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It’s too warm inside.
But not the kind of warm that’s comforting, just thick. Heavy. The kind that clings to the back of Sakusa’s throat every time he breathes in, like the air has already been used too many times before it reaches him.
Plus the windows are closed. Of course they are.
Someone laughs too loudly from somewhere behind him, sharp and sudden, followed by the low thrum of music that never quite fades, just pulses. Steady, and invasive. The bass feels like it settles under his skin.
Sakusa stays near the edge of the room. Not quite against the wall, but close enough that no one bumps into him unless they mean to. Close enough he can see everything without being part of it.
Then there’s the smoke in the air.
Not in thick clouds, just as a constant presence. Lingering. It curls lazily under the dim lights, softening everything it touches. Blurring the outlines of people until they’re less… defined.
Less real.
He exhales slowly through his nose, then stops himself, like that somehow helps. But it doesn’t.
Across the room, Atsumu is laughing.
Sakusa notices him immediately—not because he’s looking for him, but because he’s impossible not to notice. He’s always been like that. Bright in a way that draws attention without trying, like everything about him exists a little louder than it should.
Now, it’s just… different.
Looser.
There’s a drink in his hand—something pale, half-finished—and someone else’s arm slung over his shoulders like it belongs there. Atsumu leans into it easily, grinning at something that wasn’t that funny to begin with, head tipped back just slightly.
Too relaxed.
Too unguarded.
For a moment, he turns—just enough that Sakusa catches the side of his face, the curve of his mouth, the way his eyes don’t quite focus on anything in particular.
And then he’s gone again, swallowed back into the movement of the room.
Sakusa looks away.
There’s a can in his hand, unopened.
He turns it once, the aluminum cool against his palm, condensation already starting to gather at the edges. The tab clicks softly when he finally pulls it open; too quiet to be heard over everything else, but sharp enough that it cuts through his own thoughts for a second.
He takes a sip, and it tastes the same as always.
Flat. Sweet. Predictable.
Safe.
“Hey.”
Komori appears at his side like he’s been there longer than Sakusa noticed, one shoulder bumping lightly into his. Not enough to startle, just enough to announce his presence.
“You good?”
Sakusa nods.
“Yeah.”
It comes out easy. Automatic.
Komori watches him for a second longer than necessary, eyes flicking briefly past him—towards the center of the room, towards the noise, towards–
Atsumu.
Then back.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just hums under his breath, like he’s not convinced, but not interested in pushing it either.
“Cool,” he says, eventually, already half-turned away.
Sakusa nods again, even though Komori isn’t looking anymore.
Across the room, Atsumu laughs again.
Sakusa doesn’t look this time.
~
He notices it before he sees him.
The shift.
Subtle, but there. The way the space around him changes, like people make room without meaning to. Like something louder is approaching, something warmer, something that doesn’t belong to the stillness Sakusa has carved out for himself.
Then—
“There ya’re.”
Atsumu’s voice is right there. Too close.
Sakusa turns, just slightly, enough to face him without stepping back.
Up close, it’s worse.
There’s a flush high on Atsumu’s cheeks, uneven. His hair is messier than it had been earlier, pushed back like someone’s run their hands through it one too many times. His eyes, usually sharp, are softer now. Slower to focus, like they lag just a second behind everything else.
There’s still a drink in his hand. A different one.
He doesn’t remember when that changed.
“Ya’ve been hiding, Omi,” Atsumu says, like it’s an accusation, but there’s no bite to it. Just something loose, amused. He leans in a little as he says it, like the distance between them is optional.
It is.
Sakusa doesn’t move.
“I’m not hiding.”
Atsumu huffs a quiet laugh, like he doesn’t believe him, but doesn’t care enough to argue.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He takes a sip from his drink, then makes a face, like he’s only just now realizing what it tastes like. Still, he doesn’t put it down.
For a second, neither of them says anything.
Around them, the noise continues; laughter spilling into conversations that don’t connect, music threading through it all, something breaking somewhere in the distance followed by “it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Atsumu doesn’t look away.
Sakusa wishes he would.
