motion was sudden and deliberate, breaking the spell, and the summer air rushed in like a slap.

“I—I’m sorry” Sakusa’s voice was tight, low, trembling with restraint. “It’s… the alcohol. Yeah, that’s it.”

Atsumu’s chest heaved, breath hitching. He let out a short, shaky laugh, masking the ache in his heart. “Yeah… me too,” he lied, shaking his head. 

The world seemed to tilt. Atsumu’s fingers, still reaching unconsciously for the warmth that had just vanished, found only air. The sudden absence of Sakusa’s hand felt like a physical weight, like a cold space pressing against his skin. His chest ached. His stomach twisted. He mourned the heat that had been there, the subtle pressure, the electric tether that had connected them, now gone in an instant.

The ache remained. Every step now felt heavier, colder. The absence of Sakusa’s warmth made the Swiss air bite sharper. Atsumu could feel the pull between them still, raw and present, but now it was tempered with frustration and loss, a gnawing ache that twisted in him.

He looked at Sakusa, trying to find the remnants of that need in his gaze, but all he saw was the flicker of restraint, the shadow of something almost dangerous, almost intimate—pulled back, locked away. Atsumu mourned it quietly, curling his fingers inward, wishing he could reach for that tether again, wishing he could feel the warmth, the closeness, the want that had been there only a heartbeat ago.

They continued walking, shoulders brushing occasionally, but every movement felt empty, every step a reminder of what had just slipped out of reach. The tension lingered like a live wire, vibrating between them, impossible to ignore, impossible to satisfy. Atsumu could feel the heat of what they almost shared still burning in him, and the distance left behind felt like a wound he didn’t know how to soothe.

Atsumu realized that the smell of alcohol had completely dissipated as soon as he’d stepped out with Sakusa. They’d both been sober the entire time.

Chapter Text

Atsumu didn’t have time to dwell on the awkward mess of last night—didn’t have the luxury of replaying every second where he’d almost closed the distance with Sakusa—because by the time the sun crept up over the mountains, he’d already been shoved headfirst back into best man mode.

He hadn’t even seen Sakusa since they collapsed into bed, not really. The other man had been up before him, long gone by sunrise, leaving behind only a dry text saying he’d stay with Motoya to avoid being in the way. Atsumu didn’t know whether to feel relieved or stung. He didn’t have the time to choose regardless.

He’d just put on the burgundy suit that Sakusa had chosen for him in the suffocating silence of their shared bedroom.

He’d been running himself ragged since dawn—checking with resort staff about the table settings, confirming with the vineyard when to roll out the food, double-checking decorations and place cards, fielding calls from the videographers and photographers. He’d carried boxes, adjusted centerpieces, and barked directions like a sergeant, all while keeping his nerves tucked neatly behind a grin. He was everywhere at once, a blur of energy and responsibility, the beating heart of wedding logistics.

By mid-morning, he finally found himself back in his own suite, which had been chosen as the prep room for Suna. Osamu, of course, was in his own room getting ready with their mother.

And that’s where Atsumu saw it. For the first time since Suna had slipped that ring onto Osamu’s finger, Suna was in shambles.

The usually unflappable, endlessly sarcastic Suna Rintarou sat hunched on the edge of the couch, bowtie abandoned on the coffee table, his fingers knotted together so tightly they were white. His hair was only half-styled, his shirt buttons misaligned. It was almost comical—almost—except his face was pale, his eyes wide and frantic, a man completely undone.

His parents sat nearby, helpless, exchanging worried glances. Even Rina, who could normally be counted on to tease her brother no matter the circumstance, was silent, staring at him as though she didn’t recognize the man in front of her.

“I don’t—” Suna started, voice cracking in a way Atsumu had never heard before. His words came haltingly, like someone had yanked his foundation out from under him. “I don’t deserve him, Atsumu. Samu’s gonna wake up one day and realize there’s a whole world out there, full of people better than me. People who can give him more time, more… everything. And then what? Then he’ll see that all I’ve ever been is this selfish idiot who just wants him around even when it makes his life harder.”

The words tumbled out in fits and starts, uneven and raw, not the sharp, measured drawl Atsumu was used to. His voice shook on the edges, like the fear had been sitting in his chest for years and was finally forcing its way out.

“No one’s ever gonna love him the way I do, but—” Suna shook his head, jaw tight, eyes glassy, “—what if that’s not enough?”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Rina glanced at her parents, clearly searching for someone to break it, but for once, none of them had anything witty or reassuring to offer. Even she, queen of shameless commentary, was struck speechless.

Atsumu felt a pang in his chest. He’d known Suna for a decade—since high school, since they were dumb teenagers who only cared about volleyball and sneaking food out of the cafeteria. He’d seen him be sarcastic, lazy, brilliant, stubborn, loyal. But this? This stripped-down, terrified version of his best friend was something new, something raw.

So Atsumu stepped forward, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and blurted, “Yer right. ya don’t deserve him.”

The entire room froze. Suna’s head snapped up, panic flashing across his face, but Atsumu didn’t flinch. His grip only tightened.

“But listen,” Atsumu said, voice dropping, softer now, “ya’ve worked yer ass off to become a man worthy of him. And ya are. Yer not perfect. None of us are. But ya’ve grown, Rin. I’ve watched it. For a decade, I’ve watched ya stumble, and trip, and learn how to put my brother first—and that’s why this works. Because no one else could do it the way ya do.”

The weight of his own words surprised him. He wasn’t the poetic type—never had been—but something about Suna unraveling in front of him tugged at his own chest, at years of history, at all the moments he’d watched Osamu and Rin build this life together piece by piece.

Atsumu’s throat tightened as he went on. “I’ll never say this again—so take it while it’s here—but I’m happy yer officially part of my family. Even though you, as my best friend, started dating my brother.”

Suna blinked at him. His lips quirked into a weak, crooked smile, and then, almost desperately, he surged up and pulled Atsumu into a hug.

It was brief, a little clumsy, but it hit with ten years of history behind it. Ten years of practices, late-night hangouts, stupid inside jokes, and watching a love story grow quietly in the background of their lives. Atsumu hugged back just as tightly, clapping his hand hard against Suna’s back, because words would never be enough.

Of course, it didn’t last.

“Aww,” Rina cooed, voice saccharine, phone already up and recording. “Look at my big, tough, scary brother crying into Atsumu’s arms like a little baby. This is going straight to my Snapchat story.”

“Rina, I swear to god—” Suna growled, swiping at his face with the back of his hand as he pulled away. His ears burned red.

But Atsumu only laughed, shaking his head, his own eyes suspiciously damp. He didn’t care if she’d caught it on camera. Because in that moment, watching his best friend fall apart only to stitch himself back together again, he knew exactly how much love was in this room.

And he knew Osamu was marrying the right man.

Atsumu was still fussing with the photographer—making sure the aisle was clear, checking if the light hit the arch just right—when the air shifted. He didn’t know why he turned his head, only that something tugged at him, pulling his attention sideways.

And there he was.

Sakusa.

Walking into the vineyard like the world itself had opened a path just for him. He wore the same suit from almost three weeks ago, that dark green that hovered so close to black it looked like shadows clung to it, a suit that should’ve been simple but somehow made him look devastating. The crisp line of the jacket, the sharp cut of his shoulders, the careful way he carried himself—every detail stole the breath straight out of Atsumu’s lungs.

It hit him all at once. The sheer beauty of him. Not just the face, not just the suit—him. Sakusa Kiyoomi, quiet and composed, edges tucked so neatly in place, and yet everything about him made Atsumu ache.

Atsumu’s chest squeezed until it hurt. He thought back to when this whole stupid plan started, back to when they’d decided to fake something for the sake of convenience. He thought about how Sakusa had seemed like a problem to solve, a wall to push against, a puzzle of clipped words and cautious glances. And now—now Atsumu couldn’t fathom how he’d ever gone without this knowledge pressed against his ribs: he was hopelessly, irretrievably in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

So in love it left him mute. So in love it hollowed him out and filled him back up with something unrecognizable, something that lived in his chest as need, as want, as reverence. Words could never touch it.

Sakusa’s gaze flicked up, and the moment their eyes caught, Atsumu felt it. The smallest softening in Sakusa’s expression, barely there—just a fraction, just a blink. But Atsumu felt it like the ground had tilted. Like a vow whispered through silence.

The string quartet began to play, the opening notes tugging him violently back into the world. He startled, heart kicking like he’d been caught in a dream, and forced himself into motion.

“Alright, everyone, let’s move,” he said too brightly, clapping his hands as he guided family and friends toward their seats.

The vineyard had transformed into something out of a storybook. At its heart stood the arch, dripping with lavender and heavy grapevines, a crown of purple and green swaying lightly in the breeze. The mountains curled around them like a cradle, stone faces catching the sunlight and throwing it back in muted golds. Below, the river stretched teal and glittering, winding through the valley as though it had been painted there just for this day.

When Atsumu finally slipped into his seat in the very front row, right beside Rina, he glanced back and caught Sakusa lingering again.

“Omi,” Atsumu called softly, his grin tugging at the edges of his nerves. “Sit with me.”

Sakusa shook his head once. “I don’t want to intrude.”

Atsumu leaned back, gave him a look that was half dare, half plea. “C’mon. Humor yer boyfriend.”

The word boyfriend landed like a strike. Atsumu saw it hit—saw the pause, the faint flicker in Sakusa’s eyes, the way his breath shifted almost imperceptibly. He didn’t argue again. He just walked over, quiet as a shadow, and sat down beside him.

The quartet slipped into “Le Festin” from Ratatouille. Atsumu’s throat went tight. He almost laughed at the ache of it—this stupid, perfect detail. No one else in this vineyard would catch it, no one else would know that it was their movie—the movie Osamu and Suna watched for every anniversary. Only they would hear it and understand the secret tucked between the notes.

Suna came down the aisle first, flanked by his parents. His head dipped, shoulders trembling with barely checked emotion. They paused for a moment, sharing a quiet forehead touch with his mother, before settling on the far side of Rina.

Then Osamu appeared. Arm hooked with their mother’s, jaw clenched, eyes glassy. Atsumu’s breath caught. It was too much—the sight of his brother, the weight of what the moment meant. He pressed a shaking hand against his mouth, willing himself not to cry.

