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The balconies are like, ridiculously close together. Atsumu is pretty sure a good long jump with a solid running start would definitely get him across safely. He hasn’t tried it out yet, but he almost got Osamu to put his theory to the test by bribing him with a coupon to the curry house a couple blocks away. Unfortunately, he is still without a definite answer because Suna had shown up just as Osamu had gotten into runner’s starting position, yelling something dumb like “Samu I will actually break up with you if you die.” Stupid Suna.
And now they won’t ever know because the balcony across from the twin’s apartment is no longer empty, as it had been for the past two and a half months, and now there’s definitely no space for them to make a clean landing if they ever tried to jump the gap.
Atsumu hasn’t lived in this building that long and yet he’s seen the apartment across the way change owners at least three separate times within the last year. It’s honestly a little strange if he thinks about it, but he figures the apartment is probably cursed or something. Maybe he can convince Suna to move in and find out, y’know, for science and not at all because Suna getting haunted would be the funniest thing he’d ever get the chance to witness.
Now, as he stares across the short distance, half-impressed and half-stunned at the new view, he realizes that he has seen the balcony go through many different transformations, but he’s never seen it quite like this.
The floor of the balcony is barely visible from where Atsumu is standing, unable to see past rows and stacks of terracotta pots and wooden planters. It's like an explosion of green threatening to spill over to the lower floors; there's creeping vines on a lattice against the far corner, reaching out onto the railing until they brush against wide, flat leaves leaning over into the open air. A line of wooden boxes house tiny grass-like sprouts, contrasting sharply with the large pot beside them from which dark green spikes shoot upwards almost threateningly. Amidst all the greenery, Atsumu can make out stray flashes of color here and there of small flower buds shyly peeking through as they just start to unfurl.
Atsumu leans against the rail of his own balcony, chin in the palm of his hand, squinting as he tries to make out anything aside from the egregious amount of growth tumbling all over the previously empty balcony. He rocks forward just a little bit for a closer look, purely because he’s nosy and has no respect for the privacy of others nor any shame in snooping on his new neighbors, only to be startled back when one of the patches of color that he had assumed to be a flower begins to move. The leaves around it tremble as a figure unfolds itself from behind them, rising to stand at their full height, and Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath.
He is beautiful.
His profile is equal parts delicate and sharp, a slender nose, an angled jawline, soft cheeks, a small mouth, a pointed chin. Dark-tipped hair flutters over straight brows and, when his head jerks slightly in Atsumu’s direction, his eyes nearly gleam golden when they catch the blazing sun.
If his neighbor has noticed Atsumu staring — and by God is he staring; shamelessly, openly, as conspicuously as humanly possible — he shows no sign of it, no acknowledgement. Not even a half glance Atsumu’s way. Though perhaps that might be in Atsumu’s best interest, because he isn’t sure he is in the right mindset to have an intelligent conversation with him right now. Or ever.
His neighbor rolls his shoulders back, shifting the sweatshirt hanging loosely off his frame, and it’s then that Atsumu takes a moment to, well, fully check him out. His sweatshirt looks half a size too big and it drapes over him a little too well, falling down to the tops of his thighs, almost completely concealing what must be the world’s smallest pair of shorts Atsumu thinks. There is too much leg on display; it’s posing a great danger to what little sanity Atsumu is clinging to.
But that too disappears when his neighbor bends down with a devastatingly gentle smile, directed at one of the wooden planters. The plant on the receiving end of it seems to flutter in appreciation.
And then it gets worse (or better, really Atsumu isn’t sure of anything anymore).
His neighbor’s smile grows as he prods lightly at the soil and then he begins to speak to the furled flower buds, his voice just barely carrying over to Atsumu’s balcony. He can’t make out any words but he can hear the unfiltered kindness and affection in his voice and suddenly Atsumu’s heart is searingly hot in his chest and he absolutely cannot do this anymore.
With a strangled yelp, he stumbles back into the safety of his home, sliding the glass door shut behind him with a twanging thud that resonates through the apartment. He manages a glance through the glass to see his neighbor looking over curiously, their eyes meeting for a fleeting second, a second both too long and too quick, before his attention is once again directed to another one of his numerous plants.
Atsumu retreats to his room, ignoring Osamu’s irritated shouts to Stop slamming the damn door ya heathen! in favor of replaying that soft voice and those doting words in his mind. He flushes as he realizes the first emotion he can make any sense of within the mess that is the current state of his brain is envy— jealous of something so small as a tightly wound flower bud.
Atsumu soon learns that his neighbor only ever seems to give this honest encouragement to his garden, because he absolutely refuses to give Atsumu even a split-second’s worth of attention. He isn’t sure how many mornings he’s woken up way too early just so he can loiter on his balcony with a mostly empty mug of tea, silently willing his neighbor to so much as sneeze his way. His efforts are futile; his neighbor is solely focused on the miniature forest he is fostering on his overflowing balcony and absolutely nothing else.
Even if Atsumu clears his throat loudly or stretches his arms up to the sky, faking an exaggerated yawn, his neighbor appears to burrow further between the terracotta pots. He’s barely even visible, crouching down with just the top of his silver head flitting between giant leaves and thick stems.
The most he’s gotten is a quick glance when he spilled tea down the front of his shirt, an expression of open surprise on his neighbor’s face when their eyes met while Atsumu was mid-screech. That was more embarrassing than the way his joints click every morning when he steps outside, another sound that goes unacknowledged.
It’s alright though, because most days Atsumu think it’s fine that he isn’t spoken to, as long as the plants are. The way his neighbor murmurs to his garden is calming and comforting almost and he finds that he looks forward to starting his days this way. He never hears what exactly he’s saying, with the both of them crammed into opposite ends of their respective balconies under the pretense of privacy, but his neighbor’s voice is steady and level, carrying purposefully through the air, filled with adoration.
Once again, he dimly thinks of how lucky they are, those plants that grow under his neighbor’s attentive care. He turns to head back inside and get ready for his classes, chancing one last look over his shoulder before he crosses the threshold. He stiffens, unprepared for the golden gaze that pins him in place when he finally, finally, looks his neighbor in the face for the first time. The other looks just as surprised to have locked eyes with him, brows twitching up, before his expression relaxes and he offers him the tiniest of smiles.
It shouldn’t feel like much because it isn’t anything at all, really, but suddenly the intensity of the morning sun on his back cannot even rival the flood of warmth in his chest and Atsumu is beaming back at him before he even realizes. It feels like a win, though small, but a win nonetheless, and he rides that wave of victory all through the rest of his day.