“Ya always do this,” Atsumu says after a moment, tilting his head slightly, studying him like there’s something to figure out. “Just stand there. Watchin’ everything.”
“I’m not—”
“Ya’re,” he cuts in, not harsh, just certain. “It’s… weird.”
There’s no real judgment in it. Just observation. Casual. Thoughtless.
That somehow makes it worse.
Sakusa takes another sip of his drink instead of answering.
The aluminum is colder now.
Atsumu’s gaze drops briefly, following the movement.
“…Coke?” he says, like it’s mildly offensive.
Sakusa doesn’t react.
“It’s what I had.”
Atsumu lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head.
“God, ya boring.”
It’s said lightly. Familiar.
Sakusa doesn’t take the bait.
Atsumu shifts closer anyway.
Close enough that their shoulders almost touch.
Close enough that Sakusa can smell it now— the smoke, alcohol, something sharper underneath that he doesn’t try to identify. It clings to Atsumu’s clothes, his skin, like it belongs there.
Like it’s part of him.
Sakusa’s grip tightens, just slightly, around the can in his hand.
“Ya could at least try t’ have fun,” Atsumu adds, softer this time, like a suggestion instead of a jab. His voice dips at the end, uneven in a way that doesn’t quite match the words.
He leans in again, just a fraction more.
Too much.
Sakusa still doesn’t step back.
But he doesn’t lean in either.
“I am,” he says.
Atsumu pauses.
Then he smiles—small, crooked, like he knows that’s not true and has decided not to argue about it.
“Yeah,” he says, easy. “Looks like it.”
There’s a beat.
Then someone calls Atsumu’s name from across the room—loud, insistent, pulling at him like a string.
He glances over his shoulder, distracted instantly.
“Hold on,” he mutters, already half-turned away.
And just like that, the space between them comes back.
Atsumu lingers for half a second longer, like he might say something else, like he almost remembers why he came over in the first place.
Then he doesn’t.
He lifts his hand in something that could be a wave—or just a vague gesture—and lets himself get pulled back into the noise.
Gone again.
Sakusa exhales.
He doesn’t even remember holding his breath.
~
It’s not new.
That’s the first thing Sakusa realizes—somewhere between the noise, the smoke, the way Atsumu disappears back into it all without a second thought.
None of this is new.
. . .
A different night.
Not this apartment—another one, smaller, more crowded. The air just as thick.
Atsumu laughing too loud, arm slung around someone Sakusa doesn’t recognize. A drink in his hand. Then another.
Sakusa by the door this time, keys already in his pocket.
Waiting.
. . .
“Oi, Omi-Omiii.”
A hand grabbing his sleeve, uncoordinated, just a little too tight.
Atsumu again. Of course.
“Ya leavin’ already?” he asks, like he’s been there the whole time. Like he’s been paying attention.
Sakusa looks at him.
At the unfocused eyes. The uneven smile.
“…You should come with me.”
Atsumu laughs.
Doesn’t answer.
. . .
Another night.
The backseat of a cab that smells faintly like something sour, something spilled and never cleaned properly.
Atsumu slumped against the window, head knocking lightly against the glass every time the car slowed down.
Sakusa reaches out once—just once—to steady him.
Atsumu leans into it without thinking.
But casually, he doesn’t wake up.
. . .
Another time, the hallway outside Atsumu’s apartment, too quiet after everything else.
Atsumu fumbling with his keys, missing the lock twice before getting it right.
“Shit— hold on—”
Sakusa takes them from his hand.
Opens the door.
Hands them back.
Their fingers brush for a second.
Atsumu seems like he doesn’t notice.
. . .
Inside, it’s dark.
Messy in a way that suggests no one’s really been paying attention.
Atsumu kicks his shoes off somewhere near the entrance, doesn’t even bother turning on the lights.
“Ya can stay,” he mumbles, already halfway down the hall, voice dragging behind him. “If ya want.”
Sakusa doesn’t answer.
By the time he looks up, Atsumu’s already gone.
. . .
Another.
Atsumu pressed too close again—different place, same feeling.
Laughing, warm, careless.
“Yer good t’ me, y’know that?” he says, words slurring just enough to blur the edges. “Always takin’ care of me like this.”