Beside him, Sakusa moved with such quiet certainty it made Atsumu’s heart stutter. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at the corners of Atsumu’s eyes before carefully slipping one of Atsumu’s hands into both of his own. His palms were warm, steady, anchoring. Atsumu felt everything inside him fray. He forced himself to look forward, to cling to the ceremony, even as his whole body leaned toward the man beside him.

Their mother officiated with warmth only she could provide. It wasn’t a ceremony—it was a story. Their story. She spoke of beginnings that didn’t look like beginnings, of how love had snuck its way into kitchens and late-night sleepovers, of how Suna had been folded into their family until the seams were seamless. She told it with laughter in her voice, with tears catching in her throat, until the crowd was carried with her—pulled back and forth between joy and ache.

Then came the vows.

Suna’s voice trembled, but his words did not. “You’ve always been home for me. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I tried to push it away. You see me—the worst of me—and somehow, you still want me. I can’t promise to be perfect. But I promise you’ll never have to doubt if you’re loved. Not for a second.”

Osamu’s reply was softer, steadier, but each word fell with weight as he slid a silver band on Suna’s finger. “I thought love was simple. I thought it was somethin’ ya either had or didn’t. But you showed me it’s a choice. Every day, I get to wake up and choose ya. And I will, Rin. Always. No matter what comes. I’ll make sure ya never have to wonder.”

Atsumu understood more than anyone the weight of those words—the dark nights, the doubts, the way Suna had feared never being enough, and the way Osamu had loved him into believing he was. He felt tears burning, hot and relentless.

When their mother finally said, “Ya may kiss the groom,” Osamu didn’t hesitate. He yanked Suna forward by the lapels and kissed him like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. Suna relaxed instantly, knees buckling, clutching at Osamu as though the world might swallow him if he let go. The crowd erupted in laughter, applause, cheers—but Atsumu’s focus tunneled.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop staring at the way Suna physically melted, the way his whole body gave in like there was no safer place to be than in Osamu’s arms. Atsumu’s throat closed. His chest ached. And for the first time, he let himself imagine what it would feel like to be kissed like that. To be pulled in and undone, to melt against someone, to be chosen with that kind of certainty.

He turned his head, and Sakusa was already looking at him.

Their eyes caught, and the air between them thickened, impossible to breathe. Atsumu’s stomach flipped, heat curling low in his gut, need bubbling so sharply he had to swallow hard against it. The sound of his gulp was deafening in his ears.

For a second—just a second—he swore the whole vineyard disappeared, leaving only Sakusa’s gaze tethering him to the earth.

The applause was thunderous, rolling through the vineyard in a wave of claps and cheers, but Atsumu barely heard any of it. The only thing that cut through was the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears.

He hadn’t looked away from Sakusa. Couldn’t.

And Sakusa hadn’t looked away from him either.

The rest of the world blurred, but Sakusa stayed sharp, devastatingly so—dark curls shifting in the light breeze, suit framing him like he’d been born for it, eyes locked with Atsumu’s in a way that stripped him raw.

Atsumu’s chest rose and fell too fast. His palms dampened where Sakusa’s hand still wrapped around his own, steady, grounding, but the steadiness only made it worse. He wanted more. The warmth of Sakusa’s skin against his was driving him half mad, not enough and far too much all at once.

Without realizing it, Atsumu’s fingers tightened, a desperate, unconscious squeeze, and Sakusa’s brows flickered—something startled, something unguarded, like he’d felt it too.

Atsumu couldn’t stop himself. His body betrayed him. He leaned the barest inch closer, just enough for him to rest his cheek on Sakusa’s jacket, for the heat of him to seep through the fabric of his suit. His leg bounced restlessly, like his body was trying to expend the ache twisting inside him.

The urge clawed at him—kiss him, touch him, do something. It thrummed under his skin until he thought he’d come apart from the sheer pressure of it. He shook with how badly he wanted it, every muscle straining to hold back.

The applause was still roaring. Osamu and Suna were still kissing, everyone was laughing—but Atsumu only felt the space between himself and Sakusa, wide and suffocating.

By the time the ceremony bled into the reception, the vineyard had transformed. If someone had walked in blindfolded and removed it now, they might not have recognized the same place. The sun had dipped low behind the mountains, streaking the sky in shades of rose-gold and indigo, the lake below reflecting it like molten glass. String lanterns crisscrossed above the guests, glowing like fireflies against the deepening dusk, and every table shimmered with tiny candles nestled among sprigs of lavender and grape leaves.

At the center of it all were Osamu and Suna, weaving through the crowd hand in hand, stopping every so often to clasp someone’s shoulder, share a smile, or lean close to hear a story. They looked so stupidly in love that Atsumu almost had to look away, his heart thrumming with something he couldn’t name. His third glass of champagne did little to dull it, though it made the edges of the moment blur just enough to steady his nerves. He slipped his suit jacket off, hanging it over the back of his seat. He wasn’t drunk, not even close—he just wanted the fizz to loosen his tongue before he had to open it in front of all these people.

He sat at a table with his mother, Suna’s parents, and Rina, who were chatting amongst themselves, but the whole time Atsumu’s focus flicked back to the grooms. His hands were restless, tapping his glass, shifting his fork, his knee bouncing beneath the table. Finally, before he could think better of it, he stood and tapped his fork against the rim of his champagne flute. The sound carried in little crystalline pings that cut through the chatter, and slowly, conversations died down as dozens of eyes turned toward him.

Atsumu cleared his throat, nerves jumping in his stomach. “Uh, hi. For those of ya who don’t know me—wait, actually—” He paused, eyes flicking over the crowd, realizing with a sudden laugh that he did know everyone. “Scratch that. I know literally every single one of ya. Which, uh… doesn’t help my nerves at all, thanks very much.”

The crowd bursts into laughter again. 

“​​I, uh, had the honor of being the sole best man. Which also meant I was the entire groomsmen party too. Because, clearly, these two idiots love me so much they couldn’t bring themselves to let anyone else do it. They were lucky I agreed.”

The room chuckled, and Atsumu let it fuel him, drawing breath. He shifted his glass between his hands, grounding himself.

“But, truth is, I’ve been the lucky one. I got to watch this story play out from the very beginning. I got to see what love looks like—before I even really understood what the word meant—just by watchin’ my brother and Rin.” His voice caught slightly, but he powered through, softer now, more vulnerable. “They’ve been in each other’s orbit since we were in high school. Fun fact, I take credit in introducin’ them! But every single day, they chose each other. That’s the kind of thing that makes ya… envious. That makes ya wish ya could’ve had somethin’ like that, too. The kind of love that doesn’t leave room for anyone else. The kind of love that feels like fate. Soulmates.”

The word lingered in the air, heavier than the rest, and Atsumu had to wet his lips before continuing. His eyes, without his permission, darted across the crowd, finding Sakusa sitting at the table in front of him. Just for a beat. Just long enough for Atsumu to feel that telltale crackle in his chest, then he forced himself to look away before anyone could notice.

He grinned instead, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll admit, I got jealous sometimes. Felt like Suna was stealing my twin from me. But then I remembered—blood can’t be changed. And marital status? Well, that can always be with divorce papers.”

The crowd erupted into cackles, exactly as he hoped, and Atsumu took a quick swallow of champagne to keep his hands from shaking.

“But jokes aside,” His voice dropped, and the laughter faded. “Love ain’t about being perfect. It’s about stickin’ around when things get messy. When life gets hard. It’s finding that one person who doesn’t walk away—who chooses you, again and again, no matter what. And if anyone knows that, it’s my brother and Suna. They’ve shown me—shown all of us—that love’s not just a feeling. It’s a choice. And it’s the best damn one ya will ever make.”

His throat tightened, but he forced the last words out, slow and deliberate. “So, uh… cheers. To love. To soulmates.”

As glasses clinked and voices echoed his toast, Atsumu’s eyes slipped—traitorous, disobedient—back toward Sakusa once more. And this time, he didn’t look away.

Atsumu sank back into his chair as the last toast faded into the applause. The remainder of the speeches became a blur—words turning to static in his brain as he alternated between sipping champagne and stealing glances at Sakusa. Always Sakusa. Always aware that Sakusa was looking back, eyes sharp and attentive even as he clutched his own drink, the edge of a smirk just brushing his lips.

The champagne had begun to loosen him. Not too much, not yet—but enough to feel the heat spreading through his sternum, down his arms, and into his hands. He tugged off his tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt and letting the cool summer air brush against his skin. Only then did he notice Sakusa had done the same, the subtle looseness of his own collar mirroring Atsumu’s, a detail that sent a rush of something unnameable through him.

The speeches ended, and the reception finally opened fully into the night. A live band began to play, and the guests streamed to the dance floor, laughter ringing in the air. Normally, Atsumu would have been among them—the life of any party—but tonight he remained seated, entirely consumed by the sight of Sakusa striding across the space toward him.

Even across the floor, Atsumu’s gaze tracked him, mapping the sharp elegance of his movements, memorizing the twin moles at his eyebrow, tracing them down in his mind to the pair that rested just above his collarbone. He couldn’t stop staring. His pulse throbbed in time with the beat of the music.

Sakusa stopped just a foot away, leaning slightly with that patient, unreadable expression of his. “Surprisingly eloquent,” he said, voice low, carrying just enough amusement to make Atsumu’s chest tighten.

“Thanks,” Atsumu lifted himself out of his seat, voice breathless without realizing it. “I didn’t know I was such a poet.” He laughed, and it felt too soft, too small, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to sound confident around him.

The band’s next song slowed. Atsumu’s breath hitched. “Dance with me?” he asked, almost forgetting to speak it out loud, words tumbling free like confessions.

Sakusa’s lips quirked into a teasing half-smile. “Do you think you can keep up? You know, I used to do ballroom.”

Atsumu threw back his head, laughing, heat creeping into every inch of him. “Of course ya did! Yer never beatin’ the prince allegations.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes but extended a hand anyway, palm out, steady. “Shall we?”

Atsumu’s whole body seemed to ignite when their hands met. The warmth, the tension, the scent of wine and cologne mixed with Sakusa’s natural musk—it hit him like a drug. His knees went weak, and he nearly staggered forward before Sakusa gripped his hand tighter.

They found a quiet spot on the floor, the music filling the spaces between them. Atsumu could feel the heat radiating off Sakusa’s body as they argued playfully over who would lead.

“I’ll lead.” Sakusa said softly, voice laced with amusement. 