Atsumu is no stranger to garnering attention and he’s also not one to be ashamed of, erm, playing to his strengths so to speak. It helps that he already has a tried and true method, one he had discovered purely by accident. The neighboring apartment’s previous tenants had been a pair of giggling underclassmen who were quite open with their admiration for Atsumu. All it took was one sweltering day and a lack of a shirt and they’d lost all subtleties as they openly stared at him from across the way.
And it’s not like he ever did it often. In fact, he’s actually never done it after that one instance. But it’s a welcome reminder that, yeah, he’s kind of the shit. And it was high time his neighbor realized that too.
He refuses to go unacknowledged for another day. His confidence has been bolstered by the tiniest of smiles and he will not live another day without being on the receiving end of it.
This is his thought process when he steps out onto the balcony one sunny morning, internally cringing at the unexpected breeze that welcomes him. It wouldn’t be so chilly if he’d made some better choices, but better choices will not produce the results he wants. The sun kisses his bare shoulders, soothing over the wide expanse of his back and he nearly preens like a cat who’s found a particularly good spot to nap.
This was a good look to attract the attention of the girls who had lived in the apartment prior: his old volleyball uniform shorts from high school and nothing else, just the morning air winding around his naked torso and, back then, the girls’ barely concealed ogling to generously inflate his ego.
This morning his neighbor’s back is turned to him, dutifully watering plants on the far end of the balcony. Atsumu can hear him speaking, just softly audible over the steady stream of water hitting soil. He has only ever heard his voice in that level tone, perhaps a higher lilt when he’s particularly proud of some new shoots, but never loud, never excited, never surprised.
He wonders if that will change today.
Atsumu leans over the railing as he considers this, turning his face up so the sunshine can sweep over his cheeks and closing his eyes to savor the touch of warmth for several long moments. The sun is bright but the heat weak so while it feels nice, it barely reaches the rest of him, leaving his exposed skin erupting in goosebumps. He resists the urge to curl his arms around himself, though he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand the creeping cold.
He shakes his head, letting the slight breeze attempt to smooth his hair out of its bed-ruffled mess as he opens his eyes. His entire body stills when he finds a certain gaze caught in his own, amber gold meeting soft brown, startled despite this being exactly what he had set out for in the first place. His neighbor’s expression doesn’t seem to change though, looking the same as it always has when their eyes meet, almost— almost bored? No, that can’t be right.
Atsumu clears his throat, wondering if this is when he should say something (though where does he even start — Hello? Good morning? Hi, I’m Atsumu and you’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen and I’d like to be one of your plants so you can — okay, no, don’t finish that thought). He stands up straight, stiff in his movements, ready to make a sincere attempt at conversation, but when he withdraws from the mess of his overthinking mind, his neighbor has already turned away and Atsumu is no longer pinned under that stare.
Wait. What?
No, this wasn’t the plan. Atsumu wasn’t supposed to be the one left speechless and flustered, it should have been him. How annoying it is when you’ve got a whole scenario planned out and your neighbor who has never even spoken to you doesn’t bother to follow the script you’ve written out in your head.
Atsumu grows less confused and more embarrassed as he watches his neighbor sidestep one of the larger pots on his balcony and duck down to pick up a pair of pruning shears. He looks so— so normal? How is he remaining so blasé when Atsumu is over here both burning in shame and also succumbing to the chill of the morning air that just seems to be getting more and more apparent the longer he stands with his— his everything out?
The cold is getting to be too much and, coupled with the embarrassment from his exquisite failure of a master plan, it is enough to chase Atsumu back into his flat, closing the door behind him as calmly as possible so no one can hear him slinking away in defeat. He makes sure not to look back, both because he knows his neighbor probably won’t be sparing him any attention ever and because, in the off chance that he is looking, Atsumu isn’t sure he can face him.
Tail tucked between his legs, a defeated Atsumu pads into his kitchen, only to be faced with his (second) worst nightmare.
“Woah dude,” Suna says, brows rising into his hairline as he takes in the sight of Atsumu when he rounds the corner. His expression brightens with mischief, smirk growing into a smug smile as he reaches for his glass of orange juice so he can clutch it to his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “Don’t come too close,” he snickers, nudging a sleepy Osamu with his elbow to rouse him enough to join him in laughing at Atsumu’s expense, “Those things could cut glass.”
Scandalized, Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest and his very erect nipples, still protesting from the cold lingering on his skin. He gapes at the pair of them, temper flaring, but the shame from his morning encounter is enough to make him falter before these opponents that he has faced countless times. Unable to come up with a good enough comeback, he groans loudly in frustration and fixes them with what he hopes is a venomous glare.
“You know the neighbors can see you when you go outside like that?” Suna continues. There’s a split second silence in which Atsumu can physically see the cogs turning in his devious little mind before his smile freezes and his mouth drops open in realization. “Wait are you—”
“Why’re ya even here!” Atsumu yells, effectively drowning him out, as he whips around to stomp back to his room. “Ya don’t even live here!”
“He washes the dishes more than ya and that automatically makes him a better roommate than ya ever could be!” Osamu’s response follows him down the hall.
“Yer just biased because he’s datin’ yer sorry ass!”
Atsumu doesn’t hear anything more for several moments and he thinks that maybe he’s won this round but then Suna’s voice carries through the apartment.
“Gross Samu, you got a crush on me?”
“Been in love with ya since high school, Rin, what can I say?”
“Gross.”
Atsumu slams his door shut as loudly as possible just to make a statement — of what he isn’t sure, but he’s making it either way — and to block out the exaggerated sounds of loud smooches that will no doubt haunt him in his sleep for the rest of his life.
He throws himself onto his bed, contemplating ditching his classes for the day and building a nest of sadness here in his sheets. He smushes his face into his pillow and sighs deeply, trying to think of where he went wrong.
It clicks almost instantly, a precious lightbulb flickering to life in the recesses of his mind. His approach had been all wrong— he’d been looking at this from the wrong perspective. No, he needed to get into his neighbor’s head, appeal to his interests, not to Atsumu’s strengths.
Of course this method hadn’t worked; it was never going to! There had only been one answer this entire time and it had been so glaringly obvious. He had been thinking like Atsumu this whole time when he should have been thinking like— well, probably like literally anyone else. Should have been thinking like any rational person would have been.
Triumphant, Atsumu leaps up, grinning, feeling like he’s just nailed a particularly nasty serve, as his head clears and a spotlight shines down on the best thought he’s had in a while.
