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Atsumu was having a weird morning.
The team was traveling for a game, or rather traveling home. They’d won handily and after a night of celebration, that consisted of a few too many drinks and some rather bad choices in dance partners, Atsumu was ready to get back to his apartment and sleep for the next three days.
Hangovers were a hell of a thing.
When exactly he’d fallen asleep was a mystery, but regardless, he’d been rudely awoken by a video call from one Kageyama Tobio. It had taken him a second to figure out that the obnoxious ringing wasn’t actually coming from his phone, which was still in the pocket of his jeans for some reason. No, the Adler’s setter had, of course, called his boyfriend, who was asleep in the next bed over. It was then that Atsumu wondered what exactly Shoyo was doing in his room, followed by the confusing realization that this wasn’t his room at all. Why had he slept in Shoyo’s room? Only his drunk self could answer that.
Nevertheless, the phone kept ringing, unable to stir it’s intended recipient which was when Atsumu had thrown a pillow across the room.
After far too long, Shoyo had taken the call and Atsumu had the horrid displeasure of listening to one half of their conversation, consisting mostly of Shoyo telling Tobio how much he missed him. It was nauseating, or maybe that was just the after effect of going shot for shot with Bokuto Kotaro. Eventually, when the room stopped spinning and he’d finally heard enough of his teammate’s disgustingly gooey conversation, he’d pulled himself up from the uncomfortable mattress, still in his flashy outfit from the night before, and lumbered back to his room. He’d had barely enough time to wash the poor decisions off of himself before the team had to leave for the airport.
The residual exhaustion from the night's festivities was palpable on the bus ride and subsequent trudge through the check in area. Atsumu was particularly feeling it pounding through his forehead. The three painkillers he’d taken from Bokuto only really kicked in while they were waiting in line at the security check. It was then that he thought that maybe this wasn’t the worst morning ever, maybe life would go on, and maybe, just maybe, he’d actually be able to drink again someday. Unfortunately, it was a feeling that would last all of five minutes.
Sakusa Kiyoomi was not a morning person, or an airport person, or a person person. As expected, he’d been quiet all morning. The man only had a couple drinks last night so he probably wasn’t dealing with the consequences of a MSBY night out like most of his teammates, but still, it was well before 10 am. The spiker was no doubt trying his best to stay upright too.
Atsumu knows all of this, too well. So naturally, when the pair of them had ended up in the same security line the setter hadn’t expected to be graced by Sakusa’s ineptitude for conversation, and he certainly hadn’t expected him to say what he did.
“Hey, Miya,” Atsumu had looked up as he pulled off his second shoe. “To answer your question from last night, I do, like you, that is,” It was blunt, unemotional, maybe even a little bit irritated and all Atsumu could do was stare, dumbfounded.
“Sir, please keep the line moving,”
And before he could process any of it he was being ushered through a metal detector, that promptly alerted everyone to the fact that he hadn’t taken his phone out of his pocket. And only then, as he was being felt up by a stranger, as Sakusa Kiyoomi walked past, not daring to look at the consequences of his actions, did those words actually catch up with him.
I do like you.
For the sake of his sanity, Atsumu had shoved the conversation away in a pile creatively labeled “Deal With Later”, something he did with most conversations he had with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and most thoughts he had about Sakusa Kiyoomi, and basically all other things regarding Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’d put the man himself in that pile if he could. And if he was being honest, he was too tired and too hungover to handle the onslaught of feelings dealing with this now would inevitably stir up. So instead, he’d get on the plane, sit by anyone but Sakusa Kiyoomi, pass out for a few hours, take the train home, crawl into his bed, one that didn’t smell like cheap laundry detergent the hotel used, and forget this ever happened.
Unfortunately the universe had other plans.
The team had barely managed to take a seat at their gate when the weather delay was announced. The light drizzle they’d walked through on their way in had escalated into a full on thunderstorm.
“Four hours?” Atsumu had yelled, incredulous.
“Oh, I think I need to call Tobio,” Shoyo had said, utterly unhelpful.