Atsumu nodded. No comeback, no quip. His hands tightened instinctively on Sakusa’s, feeling the subtle push and pull as they swayed to the music. He could feel Sakusa’s breath on his cheek. His heart beat too fast. Too loud.

They moved closer, swaying back and forth until their bodies were nearly pressed together, chest to chest, every brush of hands sending sparks through Atsumu’s nerves. He tried to distract himself, to break the intensity. “Look at them,” he murmured, nodding toward the floor. Oikawa and Iwaizumi moved together with effortless coordination, completely in sync. Bokuto and Akaashi laughed freely as they spun each other, their joy spilling into the space around them. Hinata and Kageyama’s movements were energetic but intimate, a perfect reflection of the bond they shared. Even Suna’s parents, hand in hand, radiated quiet contentment, while Uncle Kazo and Auntie Ume glided across the floor with the ease of long-practiced partners. At the center of it all were the grooms, moving in a way that was unmistakably theirs, a harmony of shared history and affection. 

Sakusa followed his gaze, expression unreadable, and Atsumu’s words slipped further, unthinking: “I wonder how we look to everyone else?”

Sakusa’s head tilted slightly, the faintest flush dusting his cheeks. “Probably just as in love,” he said.

“Don’t joke about that,” Atsumu murmured, heart thudding painfully.

The band’s slow song washed over the dance floor, smooth and languid, the kind of melody that pulled at your chest without warning. Atsumu’s hand was still in Sakusa’s, and the simple contact was enough to make his heart stutter. Every step, every sway of their bodies, every brush of shoulders or the tips of fingers sent electricity up his arms. He could feel the warmth of Sakusa’s body seeping into his own, and it made him want more—want it desperately, impossibly.

“Could ya teach me somethin’ in French?” Atsumu whispered, unable to peel his eyes from the hypnotizing color of his partners. 

Sakusa clicked his tongue. “What do you want to know?”

Atsumu thought about it for a second before shrugging. “Whatever yer willin’ to teach me, Omi-kun.”

“Then how about…” Sakusa hummed low, the sound rumbling in his chest alongside his heartbeat, “Try tu es si belle que ça fait mal.”

Atsumu struggled to copy, stumbling over consonants as Sakusa’s quiet laughter distracted him from his focus. 

“What does it mean?”

“I never said I’d tell you.”

“Oh, so now yer gonna insult me in a language I can’t even speak.” Atsumu chuckled, curious about Sakusa’s words but he wasn’t willing to argue. He started drawing little patterns on Sakusa’s hand with his thumb, the gesture unconscious, nervous, intimate. He hummed a soft, half-forgotten tune under his breath, leaning just slightly against Sakusa, letting the weight of his body press closer than he intended. He wanted Sakusa to feel it, wanted Sakusa to feel everything he’d been bottling up for weeks.

Sakusa’s hand hovered over Atsumu’s face for a brief second, teasing the air, before he brought it back as if he’d nearly given in to a dangerous impulse. Atsumu’s stomach fluttered—no, it squirmed—at the nearness, the tension that hung so thickly between them. He could feel it in his veins, the tight coil of need that was almost painful.

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, time seemed to pause. The world around them melted into nothing—just the press of bodies, the warmth, the intoxicating smell of wine and cologne that was all Sakusa. Atsumu’s lips parted slightly, almost trembling, and he could feel every shallow breath from Sakusa against his own mouth. His hands itched to touch him, to pull him closer, to close the tiny, maddening space between them.

“You’re too close,” Sakusa murmured, his voice low, though his cheeks betrayed him, flushed beneath the dim lantern light.

Atsumu’s chest rose and fell rapidly, heat pooling in his belly. “I can’t help it,” he admitted, almost a whisper. Every word was a confession he didn’t intend to say aloud, but his body had already betrayed him.

They swayed, hips brushing, hands almost exploring. Sakusa’s fingers grazed Atsumu’s jaw for the briefest second before snapping back to his side, and Atsumu shivered at the loss, mourning the warmth, the nearness that had only existed for a breath. He could feel Sakusa’s pulse, hear it faintly, and it made his stomach churn with want.

Atsumu’s neck had been craned to keep looking at Sakusa. Dancing like this, Sakusa didn’t slouch as he usually did. He held himself straight, his own head tilted down to keep contact with Atsumu. For the first time in his life, Atsumu had never felt so small—suddenly feeling the weight of two-and-half inches.

Their foreheads nearly touched now, and Atsumu could feel Sakusa’s breath on his lips—soft, warm, intoxicating. The heat of it, the subtle scent of wine and Sakusa’s natural musk, made his knees feel weak, made every nerve scream for release. He leaned in, slowly, savoring every second, heart hammering, stomach twisting. He could feel the anticipation, the way Sakusa was holding back.

The song ended and couples began to drift away, laughing, twirling, weaving into small groups across the dance floor. But Atsumu felt none of it. His pulse was still roaring, every nerve ending on fire from the closeness, the way Sakusa’s hand had lingered in his.

He leaned slightly closer, voice low as he asked, “Want to go check on the desserts with me?”

Sakusa’s eyebrows lifted just enough to be noticeable. “Sure,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his hand brushing Atsumu’s briefly before letting go. They left the main reception area, the lantern-lit space behind them fading into muffled laughter and music.

Atsumu rambled, trying to mask the heat pooling in his chest. “So, they’ve got—no, wait, there’s—oh! Chocolate fountain, maybe a tiramisu tower, definitely macarons, oh! They set up a whole corner with mini cheesecakes, I told them to make sure they were—”

“Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice cut through him like ice, low, firm, and utterly magnetic. “I don’t give a damn about the desserts.”

Atsumu froze, caught mid-gesture, eyes darting up to meet Sakusa’s. And that’s when it happened.

Sakusa pushed him against the wall, hands resting on either side of Atsumu, framing his face. Heart hammering in his chest, Atsumu’s body pressed back instinctively, but it was useless—there was no space to retreat. His chest heaved, breath hitching as he felt the faint heat of Sakusa’s body, the intoxicating scent, the closeness of his lips barely brushing his own.

Time slowed. Every second stretched impossibly long. Atsumu’s fingers trembled at his sides, wanting to reach up, to feel, to touch, to claim, but he was rooted, caught in the gravity of Sakusa’s stare. His lips parted slightly, a shiver racing down his spine, the ache in his stomach twisting into raw need.

Sakusa’s hands hovered, brushing against Atsumu’s jaw, uncertainty and longing dancing in his dark eyes. He shook slightly, a whisper of sound escaping him, his own body betraying him.

“I—” Atsumu started, voice thick, breathless, but words failed him.

Sakusa—as if he no longer had the restraint—pulled Atsumu in by the neck and smashed his lips onto his. 

Atsumu didn’t have time to react—he didn’t have time to think. He stood there in utter shock, arms stiffly at his sides as the love of his life kissed him. 

Sakusa deepened it just a fraction, and Atsumu’s hands shot up instinctively, tangling in Sakusa’s curls, fingers gripping, pulling him closer, needing more. His chest pressed hard against Sakusa’s, and every nerve in his body was lit, every breath shared a spark that ignited further need.

Sakusa tasted like wine, mint, and Atsumu’s wildest dreams.

They were lost. Lost in the taste, the feel, the fire that had been building for weeks, months—years. Whimpers, gasps, quiet moans slipped past Atsumu’s lips as Sakusa’s hands explored, slid along his sides, gripping him, claiming him in the most intimate, consuming way possible. 

“Kiyoomi.” he gasped as Sakusa’s teeth grazed Atsumu’s bottom lip, his tongue replacing them to soothe the sting. 

Atsumu’s own hands roamed, memorizing every line of Sakusa’s body through the fabric, desperate for more contact, more heat, more of him. They moved in tandem, urgent, frantic, a slow, messy symphony of desire.

And yet, even as the kiss deepened, even as their bodies pressed flush together, hearts hammering, breath ragged, the world outside still existed. The quiet hum of the venue, the fading music, and the gentle rustle of lanterns swaying in the evening air made every sensation sharper, every touch more intense.

When Atsumu finally pulled back, gasping, chest heaving, eyes dark and shimmering, Sakusa caught his gaze. The fire still burned between them, thick and palpable, every nerve raw, every inch of them alight with the heat of want. Atsumu’s voice was hoarse, shaky, trembling with need. “We… should we make a run for it?”

Sakusa’s laugh was low, breathless, shaky with the same desire, and he grabbed Atsumu’s hand, tugging him toward the waiting buggy, their hands clasped, bodies brushing with every step.

Atsumu’s phone buzzed as they climbed in; his fingers scrambled to send a quick text to his mom: Too drunk. Turning in for the night. But he didn’t care. Not when Sakusa had his hand in his and swooped him away like the prince he always knew he was.

The moment the suite door closed behind them, the air seemed to thicken, charged and electric. Atsumu’s heart hammered, breath coming fast, as he pressed forward, unable to resist the pull of Sakusa. Their laughter was breathless, shaky, almost a tremor of need between them.

Atsumu shoved Sakusa onto the bed, and he collapsed back with a small, breathless laugh. But Atsumu didn’t hesitate—he was on him immediately, chest to chest, hands exploring every inch of the man he had wanted for so long. The heat radiating from Sakusa pressed into him, sharp and addictive, and Atsumu let himself shiver with it, his fingers tracing the lines of Sakusa’s shoulders, his chest, the slight dip of his collarbones.

Sakusa’s hands were in his hair, tangling and tugging, guiding his face closer. Their lips met in a kiss that was frantic, almost desperate, teeth brushing, tongues flicking in the edges of a challenge—like they were trying to consume one another in a single motion. Atsumu’s body was on fire, every nerve screaming with need, and he clung tighter, grinding slightly against him.

His lips moved lower, ghosting over Sakusa’s neck, lingering on the twin moles at his collarbones. He pressed soft, heated kisses to them, almost worshiping them, murmuring against the skin. “I think about these so much,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Do ya have more like ‘em?”

Sakusa opened his mouth, maybe to answer, but Atsumu didn’t give him the chance. He surged forward, capturing Sakusa’s lips again, swallowing his words, consuming him entirely in another kiss. Their breaths mingled, harsh and ragged, and every touch was sharp, urgent, an unspoken language of hunger and desperation.

Sakusa’s hands made it to the buttons of Atsumu’s shirt, fumbling as he undid them. He let the fabric drop and pool on the floor, letting the man beneath him just stare at his bare torso. Sakusa gripped Atsumu by the waist, flipping them over so that the latter was pressed against the mattress. He shrugged his suit jacket off his shoulders and made quick work of his own shirt, leaning back down for another kiss.