And so Atsumu does the only rational thing left to do. He buys a plant.
“What the fuck is that.”
Suna and Osamu stand in the open doorway, identical expressions of flat disbelief on their faces, as they watch Atsumu shove the newest addition to their home into the corner of the balcony. He huffs and puffs, arms already feeling like overcooked noodles from carrying this monstrosity up way too many flights of stairs, and the pair of them — the bastards — make no move to help.
He makes sure to edge it close to the railing so it’s extra visible to any plant-loving neighbors they may have. Straightening up, he turns to look at them with his hands on his hips, unable to keep the proud smile off his face.
Osamu raises a brow at him, looking doubtful, still waiting for his earlier question to be answered.
Atsumu glances quickly at the pen marks smudged onto the inside of his wrist before puffing up importantly and waving his hands with too much flourish for someone who doesn’t know the difference between soil and just plain ol’ dirt. “It’s a fiddly ficus!” he announces with all the confidence in the world.
“You mean a fiddle leaf fig tree, scientific name ficus lyrata,” comes Sakusa’s deadpan response. He appears over Osamu’s shoulder, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Atsumu does not deign to give him an intelligent response. Instead: “Why’re there always people who don’t live here, here?!”
“Why do you have a plant,” Suna asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t know a thing about keeping something alive.”
“Whaddya mean why,” Atsumu grumbles, thoroughly offended at being accused of something completely true. “I like plants! I’m interested in biology!”
“The study of plants is botany,” Sakusa informs him at the same time Osamu nearly shouts with laughter, “Yeah sure, the biology of our neighbor more like!”
Atsumu snarls and leaps at his brother with a vengeance while at the same time glancing over at the neighboring balcony to make sure a certain someone isn’t present to overhear the, again, completely true and valid accusations being thrown at him. Thankfully, there’s nothing but bursting greenery over there at the moment, his neighbor probably off doing whatever pretty and intelligent people do on Sunday afternoons. On the other hand, his flailing fists unfortunately do not make contact with Osamu and instead slam into the glass door rather painfully just as Suna snaps it shut before Atsumu can close the distance between them.
He nurses his smarting hand with a soft wail, glaring daggers at both Suna and Osamu as they snicker from the other side of the glass barrier between them. He watches them turn away when they’ve gotten their fill of his misfortune, their hoots of laughter fading as they leave to go do whatever ugly gremlin business they have to do.
Sakusa slides the door back open as Atsumu glances over at his plant, shaking out his hand in an attempt to make the soreness fade a bit faster.
The plant is actually quite pretty and if he was more of a plant person, he’d probably be able to properly appreciate it and all its glory. It’s tall with a thick stem and thick branches leaning out into wide rounded leaves fanning in every direction. The girl at the nursery had told him that it was one of the most popular plants right now, so that seemed like a good enough reason for him to choose it.
Sakusa quietly hands him an ice pack which he takes gratefully, thankful that at least one person is supporting him. Though, Sakusa had found him earlier in the stairwell, sweating and struggling to carry this oversized pot up here and hadn’t bothered to offer a hand, so his support is questionable at most, and bare minimum at best. But Atsumu doesn’t have a lot of people on his side, so he’ll take what he can get.
Reaching out with a gentle hand, Sakusa runs his fingers over the smooth leaves of Atsumu’s newest conquest. After a moment of silence, he asks, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Atsumu looks from him to the plant and then over to the balcony across the way, pressing his lips together as he turns the question over in his head. He glances back to find Sakusa looking at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s being examined a little too deeply. He shifts from foot to foot before offering Sakusa what he hopes to be a confident smile. “Course I do, Omi!”
He glances at the plant again, who innocently waves its leaves back at him, buoyed by the gentle breeze, and hopes he does, in fact, know what he’s doing. He laughs, meeting Sakusa’s gaze again. “Anyway, I can always count on ya if I need a hand, right?”
Sakusa promptly turns and walks all the way out of his apartment.
Atsumu meets his new neighbor for the first time in the middle of the convenience store below his building. It’s not his ideal first encounter—far, far from it. He’s underprepared, underdressed, and (though he will refuse to admit it) a little under the weather. He sniffles in frustration, frowning beneath his face mask as he squats in front of the shelf, trying to find the specific bottle of cough medicine his mother always kept at home. He doesn’t remember it exactly, but he’s pretty sure the bottle was some sort of brown? Maybe? He debates calling home just to ask, but then he’d be subject to days of insistent phone calls when his mother finds out he fell sick.
He studies the rack of medicines again, brow crinkling in thought. Maybe the bottle was red and the liquid was brown? Or was it the other way around? He huffs in frustration, reaching to pick one out, when he hears footsteps shuffling at his side and the sound of someone softly clearing their throat. He turns to look up, squinting at the sudden brightness of the convenience store’s lighting when—Oh. If Atsumu’s seeing celestial beings now, he must be sicker than he thought. He should definitely call home then.
Atsumu blinks the stars out his eyes, still dazed from the way the light is shining into his face, haloing the angel’s face and—hold on. The halo seems more like fluorescent tube lighting than a heaven-given glow and the face is really familiar and—
The angel—no, Atsumu’s neighbor—the neighbor is speaking, mouth moving as he says something to Atsumu and Atsumu is having trouble both getting his mind to register his words and getting his tongue to remember how to form any itself.
“—need help?”
The first sound Atsumu manages to make is an intelligent grunt. His neighbor’s expression doesn’t change and he remains patiently waiting for a real answer.
“Sorry?” Atsumu tries again. He belatedly realizes he’s still squatting in the middle of the way and quickly rises to his feet, finding himself standing a good few centimeters higher than his neighbor. He fidgets beneath his neighbor’s gaze, unwavering even as he angles his face up to speak to Atsumu now.
“Did ya need help?” he repeats, voice steady.
“Oh,” Atsumu’s mouth forms a perfect o as understanding begins to dawn on him. He tilts his head, curious. “Ya work here?”
“No,” his neighbor says. He’s speaking slowly, as though he can’t quite figure Atsumu out. “No, ya just looked real confused sitting here for a while. I thought maybe ya didn’t really know what ya were doin’.”
Atsumu flushes immediately, feeling himself drown in a wave of embarrassment. Maybe a higher being should come down and escort him away. He rubs the back of his neck as he turns away from that piercing stare, looking back at the rows of bottles. “I just couldn’t remember which one my ma would always give me,” he mumbles. His arm drops to gesture floppily at the abundance of cough syrup options.