Sakusa doesn’t respond.
Atsumu smiles anyway.
Like that’s enough.
. . .
It happens like this.
Over and over.
Different rooms. Different music. Same ending.
Sakusa waits.
Sakusa watches.
Sakusa takes him home.
. . .
Back in the present, the bass hums under his skin.
Someone brushes past him, knocking lightly into his shoulder before disappearing again.
Across the room, Atsumu throws his head back, laughing at something Sakusa can’t hear.
For a second, his eyes flicker in Sakusa’s direction.
Like maybe…
But then someone says something else, louder, closer.
And the moment’s gone.
. . .
Sakusa takes another sip of his drink.
It’s warmer now.
He doesn’t remember when that happened either.
~
It happens quietly.
Not all at once—not like something that announces itself.
Just… gradually.
At some point, the room gets too full.
Too loud. Too close.
Sakusa doesn’t notice when he starts moving, only that he is. Slipping past people, avoiding hands, shoulders, laughter that brushes too near without meaning to. The bass dulls as he moves further away, swallowed by walls, by distance, by the simple act of leaving.
The air outside is colder.
Cleaner.
It hits the back of his throat like something sharp, something real. For a second, he just stands there, near the railing on the front porch, fingers loosening slightly around the can in his hand.
Breathe in.
Out.
Again.
Behind him, the door slides open.
He doesn’t turn.
“Thought I’d find ya here.”
Atsumu. Of course.
The door clicks shut again, softer this time, muting the noise behind him into something distant, almost manageable.
Footsteps. Uneven.
Closer.
Sakusa keeps his eyes forward.
“Ya ‘lways do that,” Atsumu adds, voice lower now—not quieter, just… less scattered. “Disappear like that.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
Atsumu huffs, like that’s debatable.
“Yeah, ya did.”
There’s a pause.
The kind that stretches just a little too long to be comfortable, but not long enough to break.
Atsumu comes to stand beside him.
Not too close.
Not at first.
For a moment, neither of them says anything.
The city stretches out in front of them—lights blurred together, distant, untouchable. Somewhere below, a car passes. Then another.
Atsumu exhales.
There’s no smoke this time.
Just breath.
“…S’better out here,” he mutters.
Sakusa nods once.
It is.
Another pause.
Then—
“Ya weird t’night.”
Sakusa glances at him.
“I’m always like this.”
“Yeah, I know,” Atsumu says easily. “That’s what makes it weird.”
There’s a small smile tugging at his mouth, like he’s amused by his own logic.
Sakusa looks away again.
Beside him, Atsumu shifts.
Closer, this time.
Close enough that their arms brush, just barely.
Sakusa stills.
Doesn’t move away. Doesn’t lean in.
Just… stays.
Atsumu turns his head slightly, watching him.
There’s something slower in his gaze now. Not sharp. Not searching.
Just… lingering.
“Hey,” he says, softer.
Sakusa doesn’t respond.
Atsumu doesn’t seem to mind.
He steps closer anyway.
Enough that there’s no space left between them now, not really. Just the thin line of air that disappears the second Atsumu leans in.
It’s not hesitant, not really.
Not careful either.
Just something easy. Thoughtless. Like it doesn’t carry any weight beyond the moment itself.
Like it’s just another thing to do.
Sakusa lifts his hand before it can happen.
Not fast.
Not rough.
Just enough to stop him.
Atsumu pauses.
For a second, he doesn’t pull back.
Doesn’t seem to fully register it either—like his brain takes a moment longer to catch up, to process the fact that something interrupted him.
Then he blinks.
Focuses.
“…Omi?” he says, a little off, like he’s trying to place where the moment went wrong.
Sakusa doesn’t drop his hand.
Doesn’t push him away, either.
Just holds him there, suspended in that half-second where nothing has happened yet, but almost did.
“Don’t.”
Atsumu frowns slightly.
“Why not?” he asks, and there’s no edge to it. No frustration. Just confusion, soft and unguarded. “We’ve–”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Maybe he doesn’t know how.
Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Sakusa looks at him.
Really looks this time.