Atsumu’s hands roamed freely, memorizing Sakusa’s form, tracing the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abs, the soft muscles of his arms. Sakusa’s hands returned the favor, sliding across Atsumu’s shoulders, back, and neck, gripping, holding, claiming, every motion a mixture of restraint and abandon. They rocked together, pressing, twisting, almost colliding in heat and desire, yet never crossing the line that might break the unspoken tension that had built over weeks—over years.

Their mouths moved together, teeth brushing, tongues teasing, lips parting and capturing, nipping and sucking at each other with a heat that made the air itself tremble. Atsumu moaned beneath him, a low, ragged sound that made Sakusa shiver and lean into him, slotting a knee in between his thighs and pressing up, eliciting a whimper from the blonde.

Atsumu’s lips lingered again on the moles, nipping gently, sucking softly, murmuring words only he would understand. Sakusa moaned almost silently, breath ragged, fingers tangling in Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu pulled Sakusa down lower, pressing closer, tracing fingers down to the zipper of his pants. 

But Sakusa jerked back sharply, hands raised as if to protect both of them from what they were about to cross. Atsumu froze, chest heaving, eyes wide. He saw the same look he had seen the other night at the club—fear, panic, restraint. He drank in Sakusa—hair messy, lips slightly parted, and eyes still burning with the storm of desire that Atsumu had pressed out of him. 

He’d never been religious, but he started praying that it was anything but that.

Sakusa’s gaze softened, but his jaw was tight, still firm. “We… can’t,” he said, voice low and strained. “We’re so drunk. You’re going to regret this tomorrow. I won’t let you make that mistake.”

The word hit Atsumu like a bullet. He wanted to scream, cry, beg, collapse. He wanted to pull Sakusa back to him and assure him that he would never regret it—being with him. But he couldn’t. Not when Sakusa looked like he’d already made up his mind. He slumped back into the bed, pressing face into the sheets, heart hammering, stomach twisting. The heat they’d shared still lingered in every fiber of him, the taste of Sakusa on his lips, the feel of him beneath his hands, and it all turned into ache, burning, and longing.

He couldn’t respond. He couldn’t find the words. Not the right ones. Not the ones that would make Sakusa believe he wasn’t just a drunken mistake.

He stayed silent. 

Sakusa lingered a moment longer, standing over him, chest rising and falling, eyes flicking with unspoken regret, desire, and restraint. And then, as if dragging himself out of the storm, he turned sharply and left, the door closing with a soft click that sounded louder than any shout.

The room was still. 

Atsumu laid bare in bed that night, with nothing but the scent of Sakusa staining the sheets and an inkling that he’d just ruined everything.

Chapter Text

Atsumu drummed his fingers against the porcelain mug, the sound sharp in his ears, drowned out by the laughter and chatter surrounding him. Families, couples, friends—all of them looked like they belonged, like they had someone. Meanwhile, he sat at a table for two, the other chair across from him empty. Every time a waiter passed, his throat tightened as if they could see the vacancy too, as if they knew someone was supposed to be there but wasn’t.

He hated how obvious it felt. How obvious he must look: alone, abandoned, pathetic.

He shifted in his seat, but that did nothing to ease the gnawing hollowness in his chest. He told himself he should leave, go pack since it was their last day, do anything else—but his legs stayed glued to the floor, like part of him was waiting. Waiting for Sakusa to walk in, sit down across from him, and say something. Anything. But the door kept opening and closing, strangers filing through, never him.

The phantom memory of last night clung like smoke. He couldn’t scrub it off no matter how hard he tried. His lips still tingled from being kissed raw; his skin still buzzed with the press of Sakusa’s hands. Every time he shifted, he could feel where they’d been, like fingerprints burned into him. His body betrayed him, replaying everything while his mind begged it to stop.

He gritted his teeth. It was unbearable. Because every time he remembered the heat of it—the sounds, the desperate pull, the fire threatening to consume them both—he also remembered how it ended. The recoil. The word mistake. The sharp, final click of the door shutting behind Sakusa as he left Atsumu curled up in the dark.

Atsumu had told himself a hundred times he was fine with it. That this was fake, that it didn’t matter. But it did. It mattered too much. He was the idiot who went and caught feelings in the middle of a lie, who wanted something real when Sakusa clearly didn’t.

He stared down at his coffee, stone cold now, and saw his own reflection in the dark liquid: pale, tired, hollow-eyed. He looked wrecked. He felt wrecked. Like he hadn’t just lost a night of sleep, but something more vital, something he couldn’t name.

Everyone else had a plan for the day. Couples already slipping out to explore the town, groups gathering for hikes, friends heading off to ski. And here he was, stuck at a table no one would join. 

And maybe that was the worst part: realizing how alone he really was. No Sakusa. No brother. No distractions. Just him, and the echo of what he wanted but could never have.

Atsumu pressed his palms flat against the table, staring at the lines of his hands. He remembered how Sakusa’s had fit against his, long and precise, and his chest seized again. He hated it—hated how his heart kept betraying him, how his body ached for more even when his head screamed stop.

He buried his face in his hands, dragging in a shaky breath. “Get it together,” he muttered into his palms. But his voice cracked, thin and pathetic, and he couldn’t convince himself.

He was so tired. Tired of wanting. Tired of pretending. Tired of hoping for something that was never his to begin with.

And as the morning stretched on, laughter rising and falling around him, Atsumu sat alone at the breakfast table, feeling like he’d already been left behind.

He picked at the edge of his napkin until it tore into uneven strips. His coffee was nothing but bitter sludge at the bottom of the cup now, but still he kept staring at it, unable to look anywhere else. If he looked up, he might catch another couple leaning into each other, smiling over their shared plates, and he couldn’t stomach it.

Finally, unable to hold himself back any longer, he slid his phone out from under the napkin scraps. The screen was blank. No missed calls. No unread messages. Just silence.

His throat tightened. He hated himself for even checking, hated that pathetic hope twisting in his gut. He shouldn’t want anything from him. Not after last night. Not after being called a mistake. But still, his thumb hovered over the screen, waiting, waiting—like maybe if he refreshed enough times, something would appear.

It didn’t.

He stared at the empty screen until the edges of his vision blurred, then finally unlocked it. His fingers moved on their own, tapping out words before his pride could stop him.

We should probably talk later. Text me when you’re free.

The second he hit send, regret crashed over him. He wanted to snatch it back, delete it before Sakusa ever saw it. He could picture him reading it, scoffing, rolling his eyes, maybe showing Motoya with a wry comment about how clingy Atsumu was being.

But it was too late. The message had gone. And now all he could do was sit there and stare at the little gray screen, praying for the three dots to appear. For some kind of acknowledgment. For anything.

Nothing came.

Atsumu dropped the phone face-down on the table and leaned back in his chair, letting his head loll against the backrest. His chest ached, tight and hot, and he swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell himself Sakusa wasn’t worth it, that he was better off not caring. But instead, he just sat there, hollow, watching families drift by, listening to the clink of cutlery and hum of conversation that made him feel even more out of place.

He thought about the hands that had touched him, the mouth that had consumed him, the body that had pressed him into the mattress like it was the only thing that mattered—and then about the empty space beside him when he woke up.

He let out a shaky laugh, one that tasted bitter on his tongue. This was what he got for letting his feelings get involved. For forgetting that to Sakusa, it had always just been fake.

Atsumu rubbed at his tired eyes with the heel of his palm, his phone still silent on the table. He told himself he’d give it five more minutes, just five. But deep down, he already knew there’d be nothing waiting for him.

And so he sat there, wallowing in the silence, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

Back in their suite, the silence was worse than the restaurant’s chatter. Atsumu froze the moment he stepped inside, his eyes darting to Sakusa’s side of the room. The bed was stripped, the nightstand cleared, his toiletries gone from the bathroom counter. The neatness of it all made Atsumu’s stomach plummet.

He dashed from one end of the suite to the other like maybe Sakusa was just hiding in the closet or out on the balcony. But every corner he checked only confirmed it—he was gone. Packed up. Done.

Atsumu’s chest clenched so tight it hurt. He leaned against the doorframe of the empty bathroom, staring at the bare sink where bottles and brushes had lined up just yesterday. He’d thought they’d had more time. At least one last awkward breakfast together. One last sarcastic comment. Instead, Sakusa had left him with nothing but air.

He dragged his hands down his face and let out a groan, pacing back into the bedroom. His suitcase still sat in the corner, untouched. Clothes spilling out because he hadn’t bothered to be neat about it. The contrast made his throat ache—Sakusa had left without a trace, and Atsumu was still falling apart in the wreckage.

It hit him then, sharp and humiliating. That he’d been deluding himself this whole trip. All the stolen glances, the quiet touches, the almost-kisses—he’d built them up into something they weren’t. He’d let himself believe that Sakusa was interested, that maybe, just maybe, there was something real brewing between them.

But no. Sakusa had just been taking the fake boyfriend thing seriously. Playing the part Atsumu had asked him to. Making it convincing for the wedding. Of course he had. Sakusa was disciplined, thoughtful, considerate in his own cold way. He hadn’t been into Atsumu. He’d just been fulfilling his end of the agreement.

Atsumu stumbled back onto his bed and sat on the edge, burying his face in his hands. He hated himself for it—for pushing, for letting his heart get tangled in something that was never supposed to mean anything. He hated that he’d let old feelings crawl back out of the grave he’d buried them in, only to watch them get crushed under Sakusa’s rejection.

And worst of all, he hated that now he couldn’t forget. He couldn’t unknow what it felt like to kiss Sakusa, to taste him, to be touched by him. He couldn’t unlearn how badly he wanted him.

“I wish I never realized,” Atsumu whispered into the silence, his voice breaking on the words.

Because realizing meant losing, and losing meant it hurt like hell.

He lay back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but all he could see was him.

Sakusa in the green suit, stepping into the vineyard like he owned every set of eyes. Sakusa leaning close on the dance floor, cheekbones flushed from wine, his hand gripping Atsumu’s waist like he didn’t want to let go. Sakusa beneath him last night, lips parted, eyes hooded, pulling at his shirt with a desperation that matched his own.

