Chapter Text
Sakusa woke up earlier than usual.
Not because of some alarm he forgot to turn off, although it would’ve been better than the real reason he opened up his eyes that morning.
He came back to himself slowly, awareness settling in pieces. The first thing he registered was the migraine, sharp and unforgiving, pulsing behind his eyes.
The second thing he noticed was the warmth.
Not his, but someone else’s. From his abdomen all the way to the other side of the bed.
Sakusa stilled.
Carefully, he turned to his left side. Only to see no other than Atsumu Miya, lying next to him.
Like him, naked. Close. His arm thrown lazily across his waist, like it had always belonged there.
For a moment, Sakusa forgot how to breathe.
The morning sunlight filtered through the hotel curtains, casting a golden glow over Atsumu’s face — soft, peaceful, beautiful…
Sakusa’s mind, however, was anything but quiet.
How did he get there?
He forced himself to think. To retrace. To find something solid to hold on to; nothing seemed to come to his mind, just fragments of last night.
Laughter.
Music.
A crowded bar.
Atsumu’s voice… too close.
Too warm.
Sakusa shut his eyes for a second, jaw tightening.
They had gone out to celebrate. That much he knew.
Winning the finals had called for something small… Or at least that had been the plan. A relaxed night. Just the team. Nothing excessive.
Clearly, that hadn’t happened.
His head throbbed again, sharper this time.
There had been drinks. Too many, apparently.
And Atsumu. Always Atsumu.
Sakusa exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay still, to not move, to not wake him.
Because whatever had happened last night… he wasn’t sure he was ready to face it yet.
He gave himself a small moment to take everything in, when something slipped through his mind.
Not a memory, not fully. Just a feeling.
Warmth.
Closeness.
A voice, low, almost right against his ear—
“Omi.”
Sakusa’s fingers twitched against the sheets.
Another fragment.
Laughter. Loud. Familiar.
Too loud.
Glasses clinking.
Someone—Hinata? Bokuto?—shouting something he couldn’t quite make out.
And then…
A hand, definitely not accidental, resting against his side.
Lingering.
Sakusa’s breath caught, barely there.
His eyes flickered open again, but he didn’t move.
Didn’t dare.
More pieces followed, still fragmented, slipping through his grasp before he could fully hold onto them.
Atsumu’s shoulder brushing against his.
Again.
And again.
Not moving away. Never moving away.
A warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with alcohol.
Or maybe had everything to do with it…
A blur of lights.
Music vibrating through the floor.
Atsumu leaning in.
Too close.
Close enough that Sakusa could feel his breath.
Close enough that—
Sakusa shut his eyes again, harder this time.
His jaw tightened.
No.
Not that.
Another shift.
The world tilting slightly.
Unsteady steps.
A hand grabbing his waist firmly, grounding.
“Careful there, Omi.”
Sakusa swallowed.
There was something else.
Something heavier, but quieter.
Not the bar, not the noise.
A room.
This room.
Dim lights.
The door closing.
Silence, but not empty.
It was a charged silence.
Thick.
A pause that had stretched too long.
As if both of them had been standing there, waiting…
For what?
Sakusa’s chest rose a little too fast.
His fingers curled against the sheets.
Another fragment forced its way through—
Atsumu’s voice, softer this time.
Not teasing.
Not loud.
Something else.
Something Sakusa had never quite heard from him before.
“Omi…”
And then—
Nothing.
It cut off.
Like his mind refused to go further. Like it had decided, very deliberately, that this was as much as he was allowed to remember.
Sakusa inhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his breathing to steady.
This was bad.
This was… Dangerous.
Not because he didn’t remember.
But because of what he did.
Or what he might have done.
Or worse—
What he might have wanted.
His gaze shifted, almost involuntarily, back to Atsumu.
Still asleep.
Still close.
Still there.
Sakusa felt something tighten in his chest.
Sharp. Unfamiliar.
Unbidden.
He looked away immediately.
No.
Whatever had happened last night—
It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t.
. . .
Sakusa didn’t stay in the room for long.
He waited just enough to be sure his breathing was steady, that his hands wouldn’t betray him if he moved, and then carefully slipped out from under Atsumu’s arm. The absence of warmth was immediate. Noticeable.