His neighbor hums in understanding, finally focusing his gaze somewhere other than Atsumu, and reaches for the shelf without hesitation. He plucks a bottle off the rack and offers it to him.
“My grannie swears by this one,” he tells Atsumu. It’s the red bottle he’d been contemplating over earlier and when he looks down at it in his neighbors hands, his memory finally clicks and he can clearly picture the same medicine in his mother’s grasp, held out almost threateningly as she forced a spoonful into his defiant mouth.
“T-Thank ya,” Atsumu mumbles, relieved as he takes the bottle from him. He’s careful not to let their fingers brush, both because he’s shy and because he’s not sure his overwhelmed little heart would be able to withstand so much happening in the span of mere minutes. “This looks right.”
His neighbor nods again and he begins to turn away. “Ya take care now,” he says over his shoulder, one hand half-raised in a wave.
“Wait!” Atsumu blurts out before he can take more than a few steps. He freezes, medicine clutched in one hand, mouth open in shock behind his facemask as he realizes his brain cannot keep up with his treacherous mouth. His neighbor lifts a curious brow at him and he hurries to continue. “I’m yer neighbor.”
There’s a brief pause and then, “I know. Ya got the ficus. Real pretty.”
Atsumu knows—he absolutely knows that he’s referring to the plant but he can’t help the way his ears warm under the compliment as if it is he himself who’s receiving it. The plant probably wouldn’t appreciate it the same way he does anyway. “I’m Miya Atsumu. Jus’ Atsumu’s fine, ‘cause otherwise ya could be talkin’ bout my brother or— or somethin’ and that’d be kinda confusin’ and all.” He snaps his mouth shut, afraid that letting it run any longer will get him rambling with no end. Some first impression this is.
“Kita Shinsuke,” he tells him, inclining his head slightly, polite and proper. “Nice ta meet ya.”
Atsumu doesn’t know what to say, hadn’t planned this far ahead into a real conversation, but it turns out he doesn’t need to because Kita turns to go before he can even come up with anything.
“Hope ya feel better soon,” he says softly, nodding to the bottle of cough syrup.
And then he leaves, hands tucked into his pockets, steps sure and measured, and Atsumu doesn‘t know if he’s just broke out in fever, but he feels hot all over and he isn’t so sure the medicine in his hand is equipped to handle this.
This isn’t hard at all, Atsumu thinks to himself as he dumps a mugful of water into the soil of his ficus. He smiles, proud and pleased, as he watches the water sink, soil dark and damp, and he’s pretty sure his plant thanks him with a particularly strong tremble of its thick branches.
Yeah, so maybe Atsumu has never tried his hand at actually keeping something alive before, but plants are easy. Everyone else could take their concern and their lack of faith in him and stuff it because his plant was still green and growing and, if Atsumu had any say in it, absolutely thriving.
Atsumu leans down to inspect his plant, just as he’s seen Kita do every morning with his own garden across the way. Okay, maybe the leaves have lost a little (only a little!) bit of their luster, but that’s probably because it needs time to get used to this new environment after being moved from the nursery. Probably. Hopefully.
Just to be safe, Atsumu empties another mug full of water into the pot, just to reassure himself. Given that he’d spent an embarrassing amount of money on a plant he doesn’t even truly like nor has any real interest in, he’s pretty stubborn about keeping it alive, if not to impress Kita than just to prove Osamu and Suna wrong.
As he turns away, he mentally reminds himself to find the pamphlet on ficus care that the nursery had given him and that he’d somehow misplaced the same day he’d brought it home. And if he can’t find it, then he reminds himself to spend a few minutes doing some online research.
(This is the same reminder he has given to himself every morning for the past week, and also the same reminder that has slipped his mind every evening when he settles down in his room after his classes and assignments.)
On the upside, the plant has certainly fulfilled its intended purpose because Kita has gone from silently ignoring the existence of anything outside of numerous pots of his balcony to gently smiling at Atsumu every morning before admiring the ficus with a certain warmth in his eyes.
(And no, Atsumu isn’t jealous of his plant, but he does think its a bit unfair that he is the one doing all the work and the ficus is the one reaping the rewards. But fine, he’ll bear it. For now.)
Now, he glances across the way to see Kita stepping out into his garden, cradling a ceramic mug in his hands as he turns his face up towards the sky. He looks pretty, as Atsumu always thinks, but something about the way the setting sun sets his features aglow and turns his silver hair to a blazing bronze makes Atsumu momentarily speechless.
“Hello Atsumu,” Kita greets, shaking him out of his daze.
This is fairly new, the conversations and the small talk and the way Kita’s voice carries across the short distance despite never rising too much to be heard. Atsumu thinks he’d hear him no matter where he was. Atsumu also thinks he’s never had a favorite way to hear his own name, but has long since decided that it sounds, by far, the best coming out of Kita’s mouth.
He waves excitedly at the other, unable to stop the smile from breaking out over his face. “How’s it goin’ Kita-san?” he asks, warm and enthusiastic and eager. Though short, always much too short, Atsumu looks forward to these small conversations whenever the opportunity presents itself to him, appreciates the little wedges of his time that Kita gives Atsumu.
“It was very dry today,” Kita tells him, pausing for a moment to bring his mug to his face and take a slow sip. Atsumu watches with what he’s sure is undisguised adoration, but Kita doesn’t seem to notice, or at least shows no sign if he does. “I think I’ll have to find a spray bottle to give the plants a little bit of a mist for humidity.”
Their conversations have never strayed far from the topic of gardening and the plants they own, but amidst all the talk of watering frequency and soil balance and sunlight exposure, Atsumu has learned that Kita is a third year at the university, an agricultural sciences major, currently occupies the apartment by himself, and inherited his love for gardening from his grandmother who lives in the country side back home. It’s all very basic information, but each tidbit that Kita shares with Atsumu makes his heart flutter a little bit more.
“Right, humidity,” Atsumu repeats, nodding seriously. If he’s being honest, humidity is a concept that escapes him, aside from knowing that it makes walking home all sweaty after practice way worse than usual. He glances over at his plant and wonders if it would appreciate the suffocating heaviness that humidity brings, but he can’t imagine anyone, or anything for that matter, actually enjoying or needing such a feeling.
But Kita is probably not wrong. Kita has probably never been wrong in his entire life.
Kita drains his mug and sets it down to balance on the edge of one of his wooden planters. “Does a ficus need a humid environment?” he asks, tilting his head in curiosity as his gaze turns to the potted plant beside Atsumu. “I actually don’t know too much about them.”