Atsumu squeezed his eyes shut, but the images only sharpened. He could still feel it—the phantom weight of Sakusa’s body pressing into his, the heat of his mouth against his own, the little sound Sakusa made when Atsumu’s teeth grazed his collarbone. His body betrayed him, tingling with memory, aching for a closeness he wasn’t allowed to have.

He hated it.

He hated himself for clinging to scraps, for replaying touches that probably meant nothing to Sakusa. Just alcohol. Just the pressure of pretending. Just a mistake. That word ripped through him again—mistake. Sakusa had looked like it physically hurt to say it.

And Atsumu… he wanted to scream. Because he’d seen it—he’d felt the trembling hesitation, the way Sakusa’s hands had hovered like they were dying to touch but too afraid to fall. That wasn’t acting. That wasn’t just the alcohol. That was real. It had to have been. Atsumu’s bones ached with how real it had been.

He rolled onto his side, clutching Sakusa’s abandoned pillow, inhaling until the faint trace of his cologne filled his lungs. It was dizzying, how much comfort one scent could hold. It was torture, how it slipped through his fingers all the same.

“Fuck,” Atsumu muttered into the fabric, voice shaking. He pressed the pillow tighter to his chest, curling into himself like maybe he could hold all the broken pieces together.

He lay there, motionless, staring at the faint cracks in the plaster ceiling like they might offer him answers. They didn’t. They only blurred, unfocused, as his mind circled the same agonizing loop.

His stomach twisted. He’d always been good at telling stories, good at making people believe things. Maybe this was just another narrative—except this time, he’d sold it to himself.

He rolled onto his back, spreading his arms wide across the bed like he could trick his body into feeling full again, but the sheets were cold, empty. Sakusa’s side of the room looked untouched, luggage gone, surfaces clear. He hadn’t just walked out of the night; he’d erased himself entirely.

That stung more than anything.

Because Atsumu wanted to hate him, wanted to paint him as the villain who’d led him on and left him stranded. But he couldn’t. He’d never hated Sakusa. Not a day in his life.

Atsumu exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. Last night had cracked him open, and now there was no pretending anymore. He loved Sakusa. Stupidly, recklessly, one-sidedly loved him.

And now he had to live with the knowledge that it wasn’t enough.

The ceiling didn’t shift. The room didn’t fill. The silence stayed heavy. Atsumu closed his eyes, the ache curling around his ribs like a vice, and thought—he wished he’d never figured out what those feelings meant. Because once you named something love, there was no going back.

Atsumu couldn’t remember leaving the suite. He couldn’t remember walking through the pathways, the shuffle of his shoes against rocks, or even deciding he wanted to drink. He only remembered curling into Sakusa’s sheets, pulling them over his head, drowning in the fading scent of his cologne until it made his lungs ache too badly to breathe. He stayed there until the silence got so loud it hurt. And then—he was here.

The bar was dim, crowded, a murmur of conversations rising and falling around him like a tide. His glass was sweating under his palm, the liquor inside burning his throat raw every time he took a swallow. It didn’t help, not in the way he’d hoped. Each drink only dragged him further into the space he’d been trying to escape.

The quiet way Sakusa laughed, almost like he was embarrassed to find something funny. The way his hand hovered over Atsumu’s back before actually touching, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. The warmth of his mouth—God, his mouth. Atsumu could still taste it if he closed his eyes long enough.

He clenched his jaw and looked down into his glass. He was already too far gone, tipsy enough that the ice clinking against the rim sounded almost like bells. He let it lull him, just for a moment.

That’s when she appeared.

Sliding onto the stool beside him with the practiced grace of someone who had done this before. Her perfume was sweet, heavy, cloying in his nose. Blonde curls bounced against her shoulders as she leaned in, smiling like she already owned the night. Her voice spilled out fast and light in French—words Atsumu didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.

He gave no answer, staring at the countertop, but she didn’t falter. Her laughter was high and effortless, fingers brushing his sleeve before she slid her arm across his thighs.

His skin prickled at the touch. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the wrongness of it.

Her face tilted toward his, lips glossy in the low light. He should’ve felt something—desire, interest, anything. Instead, his stomach twisted.

Because as her lips came into focus, all he could see were Sakusa’s. The shape of them, sharp and soft all at once. The way they had parted last night, breath caught, like the world had stopped between them. The way they lingered in Atsumu’s memory, stubborn and impossible.

Her beauty mark caught the glow of the bar’s neon light. Atsumu’s heart skipped. A mole. Not his moles. Not the twin ones that sat on Sakusa’s brow, drawing his gaze every time he leaned close. Not the constellation of them trailing down his torso, each one Atsumu had worshiped with the pads of his fingers. This one was a stranger’s, meaningless—and yet it made him ache for Sakusa’s even more.

Her curls brushed his cheek. Blonde, light, playful. Not black. Not the stubborn, springy curls Sakusa fought with in the bathroom mirror, muttering under his breath, running his hands through them like maybe this time they’d obey. Atsumu always watched from the hallway, pretending not to, memorizing every frustrated sigh. He’d thought it was funny then—adorable, even. Now the memory burned.

He blinked, vision swimming, and the scene sharpened all at once: the glass heavy in his hand, the bar spinning around him, and this girl halfway onto his lap, smiling like he belonged to her.

But he didn’t. He never had.

The thought gutted him.

And then—

A sharp gasp.

It cut through the haze like a blade.

Atsumu’s head snapped toward the sound, pulse thundering in his ears.

Sakusa stood there against the wall. Frozen. His wide eyes fixed on Atsumu, horrified. His glass slipped from his hand, shattering at his feet, liquor spreading across the floor like blood.

His entire body went cold.

The look on Sakusa’s face—
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t even betrayal. It was devastation, raw and unguarded, like Atsumu had just confirmed every worst fear Sakusa ever had.

Atsumu’s throat closed. He wanted to say something—anything—but no words came.

And in that heartbeat of silence, Sakusa turned.

Fast. Final.

He didn’t wait for explanations, didn’t pause to look back. Just walked out, shoulders rigid, each step like a door slamming shut behind him.

The girl slid away from Atsumu, muttering something sharp he couldn’t hear. His glass wobbled on the counter and fell, spilling what little remained onto the woman’s skimpy little dress. None of it mattered.

All Atsumu saw was Sakusa’s back, retreating.

“—Kiyoomi!” His voice cracked, desperate, but it was swallowed by the bar’s noise.

He shoved off the stool, nearly stumbling as his legs tried to catch up with his pounding chest. He pushed past bodies, ignored startled shouts, the world blurring around him until only Sakusa was in focus. The dark curls, the rigid shoulders, the storm rolling off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s heart slammed against his ribs.

He ran.

Atsumu caught him just before the path curved back toward the lights of the resort. The sand was damp underfoot, cold and gritty between his toes, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore loud in the night. His hand shot out instinctively, fingers closing around Sakusa’s wrist. The grip was tight, desperate, and he pulled—hard.

Sakusa stumbled back, almost landing straight into Atsumu. The movement sent his chest brushing against Atsumu’s, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Atsumu could feel Sakusa’s heartbeat under his palm, fast, tense, and—unbelievably—just as erratic as his own.

“Let go,” Sakusa hissed, yanking his hand free. His voice was sharp, cutting through the night like glass. The sudden loss of warmth felt like a physical blow, and Atsumu’s chest tightened.

“Wait—Kiyoomi, just wait,” Atsumu gasped. His knees threatened to buckle, but he planted himself firmly in the sand, not letting the distance between them grow any wider.

Sakusa’s head snapped toward him, eyes blazing, dark and impossibly deep under the moonlight. “What? You look like you’re having fun.” His sarcasm was thin, brittle—but Atsumu caught the hitch in his breath, the tremor he couldn’t mask.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Atsumu said, voice shaking. He wanted to reach out again, to pull Sakusa close and make the last twelve hours—no, the last week—mean something.

“Wasn’t it?” Sakusa shot back, stepping just enough away to put invisible walls between them.

“Why do I even have to explain myself?” Atsumu yelled, words raw, unfiltered. “Yer the one who ran away last night! Left me in our bedroom, in the dark, and—” His chest heaved. “—and I didn’t even get to—”

“Because we were drunk!” Sakusa barked, cutting him off. He was yelling now, voice echoing over the water, harsher than anything Atsumu had heard outside a court.

“Ya were the one who kissed me first!” Atsumu countered, almost shouting. “Ya—”

Sakusa’s voice cut him off, louder than Atsumu had ever heard outside a court. “Because you’re confusing me!”

The words cracked like a whip between them. Atsumu froze. His heart stuttered. Sakusa never yelled—not like this. Not with his whole chest.

Confusing him? Atsumu’s mind spun. He couldn’t understand what that meant. What had he done besides want him? Besides get tangled up in his own stupid feelings?

Atsumu’s chest tightened, words sticking in his throat. “I don’t understand. I’m not tryin’ to—”

“You are! You’re always so… so intense, so everything, and I don’t know how to keep up. You’re… you’re confusing. I don’t know where I end and you begin sometimes!” Sakusa’s hands flexed at his sides, his voice growing rawer, desperate.

“I… I’m not tryin’ to confuse ya!” Atsumu protested, voice cracking. He wanted to reach out, to bridge the distance, but his limbs felt leaden. “I just—I—”

“You’re always pushing, Miya! And I… I don’t know what you want! Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to make this—us—something it’s not. And I can’t. I can’t keep pretending I understand. I can’t tell when you’re acting and when you’re not.”

Atsumu’s heart sank. His stomach turned. He wanted to scream, to beg, to pull Sakusa into his arms and demand an explanation, but all he could do was stand there, numb.

“You promised you’d stop calling me Miya.” He whispered, his voice breaking at the sound of his own name.

Sakusa’s chest heaved and maybe he saw him soften, but Atsumu didn’t know anymore. “We… we’ll figure out the story when we get home. For the family’s sake. We’ll stay amicable, answer nothing, do what we have to. But this—this—ends here. I’m sorry. I can’t—Atsumu, I can’t keep doing this.”

Atsumu’s lips parted, but no sound came. Panic clawed at him. “Ends? You mean… the ruse, right? Not… not us?”

Sakusa didn’t answer. He simply turned and started walking away, every step measured, final. Atsumu felt like the ground had been ripped from under him.

He didn’t chase. His legs refused him. His chest ached, stomach twisting. All the longing, all the tension, all the hope he had nurtured—the phantom warmth of Sakusa’s hands, the brush of his lips—vanished, leaving him hollow.