At the unfocused eyes. The uneven breath. The way he sways just slightly where he stands, like the ground isn’t entirely steady beneath him.
And something in his chest tightens.
Just a little.
“Because,” he says, voice even, “You won’t even remember this tomorrow.”
Silence.
Atsumu blinks.
Once.
Twice.
For a moment, it looks like it lands.
Like the words reach him, settle somewhere behind his eyes, take shape into something real.
Then, he laughs. More like a chuckle.
Soft. Breathy. A little confused.
“Yeah?” he says, like it’s a joke he doesn’t fully get but is willing to go along with anyway. “So what?”
Sakusa doesn’t answer.
Atsumu studies him for a second longer, head tilting slightly, like he’s trying to piece something together that won’t quite stay still long enough.
Then his gaze drops to Sakusa’s hand, still resting between them.
He doesn’t move it.
Doesn’t lean in again, either.
Just stands there.
Suspended.
“…Ya’re so weird,” he murmurs, quieter now.
Not mocking, just… something he doesn’t understand.
Sakusa exhales slowly.
Carefully.
Then lowers his hand.
The space between them comes back.
Atsumu doesn’t try again.
. . .
Inside, someone shouts his name.
Louder this time. Insistent.
Atsumu glances back toward the door, distracted instantly.
The moment breaks.
Just like that.
He hesitates, just for a second, like he might say something else.
Like he almost remembers.
Then—
“Hold on,” he mutters, already turning away.
The door slides open.
Noise spills out.
Light, heat, sound, everything rushing back in all at once.
Atsumu steps into it without looking back.
Gone.
Again.
. . .
The door closes.
Silence settles, thin but present.
Sakusa stays where he is.
Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t follow.
After a moment, he lifts the can in his hand and takes another sip.
It’s gone warm.
But he drinks it anyway.
~
For a while, he just stands there.
The cold air settles slowly, seeping through fabric, through skin, grounding him in a way the inside never quite does. It’s quieter now. Without the music, without the voices layered on top of each other, everything feels… sharper.
Simpler.
Sakusa exhales, watching the way his breath disappears into the night.
It doesn’t linger.
Nothing ever really does.
Inside, the noise picks up again. Laughter, something loud and indistinct, a voice calling out, then fading. It all blurs together, distant enough that it almost doesn’t feel real.
Like it’s happening somewhere else.
Like Atsumu is happening somewhere else.
Sakusa closes his eyes for a second.
Just a second.
And…
It’s still there.
Not the noise. The feeling.
The almost.
He can still see it if he lets himself—Atsumu leaning in, easy, careless. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wouldn’t mean anything past that moment.
Like it never had.
Sakusa opens his eyes again.
The city lights haven’t changed.
He shifts his grip slightly on the can, the metal now fully warm, indistinguishable from the air around him.
It tastes the same.
Flat. Sweet. Predictable.
Safe.
Behind him, the door doesn’t open again.
No footsteps follow.
There’s no interruption this time.
No distraction to pull him out of it.
So, he doesn’t.
He stays.
And thinks.
Not in full sentences, not in anything he could say out loud, but in something quieter. Something that settles heavy in his chest, slow and certain.
It’s not about the [almost] kiss.
It never was.
It’s about everything that comes before it.
And everything that comes after.
The way Atsumu laughs, too loud, at things that don’t matter.
The way he leans into people like he belongs there.
The way he forgets.
Not just moments.
Patterns.
The same nights, over and over again.
The same apologies that never quite form.
The same careless warmth that never stays.
Sakusa presses his lips together, just slightly.
There’s a tightness there he doesn’t try to name.
Because the answer is already there.
It’s been there.
Quiet. Persistent.
Waiting for him to stop ignoring it.
. . .
He can’t do this.
Not like this.
Not with someone who–
Sakusa exhales, slow, controlled.
Doesn’t finish the thought.
Doesn’t need to.
The words exist anyway, somewhere just under the surface, clear even without being spoken.
He can’t afford it.
Not the waiting.
Not the watching.
Not the way something almost happens, and then doesn’t—over and over again, until it stops feeling like ‘almost’ and starts feeling like nothing at all.
His grip tightens, just slightly, around the can.