Atsumu panics. Wait, no, Atsumu just grows a little nervous. Maybe a lot nervous. His palms are feeling a little sweaty and his brain proceeds to immediately clock out of work. He tries very hard to remember anything— any single thing— that the girl at the nursery had been babbling about as she’d rung Atsumu up, but comes up completely blank. He glances over at his plant but alas, cool as Kita might think it is, it is not cool enough to have a mouth or coherent thoughts to help Atsumu out of this situation.
Nevermind. Atsumu is panicking.
“Uh,” he starts lamely, just to fill the awkward silence as he wills his brain to do something.
Alright, if he thinks about this logically, he has a fifty-fifty chance of being right. Those are great odds! He looks at his plant again to give it one last chance to evolve into a sentient being before turning back to Kita and nodding enthusiastically.
“Yup!” he claims, subtly crossing his fingers and hoping that the gardening gods are looking down on him just this once. “They sure do.”
Kita smiles and his eyes curve up softly and it makes his face impossibly bright and Atsumu feels like his heart has grown four sizes too big in his chest. “I thought so,” he responds, nodding to himself. He, as usual, has eyes only for the ficus.
“It’s cool that ya know so much about plants,” Atsumu says, quick to move past this dangerous territory, relieved that he hadn’t asked anything further. “Even when ya don’t have it yourself.”
Kita shrugs and leans his forearms against his balcony’s railing. He somehow feels closer than he’s ever been before, even more than back in the convenience store, despite the open air between them. “Plants are a little difficult to understand,” he explains, sounding wistful. “But they’re very generous with the information they’ll give ya. Ya just gotta know what to look for.”
Atsumu looks at his own plant as if it will hand him the pamphlet from the nursery itself. It does not. It just sits there, snug in the soil of its oversized pot, and mocks him for being so clueless. Distantly, Atsumu thinks that maybe Osamu and Suna have been telling it to withhold secrets from him the same way Kita tells his own plants to grow big and strong and healthy.
The clink of ceramic draws Atsumu’s attention back to his neighbor, who is picking up his empty cup and turning to duck between his overflowing pots.
“They’re looking a little limp,” Kita muses, thinking out loud more than he is speaking to Atsumu. His fingers gently rub at a few small leaves as he examines each of them with great care. “I should go find that spray bottle to cheer ‘em up.”
Atsumu resists the urge to grasp at his chest where he is sure his heart is throwing itself against his ribs, eager to leap out and into Kita’s gentle hold. He can’t help it; he’s just so enamoured by the way Kita looks fondly at his garden and how tenderly he speaks of them, admiring them as more than just the soil and leaf and branch that is all Atsumu sees when he looks at them.
“Okay,” Atsumu finds himself agreeing, though he’d like nothing more than to keep Kita here for much longer, capitalizing all his time and his soft smiles and his affectionate words.
“Have a good evening Atsumu,” Kita calls over his shoulder before he is gone, padding softly back into the dimness of his apartment.
Later, Atsumu wanders back into his living room to find Osamu curled up on the couch getting cozy with a bag of shrimp chips.
“Do we have a spray bottle?” he asks him, prodding him in the back of his head. “For the plant.”
Osamu crunches loudly as he thinks for a moment, mouth open, crumbs stuck to the corner of his lips. Atsumu’s mind flashes with the unfortunate memory of Suna licking his brother’s face in a similar situation before; it’s a mental image that he has prayed and prayed to be rid of, but alas, he is still subject to its horror to this day.
“Pretty sure we don’t,” Osamu’s answer draws Atsumu out of his unfortunate thoughts, thankfully. He pauses, then snaps his greasy fingers as if he’s just gotten an excellent idea. “Why dontcha put water in yer mouth and mist it real slow that way?”
Atsumu walks into the kitchen and retrieves a glass of water in silence. He returns to the couch and proceeds to mist Osamu the exact same way he’d just instructed. He does not seem to appreciate it the same way a plant might.
Atsumu runs into Kita several more times at the convenience store, all in various states of disarray. By the third instance, in which he physically careens into Kita just as he rounds the aisle, too busy mentally cursing Osamu for forcing him out of the house for more shrimp chips, Atsumu is sure there is some sort of higher power out there who has it out for him. This can’t be coincidence anymore; he’s a good person, he really is, so why is he fated to only ever see Kita when he’s disheveled and scruffy and somehow always wearing the same pair of ratty sweatpants?
“I’m so sorry, Kita-san!” Atsumu bursts, flustered as he reaches out to steady the other before he can stumble backwards into the shelves from the force of Atsumu plowing through the aisles. He startles himself when he makes contact with Kita, his shoulder warm beneath his touch, and quickly rights him before withdrawing his hand.
“That’s alright,” Kita reassures him with a small smile. He readjusts his grip on his own convenience store haul, arms overflowing, and Atsumu looks down in curiosity and because, as established, he is nosy.
There’s a suspended moment’s silence in which Atsumu just stands there and stares. He clears his throat and asks, “Uh, Kita-san? Ya have a cat?” He can’t remember seeing any sort of life aside from the bursting garden in Kita’s apartment, but with the sheer number of cat food cans in Kita’s arms, he’s clearly feeding a small feline army.
Kita blinks owlishly at him and then looks down at his goods. “Oh, no. No, these are for the strays.”
Atsumu can’t help the high pitched squeak that escapes him, unable to stop it as his heart once again takes a particularly powerful hit from how insanely pure Kita is. He holds up a hand to silence Kita before he can ask if Atsumu’s alright, closing his eyes tight and taking a deep breath to compose himself. They open back up to see Kita looking at him with mild confusion, and Atsumu offers him a weak smile, still feeling like his insides are melting into a puddle of holy-shit-yer-so-perfect.
“That’s awfully nice of ya,” Atsumu finally tells him after he’s found his voice. He gestures at the amount of cans and asks, “Are there a lot of em?”
Kita seems to hesitate for a moment, glancing at Atsumu and then at the cans and finally, to the door. He turns back and says, “Do ya wanna see?”
Atsumu’s brows fly up into his hairline, surprise written all over his face, caught off guard and struck silent by the invitation. Kita’s answering smile is small but it reaches his eyes, and it’s the gleam in them that spurs Atsumu to answer quickly. “I— yeah! Yeah, sure!”
He hurriedly pays for his items — two bags of shrimp chips and a pack of pudding, just because Osamu technically made this happen so it’d be nice to bring something sweet home for him, but also because he swiped Osamu’s wallet earlier so he technically is making this happen — and then follows Kita out into the evening air.