Atsumu stumbled back along the sand, each step heavy, numb, like he was moving through water. His chest ached, a tight, unrelenting pressure that made it hard to breathe. His hands shook, still tingling from the last time Sakusa had grasped his wrist, the lingering heat of that contact burning against the cold night air.

He didn’t know where he was going. His feet moved on their own, carrying him away from the crashing waves, away from Sakusa, away from the impossible ache in his chest. The resort lights blurred in the distance, haloed by the darkness, and he felt completely, utterly untethered.

At some point, without realizing it, he found himself at the door to his mother’s room. The room number seemed impossibly small in his mind, a fragile anchor in a world that had been violently shaken. He knocked, once, hesitantly, almost apologetically.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the door opened, and there she was, in soft, rumpled pajamas, brown hair tousled from sleep. Her eyes, still heavy with slumber, widened instantly, and she froze mid-step, ready to scold whoever had intruded at this hour.

But then she saw him.

The look on her face shifted immediately from annoyance to something far deeper—a recognition, a worry, a pull that spoke of decades of understanding her child’s heart without needing words.

“Oh, Atsumu…” she whispered, her voice catching, soft but steady. She stepped aside, arms open, beckoning him in.

Atsumu didn’t hesitate. He fell forward, almost collapsing into her embrace, arms wrapping around her waist as though she were the only solid thing left in the world. His body shook violently, the sobs coming raw and unrestrained.

She held him tight, her hands moving in small, comforting circles across his back, murmuring soothing words he barely heard but desperately needed. “It’s okay. It’s okay, m’baby. I’m here. I’ve got ya.”

Atsumu buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her, clinging to the warmth and stability of her presence. He felt hollow, shattered, and yet in her arms there was a thread of something he hadn’t realized he still needed—safety, love, grounding.

He let the tears fall.

He curled further into himself, pressing into his mother’s embrace, feeling the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat against his own. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t judge. She simply held him, letting him unload everything, every piece of heartbreak, every shiver of despair.

And in that quiet, darkened room, with only the hum of the resort around them, Atsumu broke—the pieces of his heart left shattered by the plight of Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since they had gotten home from Switzerland, and the first time Sakusa saw Atsumu was at practice.

Sakusa froze for a heartbeat. The sight of him—it was like stepping into a memory he hadn’t known he’d been carrying, one he’d been trying to repress since the airport. Atsumu’s hair wasn’t combed perfectly as it usually was. It stuck up at awkward angles, some strands falling over his forehead, some defying gravity entirely. His eyes were red, puffy, tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days, and his normally brash, brimming-with-confidence posture was replaced with a slouched, cautious stillness. Sakusa’s chest contracted, a sudden squeeze he couldn’t breathe through. He hadn’t seen him since that drive home, since the quiet, tense car ride that had felt like a cliff between them.

Atsumu was avoiding him, that much was obvious. Every small movement betrayed it. After the ride home from the airport, Atsumu had disappeared into himself, refusing to leave the apartment, refusing to speak, refusing—apparently—to even exist in the same room as him. And Sakusa—Sakusa couldn’t even make himself move. His limbs were frozen, not by choice but by an acute, all-consuming need to observe, to understand, to decipher.

Hinata and Bokuto’s chatter bounced around him, light and teasing, yet Atsumu’s responses were absent. Attention fixed on the floor, a half-smile that didn’t reach the corners of his eyes, ignoring every attempt at interaction. Sakusa wanted to reach across the space between them, wanted to shake him, pull him close, demand that he meet his gaze—but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because doing so might shatter what little control he had over himself.

When the practice broke to stretch, Sakusa’s pulse spiked. He and Atsumu always did their stretches together. It wasn’t just routine. It was connection. It was the quiet intimacy of synchronized motions, subtle touches, the way their eyes always met when no one was looking. But now Atsumu was alone, leaning against the wall, his motions sloppy, mechanical, not deliberate. Pathetic, Sakusa thought—but the word was sharp, unfair. He had no right to judge.

He couldn’t look away. He wanted to move, to step closer, to reach out—but his body didn’t obey. Coach Foster’s voice snapped through his panic: “Get a move on, Sakusa!”

Sakusa’s mind raced. He couldn’t even process the practice, the drills, the balls flying around him. All he could see was Atsumu. All he could think about was the way his hair fell across his face, the way his eyes were unfocused, the way he looked… broken. Broken in a way Sakusa had never seen him.

Meian slid up beside him mid-stretch, whispering, “Are you two… fighting?”

Sakusa didn’t answer. How could he? Since Atsumu had withdrawn, they hadn’t had a chance to “break up,” hadn’t had the chance to define the fractured, unspoken tension between them. And the last thing Sakusa wanted was to say anything that Atsumu hadn’t agreed to. He shook his head, folding himself perfectly with the ease his hypermobility allowed, a mask of calm that hid the chaos coiling in his stomach. Meian’s brow furrowed, then he whispered something to Hinata, who nodded and stayed silent.

Practice, unfortunately, couldn’t wait for heartbreak. Professional volleyball waited for no one.

They split the first and second strings randomly for a practice match, and Sakusa found himself across the net from Atsumu. Desperately, obsessively, he searched for his eyes, needing a tether, needing confirmation, needing anything—but Atsumu evaded him like a ghost. His movements were precise, but there was no spark, no energy, no presence. Just mechanical repetition. Sakusa’s chest tightened with each missed look, each avoided glance.

Sakusa flubbed a spike. The ball grazed the tips of his fingers and hurled to the floor with a hollow thunk that pierced Sakusa’s chest. He didn’t know whether to scream, to run, or to collapse.

“Hey! What the hell’s going on with you?” Inunaki’s voice, loud and annoyed, broke through Sakusa’s spiral.

And then—he realized he wasn’t even focused on the ball anymore. His eyes weren’t tracking the play. They were on Atsumu. The way he stood there, so still, so utterly absent, like the world didn’t exist beyond him. Sakusa felt his stomach twist, a mix of rage, fear, and a suffocating, unnameable ache.

“I’ll get the next one,” he said, meek, almost apologetic—not to Inunaki, but because he felt he had failed Atsumu in some invisible, immeasurable way.

Then Atsumu went to serve. Six steps. It was his spike serve. He knew. He knew everything when it came to Atsumu, or so he thought. 

It was a swing that should have been a spike—but Sakusa watched in horror as the ball fell lifelessly to the floor again. It was like watching the entire world collapse in slow motion. The net, the court, the air—all of it seemed suspended as Atsumu just stood there. Eyes unfocused. Hands loose at his sides. The spark that made him Atsumu, the fire that made him unstoppable, completely gone.

He flinched as if it had physically struck him. His hands itched to reach out, to shake Atsumu, to demand an explanation. But what would he say? Why didn’t you move? That sounded too cruel. Why are you avoiding me? Too vulnerable. What’s wrong with you? Too hopeless.

The whistle blew. Coach Foster’s face contorted with anger. His voice boomed. “What is going on with you, Miya?”

Sakusa didn’t hear it. He couldn’t. All he could see was Atsumu, moving mechanically, void of intent, as if the fight inside him had evaporated. And Sakusa couldn’t reach him.

Meian stepped in before the explosion could land. “Go home, Atsumu. Get your head out of the clouds.”

A heavy silence fell. The entire gym was waiting, expecting Atsumu to argue, to resist, to do anything but leave—but he didn’t. He nodded. Slowly. Mechanically. And then, he walked out.

Sakusa felt the floor shift beneath him. His body trembled, almost violently, as though he were about to collapse. The sound of the door closing echoed like a gunshot, reverberating through every nerve in his body. He had never been so aware of absence, so consumed by a hollow throb, so utterly untethered.

He wanted to call out. To chase him. To make him stop. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when every part of him was still frayed from what had happened in Switzerland. Not when he couldn’t even begin to articulate the storm inside his chest.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Tomas asked, sharp, pointed.

All eyes turned to Sakusa. Every last one. His skin crawled. His mouth went dry. Heart thundering. Say something. Say anything. But nothing came.

“Can I be excused for the day?” he said, voice low, tight. “There’s something I need to do.”

The coach opened his mouth, probably to explode, but Meian intercepted: “Come back with Atsumu. Both of you. When you’ve figured your shit out.”

Sakusa’s pulse was loud in his ears. His vision narrowed. He could think of nothing except the space between him and Atsumu, the three days of silence, the ghost of that night’s touch that had haunted him. Everything burned, and nothing was under control.

He left the court.

Sakusa entered the familiar threshold of Onigiri Miya, and the scent of rice vinegar, soy, and the faint tang of miso hit him like a wave. It should have been comforting but today, it made the pit in his stomach ache. His chest felt tight as he heard Osamu’s voice from behind the counter, cheerful and warm, but then it faltered as soon as his gaze landed on Sakusa.

Osamu’s eyes narrowed, and his grin twisted into a thin line. “Well, if it isn’t my brother’s stupid fuckin’ boyfriend,” he said, each word carefully measured, carrying the weight of unspoken judgment.

Sakusa didn’t flinch. He deserved this. He deserved Osamu’s disapproval, deserved the consequences of his own mistakes. He swallowed the lump in his throat and said evenly, “I need a few minutes of your time. Please, Osamu.”

For a heartbeat, Osamu’s brow furrowed, the usual warmth in his eyes gone. But something in Sakusa’s expression—desperation, urgency, maybe shame—made him pause. After a moment, Osamu exhaled and muttered, “Fine. But only because you came all the way from Osaka.”

Osamu waved a hand toward the staircase at the back of the restaurant. “Stepping out for a bit, I’ll be right back,” he instructed, gesturing to one of the staff to cover the shop.

The stairs creaked under their weight as Sakusa followed him up to the familiar warmth of Osamu and Suna’s home. The smell of freshly baked goods, coffee, and homey spices hung in the air, but it did nothing to soothe the turmoil inside Sakusa. 

Osamu leaned against the marble bar, arms crossed, eyes piercing. His glare was sharp, deliberate, the kind that made most people shrink back. Sakusa, however, didn’t flinch. Instead, he found himself searching for something familiar in that expression, something that grounded him amidst the storm of his own panic and guilt.

And there it was—flecks of Atsumu in his twin. The same intensity in the eyes, the same restless energy barely contained beneath the surface. The curve of the jaw, the subtle tilt of the head when Osamu’s patience was stretched thin—it all mirrored Atsumu, like seeing a reflection of the boy he had known for years, just in a different face.