Unbidden.
He ignored it.
By the time he stepped out into the hallway, the air already felt different — cooler, quieter, easier to breathe. Or at least, easier to pretend.
The hotel was beginning to wake up. Distant voices, the faint clatter of dishes somewhere below, the low hum of a place returning to life after a long night.
Sakusa welcomed the noise. It helped him drown out everything else.
. . .
The buffet area was already half full when he got there.
A few early risers, some staff members moving back and forth, the smell of coffee strong enough to make his headache throb again. He grabbed something simple — more out of habit than hunger — and chose a table far enough from the entrance to avoid immediate attention, but not so far that it would be noticeable.
He had just sat down when the first familiar voice cut through the room.
“Oi, Sakusa-san! Ya look like shit!”
Bokuto.
Of course.
Sakusa didn’t bother looking up. “You sound worse.”
“That’s because I am worse,” Bokuto replied, dropping into the seat across from him with zero hesitation, followed shortly by Meian, who offered Sakusa a small, knowing nod.
“Good morning, Sakusa-san,” Meian said.
Sakusa nodded back.
More footsteps followed. Laughter. Chairs scraping against the floor.
Hinata, already talking too much for that hour. Inunaki greeting someone behind him. Barnes complaining about something Sakusa didn’t bother to catch.
Normal.
Everything sounded normal.
Sakusa focused on his coffee.
Then—
“Mornin’.”
Too close.
Sakusa’s grip on the cup tightened, almost imperceptibly.
Atsumu.
He didn’t look up immediately. He didn’t trust himself to.
“Damn, ya got here early,” Atsumu continued, voice lighter than it should’ve been, like he was filling a space that didn’t need filling. “Could’ve at least woken me up, Omi.”
There it was.
That name.
Sakusa forced himself to glance up, just enough.
Atsumu looked… fine. A little messy, hair slightly out of place, shirt thrown on without much care, but otherwise—
Normal.
Too normal.
Like nothing had happened.
Like there wasn’t a gap in Sakusa’s memory and something heavy sitting in his chest.
“Didn’t think you’d want that,” Sakusa replied, tone even, controlled.
Atsumu blinked.
Just for a second.
Something flickered across his face — confusion, maybe — but it was gone just as quickly, replaced with that crooked grin of his.
“‘Kay,” he said, dragging a chair closer to the table. Not quite next to Sakusa. “Did I do somethin’?”
Yes.
No.
Sakusa looked back down at his coffee.
“I don’t know,” he said.
And that—
That was the problem.
Atsumu stilled for a fraction of a second.
It was small. Almost unnoticeable.
But it was there.
“…Right,” he muttered, quieter this time.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Around them, the table kept moving — Bokuto laughing too loudly at something Hinata said, Meian trying to keep the conversation somewhat grounded, someone asking about their flight later that evening.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
Except it wasn’t.
Atsumu shifted in his seat, tapping his fingers lightly against the table, like he always did when he had too much energy and nowhere to put it.
“So,” he started again, a little more careful this time, “last night was kinda—”
“Sakusa-san!, are you going to finish that?” Hinata interrupted suddenly, pointing at his untouched plate.
Sakusa looked at it like he had forgotten it was there.
“You can have it.”
“Thanks!”
The moment snapped.
Cleanly.
Completely.
Atsumu leaned back slightly in his chair, exhaling through his nose as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t been about to say something that clearly mattered.
As if he hadn’t noticed the way Sakusa had gone rigid the second he brought it up.
“Man, I don’t even remember how we got back,” Bokuto said, groaning. “Did we walk? Did someone carry me?”
“You were not carried,” Inunaki replied.
“Tragic.”
Laughter.
Sakusa let the noise fill the space again.
It was easier like this.
Across from him, Atsumu smiled at something Hinata said, slipping back into the conversation like it had never been interrupted.
Like he always did.
But every now and then, his gaze flickered back.
Brief. Uncertain.
Trying.
Sakusa avoided it every time.
—
The rest of the day passed like that.
Too normal to be real.