Then loosens.
Because there’s nothing to hold onto.
There never really was.
. . .
Inside, someone laughs again.
Loud.
Familiar.
For a moment, Sakusa thinks.
Maybe he should go back in.
Find him.
Make sure he doesn’t–
Make sure he gets home, at least.
The thought comes easy.
Automatic.
But in the end, he doesn’t move.
. . .
After a moment, Sakusa lowers his gaze.
The can in his hand is empty.
He doesn’t remember finishing it.
He turns it once, the aluminum dull under the dim porch light.
Then, quietly, he lets it drop into the trash can by the door.
The sound is soft.
Final.
. . .
He doesn’t go back inside.
~
For a moment, nothing happens.
The door stays closed behind him.
The noise remains where it is—contained, distant, like something happening in another life. The porch light hums softly overhead, steady in a way the night never quite is.
Sakusa doesn’t move.
He doesn’t look back.
He tells himself he won’t.
. . .
The door slides open anyway.
Light spills out first.
Then sound.
Then—
“Ah.”
A pause.
Footsteps, slower this time. More grounded.
“Ya left.”
It’s not a question.
Sakusa doesn’t turn.
“Yeah,” he says.
There’s a shift behind him—fabric, weight, someone leaning against the doorframe instead of stepping fully outside.
Osamu.
Of course.
For a second, neither of them says anything.
Inside, someone laughs again. Too loud. Too bright. It bleeds through the open door, then dulls as it slides shut behind him.
“‘Tsumu passed out,” Osamu says after a moment, casually. Like it’s expected. Like it always ends this way. “Didn’t even make it past the couch.”
Sakusa nods once.
He doesn’t ask anything else.
Doesn’t need to.
Osamu exhales, glancing toward him briefly, then away again.
“…Good thing ya’re ‘round, right?” he adds, almost like an afterthought.
Sakusa doesn’t respond.
The words settle anyway.
Heavy in a way they shouldn’t be.
Because they’re not wrong.
That’s the problem.
Osamu lingers for a second longer.
Like he might say something else.
Then doesn’t.
The door slides open again.
Noise rushes back in.
And just like that, he’s gone too.
. . .
Silence settles.
Thin. Familiar.
Sakusa stands there for a moment longer.
Then another.
Then, he finally leaves.
. . .
The walk back is quiet.
No music. No voices. Just the sound of his own footsteps, steady against the pavement, measured without thinking.
Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.
Predictable.
Safe.
The air is colder here, away from everything. Cleaner.
It fills his lungs easily.
Too easily…
. . .
By the time he reaches his apartment, the night feels distant. Contained.
Like something that already ended.
Sakusa unlocks the door.
Steps inside.
Closes it behind him, and everything is exactly where it should be.
Shoes by the entrance.
Lights off.
Surfaces clean, undisturbed.
Nothing out of place.
Nothing left behind.
He exhales.
Once.
Sets his keys down in the same spot as always.
. . .
For a second, he just stands there.
In the quiet.
In the stillness.
In something that feels—on the surface—like control.
Like it is a choice.
. . .
His phone buzzes.
The sound cuts through the room, sharp in the silence.
Sakusa looks at it.
Doesn’t move.
It buzzes again.
And again.
Persistent…
He knows who it is.
He doesn’t need to check.
. . .
For a moment, he tells himself he won’t.
That he doesn’t have to.
That this… whatever this is, ends here.
. . .
The phone buzzes again.
Sakusa reaches for it.
His fingers close around the device, familiar, automatic.
He doesn’t hesitate this time.
Doesn’t think.
Just unlocks the screen.
There’s a message.
Short.
Simple.
From: Miya Osamu
u get home?
Sakusa stares at it.
For a long moment.
The words blur slightly, then settle again.
Unchanged. Careless. Easy.
Behind them, the night lingers.
Faint.
Persistent.
Not quite gone.
. . .
Sakusa exhales slowly.
Types:
To: Miya Osamu
yeah.
Then he hits send.
. . .
The room stays quiet.
Unmoving.
Controlled.
Exactly the way he likes it.
And by the time the night ends, with no one noticing him gone, he’s already a part of it again.