For a heartbeat, Sakusa felt the smallest measure of comfort. If he could find pieces of Atsumu here, then maybe, somehow, he could find a way to reach him. Even as Osamu’s gaze pinned him, judging and exacting, Sakusa clung to that flicker of recognition, letting it steady him just enough to speak.

“I have to confess something,” he said, his voice low and tight. “About Switzerland.”

Osamu’s nod was slight, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to encourage him.

Sakusa’s words tumbled out, halting at first. “It was a fake relationship. It wasn’t real. We never got together. Atsumu lied and I… I got caught up in it. I had to play his boyfriend, act like we were… dating. And I didn’t know how to handle it. I let myself get carried away, and…” His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white against the marble. “ I love him. I’ve loved him since I was fifteen. I’m so in love with him that I don’t know that there’s anything else I’ll ever do more”

His throat constricted. He had rehearsed this confession a thousand times in his head, but saying it out loud made it raw, tangible. “He never crossed a line, never made me feel like I was a burden. And I couldn’t stop myself. I knew it was unrequited, I knew I should have pulled back, but when he asked me to be his fake boyfriend.” His voice broke slightly, the weight of years of longing and restraint pressing down on him. “I let myself hope. I wanted a taste of the life I’ve dreamed about for so long and I got carried away. I hurt him. I made him…” His voice cracked completely, and he swallowed hard. “I love him. I’ve loved him all these years. I’ve never stopped. Not once. And I’ve tried but I can never get him out of my mind. He’s the only one that I’ll ever want… and I know I can’t have him but I’d rather love him silently than lose him entirely”

Osamu studied him silently, letting the confession hang heavy between them. Then, softly, almost as if reading his thoughts, he said, “I know.”

Sakusa’s head snapped up. “You knew?”

Osamu’s expression was calm but unwavering. “Of course. The whole family knew. Y’think we don’t know our own? We thought this would finally pull y’all together after all these years. Why do ya think no one ever questioned the two of ya?”

Sakusa’s heart lurched. Every look he had stolen, every tiny gesture, every quiet moment—had all been done on their own volition. No one had prompted it. No one had batted an eye towards their relationship. They just got caught in their own paranoia.

Osamu’s gaze softened imperceptibly. “Ya love him,” he said. “And ya’ve been in love with him for years. Ya messed up, yes, but yer heart is in the right place. Ya owe him the truth, and ya owe him yer honesty. Plain, simple. He won’t understand until ya tell him, directly. Ya have to give him a chance to see the real ya. And what ya feel for him.”

Sakusa swallowed hard, memories flashing unbidden: train rides from Tokyo to Amagasaki with Osamu as they headed back to the Miya home for the holidays together—silent smiles, conversations that revolved entirely around Atsumu. He’d never been good at hiding it, had he? Sakusa, who had built a reputation for being unapproachable, had worn his heart on his sleeve for Miya Atsumu. 

Osamu’s voice was calm but laced with the sharp precision that always made Sakusa pay attention. “Ya’ve been at Miya family functions longer than my husband, ya know?” he said, almost casually, but the weight of it sank in immediately.

Osamu’s voice brought him back. “I’ll never forgive ya for hurtin’ my baby brother like this,” he said, soft but firm, “but I know ya love him. I’ve known since we were teenagers. I’ve seen it. I can’t protect him from all the consequences, but I can tell ya the only way forward is to be truthful. No more acting. No more lies. Just ya and him.”

Sakusa exhaled sharply, a shudder running through him. Relief and fear collided inside his chest. “Thank you, Osamu.” he whispered, the words almost lost in the quiet.

Without another word, he bolted down the stairs, out of the familiar warmth of Onigiri Miya, through the dimming streets of Shizuoka, every step pounding with the urgency of confession. His mind was a storm, his heart a drum in his chest, and every fiber of him screamed that he needed to reach Atsumu before it was too late.

Every step, every breath, was driven by the same thought: this was it. No more running. No more hiding. He had to tell him—had to make Atsumu understand.

Sakusa slammed the apartment door behind him, his knuckles stinging from the impact, the sound reverberating through the empty rooms. Panic clawed at his chest as he tore through the common areas, eyes scanning desperately for Atsumu. Nothing. Every second without him felt like a cruel countdown, a reminder of what he might have lost forever.

He burst into Atsumu’s bedroom, sweat streaking his curls, heart hammering against his ribs. Atsumu sat on his bed, frozen, wide-eyed, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“What the hell, Sakusa? Get out!” Atsumu yelled, voice raw, trembling somewhere between anger and fear.

Sakusa winced at the sound of his surname in Atsumu’s mouth. It had been a decade since he’d last been called that and it stung. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to stay upright. His chest heaved, lips trembling. “I… I love you,” he whispered, almost afraid to speak the words, almost afraid that speaking them would shatter what little hope he had.

Atsumu froze, breath catching. “What?”

“I love you!” Sakusa repeated, louder this time, the words tearing from him, jagged, desperate. “I’ve loved you for ten years. I’m so hopelessly in love with you. It’s been that way since training camp. Since the first day you—” his throat tightened. “Since the first time I saw you.”

Atsumu’s laugh was wet, shaky, disbelief bleeding into relief. “Sakusa… stop. Yer—”

“I’m not joking!” Sakusa shouted, voice cracking with desperation. “I didn’t pretend in Switzerland. Not once! Every touch, every glance, every moment—it was real to me. I love you, Atsumu. I’ve loved you this entire time, and I’m scared. I’m terrified I’ve ruined everything, but I can’t… I can’t go back to not having you in my life!”

Sakusa’s voice broke, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. For three days he’d held this in, pretending, pacing, overthinking, replaying Switzerland over and over in his mind. For three days, Atsumu had been the phantom ache in his chest, the gravity pulling him toward madness.

Atsumu sat still, heart hammering, watching Sakusa unravel. Slowly, he rose, unsure, trembling, and his hand lifted. Sakusa flinched, bracing for a rejection he had known was coming—but Atsumu’s palm landed gently on his cheek, warm, grounding, wiping away the streaks of tears he hadn’t even noticed had stained them.

“I love ya too,” Atsumu whispered, voice fragile, raw, trembling with a weight he had carried in silence. “I think I’ve loved ya for as long as ya’ve loved me. Switzerland… it just helped me finally name it.”

Sakusa blinked, trying to catch his breath. His own hands lifted, cupping Atsumu’s face. “I thought you were just playing your part. I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought my love was useless. That I was invisible to you.”

“Ya weren’t,” Atsumu said softly, leaning in. “Ya’ve never been invisible to me.”

Sakusa’s chest tightened, and his breath hitched. “I can’t believe it. Ten years. Ten years of waiting, hoping, and being too scared to say it out loud.”

“I'm sorry I made ya wait,” Atsumu interrupted, voice barely audible, trembling with the force of all the suppressed emotion. “But ya made me… feel everything. Ya helped me realize what love is, what it can be.”

Sakusa’s hands trembled as he reached for Atsumu, their foreheads meeting. The air between them thickened, almost unbearable, charged with everything unspoken for a decade—every laugh, every look, every stolen moment. They could feel each other’s heartbeat, quick and ragged, trembling against the other.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” Sakusa admitted, voice raw, choking on the words. “For years. Every time I saw you smile, every time you looked at me—it was all I could do not to collapse in front of you. I wanted to hold you, to touch you, to never let you go.”

Atsumu’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, lips trembling as he whispered, “I’ve wanted ya too. I just didn’t know if ya felt the same. I thought it was one-sided. I thought… ya didn’t want me. I can’t believe ya want me, Kiyoomi.”

A beat.

“I’ve always wanted you, Atsumu.”

The tension coiled tighter between them, suffocating and electric. Their hands tangled, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, hearts racing like runaway trains. Every second stretched, heavy with all the years of longing, devotion, and unspoken desire.

Atsumu’s lips found Sakusa’s with a force that was almost desperate, almost frantic, and Sakusa answered in kind, tilting his head, letting himself melt into Atsumu’s hold. Hands tangled in hair, fingers clutching shirts, pulling each other impossibly close. The kiss was soft at first, testing, but it quickly deepened—hungry, possessive, and tender all at once. Atsumu’s lips moved to the curve of Sakusa’s jaw, pressing soft, needy kisses onto the twin moles at his collarbone, while Sakusa’s hands roamed Atsumu’s back, holding him like he’d never let go.

They stumbled backward together onto the bed, Atsumu’s landing on top of Sakusa, their bodies collapsing into each other as if the world outside no longer existed. Heartbeats slammed together, breaths mingling, and the quiet sobs that had been trapped in the corners of their chests finally found release in the press of lips and the warmth of skin against skin.

Sakusa’s hands framed Atsumu’s face, thumbs brushing over flushed cheeks, as Atsumu let out a shaky, breathless sound against his mouth. Their kiss softened just slightly, teetering between passion and tenderness, the kind that melts and heals simultaneously. Atsumu’s fingers traced the line of Sakusa’s neck, memorizing the warmth, the subtle shiver, the life he had been craving for so long.

Finally, with a trembling exhale, they broke apart, foreheads resting together, chests heaving, breaths ragged. Sakusa’s arms immediately wrapped around Atsumu, holding him tight, as if simply existing in that embrace could repair all the broken pieces. Tears streaked down Sakusa’s face, wet and hot against Atsumu’s skin, and Atsumu instinctively pressed closer, pressing gentle kisses to his face.

“I love ya,” Atsumu murmured, voice shaking.

“I know, love.” Sakusa whispered back, lips brushing against the crown of Atsumu’s head. “I know now.”

They stayed like that for a long while—tight in each other’s arms, trembling, crying, letting the years of fear, longing, and tension finally dissolve. The world could wait. Here, in the quiet aftermath, there was only them.

Atsumu rested his chin against Sakusa’s chest, chest rising and falling in unison, the warmth of him grounding Sakusa’s own racing heart. He lifted his head slightly, just enough to catch Sakusa’s gaze, still glimmering with tears he hadn’t bothered to hide.

“When did ya fall in love with me?” Atsumu asked, voice trembling but curious, almost afraid of the answer.

Sakusa let out a long, slow breath, and for a moment he stayed silent, letting the weight of the question settle. “I don’t remember a single day it didn’t happen,” he finally said, voice low, almost reverent. “Maybe the first time you laughed at something stupid I said. When I wanted to be anywhere else but you made it impossible. You were flashy and loud and I couldn’t help but want to feel your light.”