They walked around the city, following whatever plans had been loosely made the night before — or that morning, depending on who you asked. Hinata dragged half the team into a small street market. Bokuto got distracted by something every five minutes. Foster tried, unsuccessfully, to keep everyone somewhat together.
Sakusa stayed close enough to not draw attention.
Far enough to not be noticed.
Atsumu didn’t push again.
Not really.
He stayed where he always was, in the middle of everything; loud, easy, untouchable. But there was something slightly off in the way he moved around Sakusa now. A hesitation that hadn’t been there before. A split second too long before speaking, before looking, before stepping closer.
Like he had reached out once, and decided not to again.
It should’ve been a relief. But of course it wasn’t.
Because now the silence between them wasn’t accidental.
It was chosen.
. . .
“Oi, Omi-san! Look at this one!”
Hinata’s voice cut through the noise of the market, holding up something bright and completely unnecessary. Bokuto immediately leaned over to see it, already laughing, while Inunaki made a comment Sakusa didn’t quite catch.
Sakusa nodded faintly, not really looking.
Too many colors, too many voices. Too many things happening at once.
And still, he could feel him somewhere behind him — not close, not touching, but present enough to be aware of. It sat under his skin in a way he couldn’t quite ignore.
Sakusa shifted his weight.
Then, without really thinking about it—
His phone buzzed.
He froze for half a second before pulling it out, eyes flickering down to the screen.
Komori.
Thank God.
Sakusa stared at the name longer than necessary, thumb hovering over the answer button.
“…I’ll be back,” he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to register.
Seems like no one really did.
Good.
He stepped away from the group, weaving through people and stalls until the noise softened just enough, until the space around him felt a little less suffocating. Only then did he bring the phone up to his ear.
“What?”
There was a pause on the other end.
Then—
“Well, good morning to you too.”
Komori's voice was light. Familiar. Too perceptive.
Sakusa closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose.
“What happened?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Komori replied, tone shifting just slightly. “You left early yesterday.”
“I had a headache.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Of course it wasn’t.
Sakusa leaned back against a nearby wall, gaze unfocused somewhere ahead of him.
“I’m fine.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
“…You don’t look fine,” Komori said quietly.
Sakusa almost scoffed.
“You can’t even see me.”
“Oh but cousin, I don’t have to.”
Silence settled between them, heavier than it should’ve been.
For a moment, Sakusa considered hanging up. Yet, he didn’t.
“…Do you remember last night?” he asked instead, the words coming out more controlled than he felt.
There was a small shift in the line. Movement. Maybe Komori adjusting his grip on the phone.
“Some of it,” he answered. “Enough.”
Sakusa swallowed.
That wasn’t helpful.
“Why?”
Sakusa’s fingers tightened slightly around the device.
“I don’t,” he said.
Not entirely true.
Not entirely a lie either.
“…Kiyoomi,” Komori started, softer now.
Sakusa looked down at the ground, jaw tightening.
“There was nothing weird, right?” he cut in, a little too quickly. “Nothing that would’ve been… noticed.”
Not what happened.
But who saw.
Komori didn’t answer immediately.
And that…
That was enough of an answer.
Sakusa’s chest tightened.
“…I think you’re asking the wrong question,” Komori said finally.
Sakusa’s grip faltered, just slightly.
“I’m asking the only one that matters.”
“No, you’re not.”
Silence again.
From the distance, laughter broke out — loud, familiar. Bokuto, probably. Someone calling Atsumu’s name right after.
Sakusa’s gaze flickered up without thinking.
He didn’t see him.
Still, his chest felt tight.
“Did something happen?” Komori asked, careful this time.
Sakusa didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
“…Right,” Komori exhaled. “Okay.”
Another pause, then softer:
“Listen, you don’t have to figure it out right now.”
Sakusa let out a quiet, humorless breath. Like an almost chuckle.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”
“I know.”
He did, and that was the problem.
Sakusa closed his eyes for a second.
“…We’re leaving tonight,” he said instead, like changing the subject would somehow ground him. “I’ll deal with it later.”
A small huff on the other end.
“You always say that.”
“‘Cause I always do.”
“That doesn’t mean it will always work.”
Sakusa didn’t respond. Another beat passed.