So here he was, an hour and a half later, sitting on the hard airport carpet, leaned up against a wall, headphones blasting some sort of music he wasn’t really listening to, staring menacingly at Sakusa Kiyoomi.
He probably hadn’t planned this right? Sakusa wasn’t that conniving, and he certainly couldn’t control the weather, maybe. Still, he hadn’t so much as looked in Atsumu’s direction. Did he just want to watch the setter sweat? To throw him out of his comfort zone? Why else would he say something like that so nonchalantly? And why else would he be sitting in that uncomfortable chair, reading a book, brushing his pretty curls out of his stupid face, like he hadn’t just sent his teammate into a inescapable spiral of emotions? Fuck!
It had taken Atsumu a bit to sort through the myriad of stupid conversations he’d had last night to find the exact question the spiker had been referring to. He was drunk, they were all drunk, Sakusa included. Atsumu was taking a break from dancing with strangers to try and rope the real person he had his eye on, into dancing with him instead.
“Omi Omi!” He’d sauntered up to the spiker who’d planted himself at a booth in the back of the club for most of the night, “Wontcha dance with me?” He asked over the heavy bass of the dance music.
The man had looked up from his fruity drink, face shaded in a soft teal from the flashing, colored lights, familiar scowl identifiable even under the mask. “No.”
“Why not?” Atsumu had asked. It’d come out poutier than he’d intended, he’d blamed it on the alcohol.
“Too many people,” Kiyoomi had replied, “And besides, it seems like you're having enough fun with undercut and leather pants over there,” Something about his tone was more irritable than normal, a fact that Atsumu had picked up even while drunk.
“Omi Omi, are you jealous?”
“Don’t be ridiculous Miya,” Atsumu swears the spiker blushed, he was a bit distracted by the alcohol soaked butterflies fluttering around in his stomach to really catch it though.
“You totally are!”
The spiker didn’t respond, opting to pull down his mask and finish the last of his drink in one gulp instead.
“Oh Sakusa, do you like me or something?” Atsumu had teased.
The man had slid over to the end of the booth placed a hand on the setter’s chest as he stood, and pushed him gently out of the way, “I’m gonna get another drink,”
Shoyo had bounced over and dragged Atsumu back to the dance floor before he could really process any of it. Truthfully he’s not really sure the pair of them had spoken much
following, save for a few scattered protests when Sakusa hadn’t joined them for the after party in Shoyo’s room and the subsequent goodnights before the spiker had slammed his door shut.
And yet… Atsumu had gotten his answer whether he’d wanted it or not. He huffs to himself; he would’ve preferred if Kiyoomi had just said yes to dancing with him.
Suddenly one of his ear buds is being pulled from his ear. “‘Tsumu,” Shoyo whispers, interrupting his thoughts, “Are you upset with Sakusa?”
“What? No. Yes. I don’t know. Why are you even asking?” He huffs, unable to keep the irritation from seeping into his tone.
The spiker cocks a curious eyebrow, that familiar innocence flashing through his eyes. Atsumu almost feels bad for snapping at him. “Someone’s in a bad mood, hm?”
The setter grits his teeth. Shoyo was the only one who hadn’t woken up with a hangover this morning, which was fucking ridiculous. He’d put back more shots than Bokuto who was nearly double his size. Still, it certainly wasn’t his fault that Sakusa Kiyoomi had confessed to him at the fucking airport. “Sorry. Why are you asking me about Sakusa?”
“Because you’ve been staring at him like you wanna strangle him to death with your bare hands,”
Unfortunately Shoyo wasn’t far off with that one, although it was more of an oscillation between that and dragging him into some quiet storage closet and leaving all kinds of marks and bruises on that pretty porcelain skin. Atsumu rolls his eyes at his own thought process.
The spiker slides somehow closer to the setter and lowers his voice even more. “Oh ‘Tsumu did he reject you?”
“What?” Atsumu shouts, jumping away.
“Last night you said you were gonna ask him out. Well, actually first you said you were gonna marry him but Bokuto said you should probably start with-”
“Oh my god I didn’t say that.”
“You did. Just ask Bo,” Shoyo turns and waves to Bokuto who’s a few yards away with his hood up, scrolling through his phone.