“That’s not yer dinner, is it?” Kita inquires, eying the nutritionally deficient snacks in Atsumu’s bag with a mix of something like disapproval and worry.
“No!” Atsumu shakes his head quickly, bursting to put his doubts to rest. “The chips are fer my brother and the pudding’s just real good. Ya should try it sometime!”
That same smile returns to Kita’s face, the faint one that shows more in his eyes than it does on his mouth, and it stays there as he silently leads them down the narrow alley between their respective buildings. There’s only one or two street lamps to illuminate the way, but it’s enough for Atsumu to see a cluster of bushes towards the end, clumped against a chain fence.
There are indeed several cats there, mostly looking disinterested until they seem to recognize Kita. Some of them eye Atsumu as Kita peels open several cans of food, but they appear to forget his existence as soon as the food is set on the ground for them.
“They don’t know ya, but if ya keep a can close and talk to ‘em nicely, they’ll warm up pretty easily,” Kita tells him from where he is squatting down, already surrounded by a pair of orange cats.
Atsumu slowly sinks to the ground across from him, opening up a can himself and setting it an arm’s length away. Sure enough, it’s soon claimed by a fluffy cat who flicks its gaze up at him for a split second before focusing on polishing off the pungent wet food.
He attempts a soft greeting, trying to keep his voice light and calm, but if he’s being honest, he’s never been good with animals before. He glances at Kita to watch by example, feeling his gaze soften as he observes him.
“Pretty,” he hears Kita murmur as one of the cats leans up into his touch. He has the most endeared smile on his face as it begins to purr. “Good girl. Did ya have a good meal?”
His words and his tone and the sparkle in his eyes reminds Atsumu of quiet mornings and deep green leaves and small flower buds and Atsumu is once again in awe of the way he so generously offers praise without hesitation.
“Ya talk to her just like ya do to yer garden,” Atsumu says absentmindedly, voicing his observations out loud. He doesn’t expect the reaction Kita gives him, blinking up at Atsumu with wide eyes, obviously surprised.
He furrows his brows, mouth slightly parted. “You’ve heard me?”
“Yeah it’s—” Atsumu doesn’t want to say it’s what made him buy a plant in the first place and he also doesn’t want to say it was what drew him to Kita upon seeing him for the first time all those mornings ago, so what he ends up saying is— “It’s really cute.”
Ah, fuck. That was also not what he had wanted to say. It’s certainly true, but he hadn’t planned on revealing such thoughts to Kita. Ever. He mentally reprimands his lagging brain, always one step behind his impulsive mouth, always failing to filter out his thoughts before they’re shoved out into the open where they can embarrass him.
Kita blushes. Kita full on blushes, cheeks glowing pink, bright and apparent even in the lowlight of dusk around them, and Atsumu gapes at him, rendered speechless for the umpteenth time by him.
Their eyes meet for a brief moment before Kita grows impossibly more red, quickly turning his face to the side and pressing the back of his hand to his mouth, shy. He is shy. Because of Atsumu.
Unable to help himself, Atsumu’s brain once again betrays him. “Cute,” he repeats, the word pushing itself out from his mouth without warning.
Even Kita’s ears have flushed by now, a blaring pink peeking through his tipped hair. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles, still stubbornly looking away. “Please don’t say it again.”
Atsumu rests his arms over his knees and cushions his chin into the fold of them. “It is though,” he whispers. “It’s real cute.”
Kita seems to have moved past his shyness and is now pretending to not hear Atsumu, but the color is still high on his cheekbones. He clears his throat. “I read once that plants grow better when ya speak to them,” he explains. His hand moves gently to stroke over the cat’s ears. “And that they grow best when ya say nice things. So I figured that probably applies ta everything, right? It makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does,” Atsumu agrees, head still nestled on his arms, content to just watch him. He nearly topples over when he feels something nudge up against him, looking down to find the cat from before looking up at him with round eyes. Hesitant, slow, careful, he reaches out with one hand, gasping softly when it immediately turns its face up into his palm.
He doesn’t even realize how big he’s smiling, excited at this little success, until he looks up to see Kita watching him and his expression freezes in place, taken aback by the way he looks at him so intently.
“See?” Kita smiles, small, but in spite of that, it curves all the way up to reach his eyes. “Yer doin’ great.”
The honest praise makes that little success burst into a sweeping victory, fireworks going off in his chest, bright and warm and exciting. The feeling cascades over him like a flood of sunlight and he understands, truly, how something like this can push you to grow, because all Atsumu can focus on is the proud gleam in Kita’s eyes and how, now that he’s experienced it for himself, he never wants to go without it.
There is absolutely a higher being out to get Atsumu. There has to be.
“It’s dyin’ Omi,” Atsumu whimpers, kneeling pathetically beside his ficus’s pot, feeling like he might burst into tears any second.
“It’s not dying,” Sakusa replies, and even though Atsumu isn’t facing him, he can hear the way he rolls his eyes as he says it. “It’s drying.”
“It’s not!” Atsumu wails before cutting himself off so as not to attract the attention of anyone else (read: Kita). His voice drops back to a trembling squeak as he shoves his fingers into the very wet soil inside the pot. “Look how much water it’s got! Ungrateful bastard, I do everythin’ for ya and ya can’t even—!”
Sakusa speaks over the profanities he is throwing at the sad looking plant as if he can’t hear him at all. “Atsumu. Have you ever thought that maybe that’s too much water?”
Atsumu freezes, mouth gaping as he turns this suggestion over in his mind. He whips around to look Sakusa in the face with a glare. “Nice try Omi,” he snaps. “I’m not as stupid as ya think okay, I know plants need ta be watered.”
Sakusa huffs, hands twitching from where they are stuffed in his pockets as if he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out and cuffing Atsumu upside the head. “They can drown, you know that right? Have you even looked up how to properly water a plant?”
“Whaddya even know about plants anyway!” Atsumu bickers. At this point, he’s pretty sure Sakusa is absolutely correct, but growing up with Osamu has made him develop the habit of arguing just for the sake of arguing.
Sakusa raises a perfectly manicured brow, looking unimpressed. “I actually know quite a lot,” he counters, lip curling in the beginning of a sneer. “Wakatoshi-kun has a garden almost comparable to your little crush’s over there.” He nods to Kita’s balcony with a dismissive air that Atsumu takes personal offense to. But first:
“So ya knew I was doin’ this wrong and ya didn’t even say anything!” Atsumu leaps up and stabs an accusatory finger at his friend. “Ya murdered my ficus!”