“Just… don’t ignore him completely, okay?” Komori added, lighter now, but not careless. “Bet he’s been looking at you like a kicked puppy since breakfast.”
Sakusa frowned.
“He hasn’t.”
“Sure…”
A pause.
“…I’ll see you later then. Think about it, okay? And let me know when you get back” Komori said.
“Yeah.”
The call ended.
Sakusa stayed there for a moment longer, phone still in his hand, the noise of the market slowly bleeding back into his awareness.
Nothing had been solved.
Nothing had been clarified.
If anything, it felt worse.
He pushed himself off the wall and made his way back.
By the time he rejoined the group, nothing had changed.
Hinata was still talking. Bokuto was still laughing. And Atsumu—
Atsumu glanced at him.
Just once.
Quick. Subtle.
Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look for too long.
Sakusa held for a moment his stare, but looked away first.
. . .
By the time the sun started setting, painting the sky in shades too warm for Sakusa to appreciate, he realized something he didn’t quite know what to do with.
Whatever had happened the night before—
It hadn’t just stayed there.
It had followed them into the daylight. Into every conversation. Every silence. Every glance that lasted a second too long or not long enough.
And now, it was coming back with them.
The bus ride to the airport was louder than it needed to be.
Too many voices. Too much energy for the end of a trip.
Sakusa sat by the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and color, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t the weight sitting in his chest.
At some point, someone took the seat next to him.
He didn’t turn to check who it was. He already knew.
Atsumu didn’t say anything.
Neither did Sakusa.
And for once, that silence didn’t feel comfortable at all.
—
Back in Japan everything felt pretty much… the same.
That was the first thing Sakusa noticed.
The gym still smelled like rubber and polish. The sound of sneakers against the court still echoed the same way. The rhythm of practice — drills, sets, spikes — hadn’t changed at all.
Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
And yet—
Something wasn’t.
It settled in quietly. Not all at once, not in a way he could point at and name, but in small, almost imperceptible shifts that built up over time.
At first, he thought it was just the fatigue. The trip. The jet lag that hadn’t quite left his body. But then it kept happening.
During practice, he found himself just a fraction of a second too late.
A step off.
A beat missed.
Nothing obvious. Nothing anyone else would call out.
But Sakusa noticed.
And of course, Atsumu. He always did.
“Omi-kun, ya spacing out on me now?”
Atsumu’s voice cut through the court, light, almost teasing, as he tossed the ball again.
Sakusa caught it without replying.
“I’m not.”
“Sure ya aren’t.”
There was a smile in his voice.
Sakusa didn’t look at him.
“Again,” he said instead, tossing the ball for Atsumu to set to him.
Atsumu hummed, like he didn’t quite believe him, but followed anyway.
The set was perfect. Of course it was.
Sakusa hit it cleanly.
A point.
Reset.
Routine.
. . .
It was easier on the court.
There were rules there, structure. Expectations that didn’t shift no matter what had happened the night before, or the week before, or in a hotel room he was actively trying not to remember.
On the court, Atsumu was just his setter.
And Sakusa knew exactly what to do with that.
Off the court, it was different.
Too open.
Too undefined.
Too easy to notice things he didn’t want to notice.
Like the way Atsumu still said his name the same way.
“Omi-kun.”
Casual. Familiar. Unchanged.
As if nothing had happened.
As if Sakusa hadn’t woken up with his arm around him, skin against skin, breath too close—
No.
He shut the thought down before it could go further.
. . .
Days passed.
Then more.
Nothing happened.
Which, somehow, made it worse…?
Atsumu didn’t bring it up.
Didn’t push.
Didn’t joke about it the way he usually would’ve.
At first, Sakusa thought it was relief.
Then he realized what it actually was.
Atsumu was letting it go.
That realization sat heavier than it should’ve.
. . .
“Omi-kun, ya comin’ or what?”
Sakusa blinked, pulling himself back into the present.
The rest of the team was already heading out of the locker room, voices overlapping, plans being made without much thought.
Someone mentioned food.
Someone else complained about it.
Normal.
Everything was normal.
Atsumu stood by the door, glancing back at him, one hand resting against the frame.
Waiting.
Just for a second.
Sakusa grabbed his bag.