“Oh we don’t need to-” Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears as the other spiker gets up and approaches the pair.
“Bo do you remember what ‘tsumu said about Omi last night?”
Kotaro pulls his hood down revealing his unstyled mop of hair. He brushes a few stands out of his face and Atsumu wonders how he can still look so good whilst hungover. “Oh yeah. You told us you had a secret and then you proceeded to talk about how in love you are with Omi Omi for like twenty minutes,”
“Oh my god,” Atsumu buries his face in his hands as the conversation comes flooding back, spotty images of the three of them in Shoyo’s room, his head in Bokuto’s lap, the spiker playing with his hair, Shoyo on the floor with his feet up on the wall, all three of them drunk and slap happy. And then Sakusa had come up, Atsumu’s pretty sure he’d brought him up. All of those thoughts had finally come spilling out, one after the other. He’d expected it to be relieving, like a weight lifted, but all he can feel now is a red hot embarrassment crawling up his neck.
“And to be honest with you ‘tsumu it wasn’t much of a secret to begin with,” Bokuto continues. The setter groans into his hands. Of all the people to confess that horrid display of idiocy to why did it have to be these two?
“And then he said he was gonna ask him out today right?” Shoyo asks.
“Well first you said you were gonna ask him to marry you but we talked you down to just asking him out,”
“I hate you both so much.” The setter mutters into his hands.
Shoyo nudges him with his elbow, “So did you do it then? Is that why you’re upset with him?”
Atsumu sits up, “I’m not- I’m not upset with him I’m just… confused,”
His teammates look at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I-I think he likes me back,”
The pair of spikers shares a look, communicating something that Atsumu definitely misses. “Go talk to him,” Shoyo says.
“What? No!”
“Yes,” The pair says simultaneously .
“We’re in the middle of the airport,” Atsumu protests, “I’m not doing this right now,”
Bokuto crouches down so he can look the setter in the eyes, “Miya. Omi Omi has been watching you the entire time we’ve been having this conversation, he clearly wants to talk to you.”
Atsumu cocks an eyebrow, shifting slightly to catch a glance at the current subject of conversation. The man darts his eyes away with an impressive speed.
“We are stuck in this airport for at least another two and a half hours” Bokuto continues, “If you don’t go talk to him before we get on that plane, I will sit by him and tell him everything you said last night over and over again until we land.”
The setter feels his face flush hot at the prospect. “You’re bluffing,” he chokes out.
“Try me.”
Ten minutes, several unanswered texts sent to his dickhead of a twin brother, and next to no preparation later, Atsumu is walking over to Sakusa Kiyoomi.
This is so stupid. This is so stupid. This is so fucking stupid.
Every step causes his heart to beat louder, and when he finally reaches the man it’s pounding through his ears. He clears his throat and the spiker looks up from his book. His expression conveys nothing. Well not nothing, annoyance is certainly something. Had he expected something different?
“Ya wanna go for a walk?”
Given the inconvenient mess that was the current weather, the pair walks to the other terminal and given the spiker’s usual irritability and the setter’s obvious uncomfort, they do so in complete silence.
Truthfully, Atsumu hadn’t really thought he’d get this far. His feelings on Sakusa Kiyoomi were overwhelming and frustrating on a normal day. What the fuck was he supposed to do when the man confesses to him in the middle of the airport?
While he’s not sure of the eloquence his intoxicated self had presented his thoughts in last night, he had to admit there was a fair amount of truth to it all. Maybe he was a little bit in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi, and maybe he had been for a while, and maybe he had next to no idea of what the fuck to actually do about it.
The man wasn’t exactly approachable, and even without the face mask he’d be hard to read. So, Atsumu had adapted.
The pair had developed a rather specific kind of relationship, one hinged almost entirely on snarky comments, eye rolls, and much to the rest of the teams displeasure, blatant arguing. It wasn’t ideal, especially compared to the kinds of things he’d rather be doing with the curly haired spiker, but it’d become comfortable enough. Atsumu could flirt to his heart's content knowing exactly what sort of reaction he’d receive (a disgusted glare, most of the time) with no fear of rejection.