Said ficus is actually still alive, but its leaves have wilted noticeably and their usual glossy green has started to become overtaken by large patches of brown. A couple of leaves have already fallen off and Atsumu, though still a self-declared Not Plant Person, can’t look at it for too long before feeling his eyes begin to water. He has pushed the pot to the other side of his balcony where it’s less visible from Kita’s perspective and also less visible when he himself steps onto his balcony, unable to face his own failure.
“I didn’t do anything,” Sakusa objects.
“That’s the whole damn point!”
The two of them stand there and glare at each other for another heartbeat before Atsumu cracks, throwing his hands up to ruffle his hair in exasperation as defeat crashes over him.
“Ya gotta help me Omi,” he pleads, clasping his hands together. With difficulty, he even adds on, “Please.”
Narrowing his eyes, Sakusa looks him up and down in a way that makes Atsumu inexplicably irritated. Finally, he gives in, huffing another sigh through his nose.
“Fine,” he relents, half rolling his eyes once again. “But you owe me.”
“Course I do,” Atsumu promises with no intent to uphold his word, shamelessly and without a second thought. He looks around and then over to Kita’s balcony, still thankfully empty. He’ll need to get rid of the evidence before Kita returns.
He has to beg Sakusa once again to get him to help drag the heavy plant inside to where he can conceal his failure behind four walls. The pair of them shove it into Atsumu’s bedroom, just below the window where it gets extra sunny every morning. Atsumu yelps as if he is being physically harmed when they get the plant into his room and two leaves fall off, cascading to the floor sadly. Sakusa rolls his eyes at his dramatics.
When the plant is finally resting in its new spot and there’s a sloppy trail of wet soil all throughout Atsumu’s whole apartment, Sakusa turns to him and somehow produces the pamphlet of ficus care out of thin air.
“Where’d ya find that!” Atsumu exclaims, grabbing at it like a lifeline.
“It’s a wonder you find anything in this room,” Sakusa sniffs derisively, sweeping his gaze over the discarded clothes on the floor and loose papers threatening to slide off Atsumu’s desk. “Just go back to the nursery and ask them what to do.”
“They’ll make fun of me,” he whispers in protest, blinking at Sakusa with his best pout. “Omi-Omi can ya—”
“Absolutely not.”
Well, it had been worth a try. Sakusa doesn’t stick around much longer, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the mess the plant had left all over Atsumu’s hallway floors on his way out. Unable to keep himself from pouting now that he’s all alone, Atsumu goes to find a broom and dolefully sets to work sweeping up the wet lumps of soil trailing from his room to the balcony door, feeling like the human embodiment of a grey rain cloud.
He picks up the fallen leaves from earlier with a deep sigh, thinking that this is what complete defeat must feel like, and leans heavily against the broom with his chin atop the handle’s end. From the other side of his glass door, he catches movement in the corner of his eye and glances over to see Kita stepping out into the wild of his balcony, quick to flit towards some smaller pots in the corner. Atsumu watches him, quiet, hidden in the dim of his own apartment. He’s about to return to his cleaning when Kita stops and straightens to look his way; there’s no way he can see Atsumu, but it feels like he’s caught in Kita’s gaze, like he knows he’s there.
But then Kita tilts his head and his brow furrows, his face darkening with an expression Atsumu hasn’t seen on him before. It takes Atsumu a moment to figure it out, sees confusion fade into something more like— concern? It’s unexpected, but that’s certainly what it looks like. It is also fleeting; Atsumu doesn’t have long to contemplate this because Kita has drifted back into the thick of his garden and he can no longer see him clearly.
Atsumu shakes his head, clearing his jumbled thoughts and pushing away the growing feeling of guilt creeping over him, convincing himself that he must be overthinking this. But still, he throws one last half-longing, half-miserable look to the balcony across the way before returning the broom to the hall closet and sulking all the way to his room where he falls into bed, back turned to his wilting plant, and burrows himself into his pillows, his sheets, and his misery.
Atsumu doesn’t have time to wallow in his sadness for long because at the end of the week, he is dragged out of his house to a celebratory dinner Bokuto had insisted everyone come to, in honor of his boyfriend’s newest job. Atsumu’s only met the guy a couple times, but Bokuto literally doesn’t stop talking about how incredible and smart and amazing he is, so at this point, Atsumu’s felt like he’s known him since they were tykes, so he feels like ditching the dinner would be a dishonor to their year-old friendship.
Plus, it’s free meat and free alcohol, so he’d have to be pretty stupid to not go. The atmosphere in the izakaya is light and being surrounded by his rowdy friends brightens Atsumu’s mood considerably, and the beer seems to make everything feel better.
He leaves with a full tummy and fuzzy thoughts, declining offers for rides home in favor of walking so he can enjoy the cool night air. The sky is clear and the streets are humming with activity, shops and restaurants still alight and full as he passes by on his way back home. He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and tilts his head back to admire the stars beginning to peek through the sky’s darkening canvas, smiling slightly as they wink down at him.
The walk home is quick, only a few blocks between his apartment building and the restaurant they’d dined at. He passes by the convenience store just as the door opens, revealing a familiar figure.
It feels a bit like the déjá vu, the light of the store illuminating Kita from the back like some sort of celestial being, and the way Atsumu feels a little bit out of it as he looks at him. Atsumu can’t help the dopey smile that spreads across his face when he sees him, the alcohol making him a little more open with his feelings.
“Heya, Kita-san,” he greets warmly, slowing to a stop as the other comes down the steps of the convenience store.
“Atsumu,” Kita smiles in return. “Ya look like yer havin’ a good night.”
Atsumu wants to tell him he did, but now that he’s here, with Kita, it’s even better, but he isn’t sure he’s had enough beer for a confession so honest. So he decides on a solid nod, his smile still in place. “I did,” he replies.
“Are ya headin’ somewhere?”
Atsumu gestures vaguely upwards to where his apartment probably is. “Just home.”
Kita instructs him to sit down on the curb before he disappears back into the convenience store, coming back out within minutes with an energy drink in his hands. He settles down besides Atsumu and hands it to him with a gentle smile. Atsumu lets their fingers brush as he takes it from him. The touch makes the warm thrum travelling through his body even stronger.
“I don’t know bout yer tolerance but it doesn’t hurt ta have,” Kita explains as he nods to the bottle.
Atsumu can’t help but chuckle, touched by the gesture, turning the drink over in his hands before cracking the lid open. “Yer so cute, Kita-san,” he mumbles absentmindedly, not even aware he’s speaking aloud, before throwing the drink back and downing half of it.