“I’ll pass.”
Atsumu’s expression didn’t change much.
“Suit yourself Omi-Omi.”
And just like that, he turned away, falling easily into step with the others, slipping back into conversation like he hadn’t paused at all.
Like he hadn’t waited.
Sakusa stayed behind a little longer than necessary.
The locker room was quieter now. Empty.
He sat down, hands resting loosely on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.
It would’ve been easier if Atsumu had said something.
If he had pushed, asked. Forced the conversation into existence.
Sakusa would’ve known how to respond to that.
But this—
This quiet understanding.
This not asking.
It left him with nothing to push back against.
Nothing to define.
Just that same feeling, lingering under his skin, growing more familiar by the day.
Unavoidable.
. . .
And then, at some point, it changed.
Not suddenly. Not in a way Sakusa could pinpoint.
Just…
Gradually.
Atsumu still smiled, still joked. Still stood too close sometimes, without thinking.
But there was a difference now.
Something subtle. A hesitation.
As if he was learning exactly how far he was allowed to go.
. . .
It happened during practice. Nothing serious.
A bad landing. Slightly off balance. Just enough for Sakusa’s ankle to twist in a way that made him click his tongue under his breath.
“I’m fine,” he said, before anyone could ask.
But Atsumu was already there.
Too fast.
A hand wrapped around his ankle, firm, grounding, instinctive in a way that wasn’t thought through.
“Don’t move.”
Sakusa stilled.
Not because of the injury.
Because of the touch.
It was brief.
Too brief.
Atsumu froze just a second later, like the realization hit him all at once. His grip loosened, fingers hesitating before pulling away completely.
“…Ya good?” he asked, voice different now, careful.
Measured.
Sakusa flexed his foot once, twice, just to prove a point.
“I said I’m fine.”
A pause.
From somewhere behind them—
“Woah, that looked kinda bad,” Inunaki said, leaning forward slightly.
“Yeah, you okay, Omi-san?” Hinata added.
Sakusa didn’t look at them.
His gaze stayed on Atsumu.
Atsumu didn’t meet it.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Back to practice,” Sakusa said, stepping back into position.
Like nothing had happened.
. . .
Later, when the court had settled back into its rhythm and the moment had long passed for everyone else, Sakusa spoke.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
It came out quieter than he expected.
Atsumu didn’t turn immediately.
“Yeah,” he said.
A beat.
“I did.”
. . .
Another time was when they ended up sharing a room at one of their away from home games.
It wasn’t intentional.
Just logistics, availability, or someone else switching last minute. Didn’t know, but Sakusa didn’t complain.
He probably should have. Because that night might’ve finally made him realize and accept some things…
Atsumu fell asleep first.
Of course he did.
One minute he was talking — something about the match, or dinner, who knows — and the next, his voice had gone quiet, replaced by slow, even breathing.
Sakusa stayed awake, and it bothered him knowing who was the reason why.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the city filtering through the curtains. Quiet, in a way that felt different from the gym, from the noise, from everything else.
Too quiet.
Sakusa turned slightly.
Just enough.
Atsumu apparently fell asleep facing him.
His hair was messier like this. Softer. His expression completely unguarded, stripped of everything he carried when he was awake — the smiles, the teasing, the ease.
It made something in Sakusa’s chest tighten.
Unknown.
He let his gaze linger longer than he should have.
Long enough to notice the small things. The rise and fall of his breathing. The way his hand rested loosely against the sheets. The quiet, steady presence of him…
This is the closest I’ll ever get—
The thought came uninvited.
Unwanted.
But true.
Sakusa exhaled slowly.
He knew should have looked away, but he didn’t. So then—
“…What’re ya lookin’ at?”
Sakusa froze.
Atsumu’s voice was rough with sleep, barely there, eyes still closed.
Sakusa turned his head almost immediately.
“Nothing.”
A soft huff.
“Liar.”
No bite. No teasing edge. Just something quiet.
Atsumu shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher before settling again.
A few seconds later, his breathing evened out once more.
As if nothing had happened.
Sakusa stared at the ceiling.
Then—
Almost without noticing the corner of his mouth lifted.
Just a little.
He didn’t sleep much that night.