Sure, maybe he knew deep down that he couldn’t keep that up forever though. Eventually that pile of thoughts and conversations and quick glances and absurd fantasies would come toppling over and whether it be heartbreak or… marriage, as his alcohol addled brain had suggested, he’d have to deal with it sooner or later.
Atsumu ventures a glance in the man’s direction. Even tired and grumpy he stirred something up in the setter’s stomach that he couldn’t put into words, well at least not while he’s sober. Kiyoomi catches his eye, only briefly, a slight blush peeking out from under his face mask.
Wow, he has no idea how to do this…
Luckily, Kiyoomi speaks first. “Did you wanna talk or are we just gonna walk around the airport?” The spiker says, breaking the silence.
Hearing the man’s voice snaps him out of his train of thought, reminding him of the last time they spoke and of how pissed off he was at being put in this situation in the first place. “In the airport security line Kiyoomi?”
Sakusa cocks an eyebrow at the setter’s tone and question alike, “You sat by Shoyo on the bus. When else was I supposed to tell you?”
So strangling him to death was still on the table. “Literally any other time! You coulda waited ‘til we were alone for one, maybe not right before I get felt up by a stranger,”
The spiker rolls his eyes. “Look, it’s not like I’m happy about it. I just needed to tell you so you’d stop your bullshit,”
“Bullshit?”
The spiker makes an annoyed sound, “Y’know the teasing, the fake flirting, whatever you want to call it. It’s all just bullshit,”
“Fake… What the hell are you talking about?”
Sakusa stops, turning to the setter. “Oh don’t play dumb Miya. I know you flirt with me just to get a rise, and now that I told you how I feel, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop”
“You think I flirt with you to… So what the fuck did you think I was trying to do last night?”
“Trying to rub your flashy outfit and suggestive dance moves in my face, trying to make me jealous, I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t fucking deal with it anymore,”
For the second time that morning, Sakusa Kiyoomi had left the setter utterly speechless.
The spiker scowls at his lack of response, “If that’s pity in your eyes Miya I swear to god-”
“No! No it’s not I just-”
“What, are you gonna laugh at me then?”
“No! Would you just shut up for two seconds?” Atsumu snaps back, “I was gonna ask you out ya dick!”
A look of bewilderment flashes across Sakusa’s face, well the top half at least. He looks the setter up and down, no doubt gauging his seriousness.
“Do it then.”
“What?”
“Ask me out,”
“You’re kidding?”
Sakusa stares at him, very clearly not kidding.
Atsumu drags a hand over his tired face. So fucking stupid. “Fine.”
The spiker crosses his arms over his chest expectantly.
He lets out a deep sigh, “Just to set the record straight, I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you, and I flirt with you because I have the unfortunate displeasure of liking you,” The man in question scoffs, rolling his eyes yet again. “So with all that in mind, Sakusa Kiyoomi, once we get out of this stupid fucking airport, would ya wanna go out with me?”
The spiker takes a moment to mull it over and with each passing second Atsumu inches ever closer to slapping him.
“Alright,” he says finally. Atsumu’s not sure if he’s relieved or more upset. But before he can even consider that the man has turned and started walking back towards their gate.
Atsumu takes a few quick steps to catch up with him. “Wait, that’s it?”
“I answered your question, were you expecting something else?”
Of all the professional volleyball players he could fall for… “I dunno maybe? You’re not even gonna give me a kiss or anything?” He says, half joking.
The spiker stops so abruptly that Atsumu nearly runs into him. He grabs the man by the shirt collar with one hand and uses the other to pull down his face mask. With a quick movement he pulls the setter’s face towards his own and plants a soft kiss on his cheek. “There.” He releases the setter and pulls his mask back up, “Happy?
Ignoring the painfully hot blush spreading across his face, Atsumu clears his throat, “Would’ve preferred a kiss on the lips,”
“Fucking ridiculous.” Sakusa says storming away from the setter.
Atsumu feels a smirk creep over his face. It’s quickly replaced with a genuine smile as he watches the spiker turn back, waiting for him to catch up.
Sakusa Kiyoomi… keep surprising me.