He misses the way Kita blinks in surprise, but he does hear him when he tells Atsumu to slow down. He does, but only slightly, finishing off the drink in a few more mouthfuls while Kita watches him, unimpressed.
Setting the empty bottle aside, Atsumu draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, dropping his forehead into the curve of them. He feels a bit sleepy, but still light and fuzzy, just as he did back at the izakaya.
“Whatcha buy?” he asks, gesturing with his chin to the plastic bag beside Kita’s legs.
Kita ruffles through it for a moment before drawing out a familiar package. “Pudding,” he says, laughter evident in his voice. “Someone told me it’s real good.”
Atsumu’s stomach swoops, an inexplicable feeling of pride and satisfaction washing over him as he watches Kita set the bag aside once more. He was someone. That’s his doing. He laughs to himself, feeling his heart doing something akin to somersaults in his chest, and buries his head back into his arms to hide his smile.
A cautious touch ruffles his hair and he stiffens for a second before relaxing, turning his head slightly to the side to see Kita reaching out to gently pat his head. The touch is soothing, lulling him even more into a daze as his mind begins to slow down. Atsumu gives him a wide smile, pleased.
“Ya know, Kita-san,” Atsumu breathes out, suddenly feeling nothing but honest. “I don’t even really like plants.”
There’s no surprise on Kita’s face, just a knowing gleam to his eyes and an amused curl hanging on the edge of his lips. He lifts a brow at Atsumu and pats his head one more time before letting his hand drop. “Is that so?”
Atsumu nods, pouting slightly. He casts his eyes downwards, a little bit shy, a little bit nervous, but still plowing forward. “I just really. Jus’ really like you.”
The smile Kita gives him in return is bigger than he’s ever seen, his whole face glowing with the brightness of it, eyes crinkling at the corners, curving happily. “I know.”
Atsumu’s head springs up off his arms, neck whipping with enough velocity to make him feel it tomorrow, mouth dropping open. “How’d ya know!” he exclaims, half demanding, half flustered. “Samu told ya, didn’t he!”
“I’ve never spoken to yer brother before,” Kita informs him, voice light.
Atsumu’s mood shifts again and he feels himself deflate as he remembers his similarly deflated ficus up in his room. “I think I killed my plant,” he admits mournfully. “Please don’t be mad.”
Kita rises to his feet and brushes off his pants before holding a hand out to help Atsumu up. “I’m not mad,” he assures him. “Tomorrow ya can tell me what’s wrong with it and we can see what’ll cheer it up, hm?”
The way Kita says we makes Atsumu’s chest swell with emotion and he can’t help the way his lower lip wobbles, overcome with relief. “Ya promise?”
Kita laughs at his pitiful expression, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth. “I promise. Now c’mon, it’s late and ya should get ta bed.”
Atsumu blinks at him, dazed for a moment as his words sink in, and he remains rooted in place, unwilling to let the night end.
“Do ya need me to walk ya up? Or will ya be okay?” Kita glances at him from over his shoulder, a few steps away, belatedly noticing that Atsumu hadn’t followed after him. He must see the impending pout spilling over Atsumu’s lips because he huffs a soft laugh, thoroughly amused and a generous hint of fond. He waves a hand at him, gesturing him forward. “Alright, c’mon then.”
Bold, probably misreading the gesture entirely, Atsumu surges forward and falls into step beside Kita and lets their fingers tangle loosely together. He curls his pinky around Kita’s, looking down at them shyly, fighting off a blush. But then Kita twists his hand and slips it fully into Atsumu’s, palm warm and solid against his, and the blush flares across his cheeks like a wildfire.
“Kita-san,” Atsumu says, though he can’t really find any other words to say.
“Let’s go,” is all Kita replies. The tips of his ears are pink and he’s dutifully avoiding Atsumu’s sparkling eyes, but both these details go unnoticed by Atsumu, who is still trying to fully process this new development.
The walk up to Atsumu’s floor is quiet and Atsumu is sure Kita can clearly hear the way his heart is thundering against his chest because it’s all he can hear, the beat roaring in his ears and thudding inside his cloudy mind. But Kita just smiles contently at him whenever he looks over and that smile remains on his face when they stop at Atsumu’s door.
It grows just a little bit when Kita takes an extra step, closing the already small distance between them and rising up on his tippy toes to gently brush his lips against Atsumu’s cheek.
“Goodnight Atsumu,” he says, and he sounds just like he does when Atsumu overhears him in his garden, except somehow impossibly more fond, more affectionate, more sweet. His eyes gleam with knowing, like he’s fully aware of what he’s doing to Atsumu’s fragile little heart. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
(BONUS:
“Yeah, ya drowned it,” Kita concludes a half-second after looking at Atsumu’s ficus. “Let’s go.” He turns to step out of Atsumu’s room without another word.
“Go?” Atsumu repeats, confused, feeling like he has whiplash from how fast Kita had identified the problem.
“It needs ta be repotted and I think I got a big enough one at home,” Kita explains as if it should have been obvious from the get-go. “And I think it’s in everyone’s best interests that the ficus moves in with me.” The way he says everyone with a meaningful look at the sad plant makes Atsumu hang his head in shame. Without further argument, he goes to lift the potted plant with what’s left of his self-respect.
“Kita-san, are ya sure the elevator’s really broken?” Atsumu groans as he sets the heavy pot down on the landing of the nth flight of stairs they’ve walked up. He leans against the wall and dramatically wipes at the sweat on his forehead, looking over to see Kita coming up the last few steps to join him.
Kita lifts a brow at him. Something new flits through his expression— mischief. “When did I say it was broken?”
Atsumu’s mouth flaps open, feeling thoroughly betrayed. “Kita-san!” he whines, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Ya said ya weren’t mad about the plant!”
“I’m not.” Kita’s voice trembles with barely concealed laughter. “I’m just enjoyin’ the show.”
Atsumu blushes despite himself before shaking himself off and straightening up importantly. He puffs out his chest and flexes his arms a couple times, just for good measure. “Couldn’t resist all o’ this, huh?”
“Isn’t that what ya wanted?” Kita says over his shoulder as he begins to climb the next flight of stairs. “All those weeks ago.”
It dawns on him all of a sudden and Atsumu makes a strange distressed noise in the back of his throat, unable to form real words as Kita turns around to look at him, sharp eyes twinkling with a dangerous sort of amusement.
“Please Atsumu, no one just stands on their balcony at seven in the morning in the tiniest pair o’ shorts known ta mankind for no reason. Now hurry up.")