Atsumu’s lips quirked into a small, incredulous smile. “So, ya joined the Jackals just to be near me?” He joked, nudging him gently with his nose.

Sakusa didn’t deny it. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he let Atsumu’s gaze find his, steady and full of a quiet fire.

“Ya did?” Atsumu whispered, the words catching in his throat. He rested his cheek back on Sakusa’s chest, closing his eyes and letting his arms tighten around him. He could feel Sakusa’s own muscles relax under his touch, the subtle acknowledgment of just how serious Sakusa was.

“I turned down the Adlers,” Sakusa said softly, almost like a confession meant only for Atsumu’s ears. “Not entirely for romantic reasons. I just wanted to play with you. You. Only you. I suppose I did want to be near you.”

Atsumu’s breath hitched. He tightened his arms, pressing closer as though he could somehow absorb every word, every nuance, every quiet beat of Sakusa’s confession. “Ya’d follow me anywhere?”

Sakusa’s laugh was low and sincere. “If I could. To the ends of the earth, Atsumu. I would.”

Atsumu lifted his head again, resting against Sakusa’s shoulder, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his tear-glossed eyes. “Teach me something in French again,” he asked softly, “But this time, tell me what it means. Don’t trick me like last time.”

Sakusa’s smile deepened, a private warmth reserved for these quiet, unguarded moments. He whispered a phrase, soft and melodic, letting it linger in the air like a sigh of devotion. 

“Tu es mon cœur, mon chez-moi, mon toujours.”

Atsumu repeated it clumsily, stumbling over the words, and Sakusa laughed gently, placing a kiss into his blonde hair.

“It means,” Sakusa murmured, brushing his lips against Atsumu’s cheek, “You are my heart, my home, my always.”

Atsumu’s chest tightened at the words, at the truth and poetry wrapped up in them. He rested his forehead against Sakusa’s again, sighing, letting it all settle—the love, the longing, the decade-long ache finally given voice. “Yer my always too,” he whispered, voice trembling, yet certain.

They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together on the mattress, hearts beating as one, letting the silence speak where words had failed them for so long. Outside, the night shined through their blinds. Sakusa stared at the stars, the same way he did as a kid, alone in his empty bedroom. Now, he stared at them, holding the object of all his desires, finding the galaxies twinkling in the gold of Atsumu’s eyes. 

Inside, there was only them: the past behind them, the mistakes forgiven, and the future—vast, endless, and theirs to write together.

Under the constellations, Sakusa’s hands on Atsumu’s back, Atsumu’s pressed against Sakusa’s chest, they knew without speaking that this was forever. That this love, once tangled and fraught, was now unshakable, solid, and perfect.

They kissed again, slow and deliberate this time, savoring every breath, every pulse, every heartbeat, knowing that this—this was the culmination of everything. Years of longing, of stolen glances, of quiet admissions, of near misses and misunderstandings—all of it had led here. And now, finally, nothing could take it away.

They had each other. 

Completely. Irrevocably. Entirely.

Chapter Text

About five and a half years later:

The kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and simmering miso soup, the kind of comforting aroma that made Atsumu feel at home. Sakusa stood beside him, slicing vegetables with his usual precision, the sharpness of the knife matching the quiet, steady focus in his eyes. Even after all these years, Atsumu still marveled at him—the way Sakusa could command a space without raising his voice, the way he moved with calm confidence, the way his mere presence could anchor Atsumu’s energy.

Suna and Osamu were in the dining room, their laughter drifting through the apartment as they argued over who had contributed more to their wedding. Atsumu set down the bowls of soup, teasing Suna as he passed, “Switzerland, huh? My Oscar-winning performance, if I do say so myself.”

Suna groaned, hiding his smile behind his hand, while Osamu’s sharp gray eyes flicked to Atsumu. “Doesn’t count if ya were just trickin’ yerself into thinkin’ ya were actin'," he said with a smirk.

Atsumu opened his mouth to protest, but Sakusa’s voice cut in from the kitchen, low and teasing: “So you’re pretending to be in love with me?”

Atsumu softened instantly, rounding the counter to press a quick, teasing kiss to Sakusa’s cheek. “Of course not, darlin'. I didn’t need to pretend,” he said, hand brushing through Sakusa’s black curls. “I was jokin'.”

Suna gagged dramatically, waving his hand. “Can you two keep it to yourselves? Some of us are trying to eat.”

Atsumu stuck out his tongue, grinning. “Payback for years of third-wheelin’ ya and Osamu.”

As they settled at the dining table, he let his gaze wander around the apartment, their apartment, the place they had made home over nearly a decade. His eyes traced the mementos on the wall: him and Sakusa at training camp in high school, their beaming faces at Sakusa’s college graduation, their Jackals jerseys, the gleaming medals from both Olympics, and the small, candid shots from Switzerland, gelato in hand. Even their dating agreement that they’d made all those years ago had been neatly framed and placed on the wall. Every single one of them told a story. Every piece reminded him of how far they’d come.

Osamu’s voice brought him back. “Kiyoomi, how’s work treatin’ ya?”

Sakusa groaned dramatically, leaning against the table. “I love the stars, but if I have to stare at the Big Dipper one more time, I might just launch myself into it.”

Atsumu chuckled softly, hand rubbing gently on Sakusa’s thigh. Almost two years ago, after retiring post the Paris Olympics, Sakusa had finally embraced a quieter life. The hypermobility that had once made him a spectacular spiker had made playing unbearably painful. After much coaxing from Atsumu and Motoya, he hung up his jersey after a decade with the Jackals—three as vice captain accompanied by Atsumu as captain after Meian retired. He's since transitioned into academia—assistant professor at The University of Osaka, studying the stars, living the life he’d dreamed of as a kid.

Suna added wistfully, “It’s not the same without you two in the V.League.”

Atsumu shrank a little, remembering his own unexpected retirement. Almost a year ago, his overuse injury had accumulated into an ACL tear that had ended his professional career far sooner than anticipated. Everyone had thought that volleyball crazy Atsumu would have not taken the scenario well. And he was crushed, naturally. He’d still had another five years in him, if he was being optimistic but that had been snatched from him during the championships against the Red Falcons. However, he’d taken comfort in Sakusa’s presence, who had doted on him obsessively after his surgery. “My ACL tore because my heart was broken playing without my love,” he’d tell everyone, grinning sheepishly. Sakusa had laughed and scolded him, ruffling his hair.

Osamu glanced between them and then asked, “So… the script?”

They both lit up. After fulfilling his childhood dream of becoming an actor by taking small voice acting and drama roles shortly after they’d started dating, Atsumu had poured his love of storytelling into writing a short animated film about the stars, about love, and about them. When he wasn’t working as the Jackal’s assistant volleyball coach, of course. Sakusa, with his meticulous business mind, helped manage the production side, while Atsumu filled the world with voice and vision.

Because Miya Atsumu always found a way to get what he wanted. 

“It’s going great. We’re in the process of finalizing a contract with an animation company.” Sakusa explained, nibbling on his food. 

Now, Atsumu sat beside Sakusa at their table. He reached down, his fingers thumbing against Sakusa’s knuckles—a habit they’d perfected after nearly six years together. After knowing each other for half their lives. 

Atsumu’s eyes drifted to the gold band on his finger. He traced the matching silver one on Sakusa’s hand, a small, comforting ritual he’d created. He remembered proposing to Sakusa while high on pain killers the moment they returned from his surgery about a year ago—wheeling himself over with the rings he’d gone into the operation with in his pockets. Sakusa just shushed him and put him to bed. The next morning, he woke to the sight of the ring on Sakusa’s finger and a whispered “yes” as he held Atsumu gently under the covers. Now, they were planning a massive Miya wedding, though first, a little trip for just the two of them.

They ate together, talked quietly, and between bites, Atsumu would sneak little kisses to Sakusa’s ring finger. There was laughter, teasing, and moments of quiet reflection. At one point, Atsumu nudged Sakusa with his shoulder. “Y’know, I’d follow ya anywhere,” he said.

Sakusa glanced down at him, fingers tightening around his hand. “I know,” he murmured.

Atsumu smiled softly, brushing a hand through Sakusa’s hair before speaking slowly, deliberately:

“Tu es mon cœur, ma maison, mon toujours.”. 

Sakusa beamed. “And you’re mine,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Atsumu’s hand came up to rest against his cheek, thumb brushing gently. “Always,” he whispered back.

From across the table, Suna groaned audibly, stabbing the grilled veggies with his fork. “Ugh, can you two not? You’re going to give me whiplash with all this cutesy PDA.”

Osamu, ever the calmer of the two, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “It’s about time,” he said, sipping his tea. “I’ve been waitin’ years to see Atsumu actually settle.”

Atsumu stuck his tongue out at Suna, leaning closer to press a quick kiss to Sakusa’s temple. Sakusa simply smiled, resting his head against Atsumu’s shoulder.

Suna groaned again, muttering something about being the eternal third wheel, while Osamu chuckled, shaking his head. “Ya two are ridiculous. But… I guess some things really do take a lifetime to get right.”

In that warm, cluttered home, surrounded by laughter, teasing, and the comforting hum of their daily life, Atsumu and Sakusa just held each other. 

And in their quiet kitchen, with the faint aroma of soup and veggies around them, laughter from Suna and Osamu in the background, and the weight of years finally laid to rest, Atsumu and Sakusa saw each other—home, heart, and always—knowing that whatever awaited them, they would face it together.

Sakusa’s eyes softened, and he reached over to lace their fingers together under the table. Atsumu looked down at their joined hands, warmth spreading through his chest. He leaned closer, placing a tender kiss on the twin moles above his fiancés eyebrow, letting the moment stretch and deepen—a comfortable, quiet intimacy built over the years.

Atsumu’s eyes flicked to the corkboard to the side of their memento wall, and his heart lifted. A small slip of paper was pinned with a pink push-pin: Tickets to Switzerland—this time, for real.

Sakusa noticed him looking and brushed a thumb over Atsumu’s cheek. “Our little adventure,” he murmured.

He smiled, closing his eyes. “Our little adventure,” he echoed.

Atsumu nuzzled into the steady warmth of Sakusa’s curls, laughter echoing around their kitchen, he realized that forever wasn’t some far-off dream—it was here, now, in the life they had built together, in the love that had always been home.

And scene.