Work Text:
1
It really couldn't be fully blamed on Atsumu. Inunaki knew what he doing, riling him up. As if Atsumu's new sweatpants being splashed by an idiot driving through a puddle that morning wasn't enough to sour his mood, it was made worse by the libero's taunting.
"Weak," he says for the third time, bumping Atsumu's hit. Of course he got stuck with him in drills today.
"Shut up," Atsumu grumbles under his breath, smacking the ball a little harder.
Inunaki's receive doesn't wobble in the slightest, and the ball bumps in a perfect curve back to Atsumu.
"You're making it so easy."
Atsumu smacks it harder. Still no sign of struggle. So he hits it even harder.
"Atsumu, calm down," Meian says from beside him, spiking across to Sakusa next to Inunaki.
The setter does not heed his warning, hitting with more force each time. Finally, Inunaki's knee drops lower than usual, and his receive can just barely be described as sloppy for a pro.
But just as Atsumu is about to gloat at his victory, Inunaki directs a smug smile at him and points to his foot. Atsumu's shoe, not even his actual foot, but the very tip of his right shoe is just barely hovering over the line.
He yells— though it's more like a growl— in frustration, swinging his arm just as the ball falls in front of him. Unfortunately, he hits it with more anger than purpose, so it isn't properly aimed at his drill partner. Inunaki makes a last ditch effort, stepping to the side to get it, but the strong ball smacks off his arms at an odd angle. And right into Sakusa's face.
"Oh, shit!" he exclaims as Sakusa clutches at his face with a pained noise.
Atsumu recoils with a hiss at the sight, but soon follows his captain to the other side of the court where Sakusa curls his head and shoulders into himself.
"You okay?" Inunaki asks warily.
Sakusa takes his hands away from his face, but clamps them back on at the sight of blood. Then he lifts his head slowly, sending a withering glare in Atsumu's direction.
"Miya," he seethes through his hands.
"Me?!" Atsumu cries. "It was his suck ass receive that—"
"Ten laps. And apologize. Now," Meian orders, taking a towel from one of the managers and handing it to Sakusa.
Atsumu flails his arms between the three men, fumbling to get a word out. This is not his fault. Entirely, at least.
"But it wasn't even—"
"Fifteen."
"Okay, damn! Sorry!"
Sakusa isn't even looking at him at this point, focusing on pinching the bridge of his nose while he's led away to a bench.
"Twenty laps," Meian says, unimpressed by the outburst. "And if ya can't get a real apology out after that, it's five more."
Atsumu groans like the immature twenty-three year old he is and starts on his laps.
For the entirety of his punishment, Sakusa is out of commission on the sidelines, seated on a bench while he waits for the bleeding to go down. During Atsumu's first three laps, he makes sure to direct an irritated look at the setter each time he passes. Then he gives up, doing his best to pay attention to the play being practiced on court.
When his twentieth lap is finally completed, Atsumu comes to a stop in front of Sakusa. After a few moments taken to catch his breath, he gives Sakusa a tiny bow of his head and plants his hands on his hips as he continues to pant.
"Sorry. 'Bout your face."
Sakusa doesn't respond, only glaring up at him.
"Does it throb?"
"Yes."
"Mm. Well if it's broken, ya get a free nose job with insurance."
It's almost ominous how he can see something deep inside of Sakusa crack through the tiny shift of expression in the man's eyes. Before Atsumu can react, Sakusa swings the bloody towel at him, smacking his bicep painfully and staining his t-shirt.
"Aw, c'mon!" Atsumu cries, jumping back. "That's disgustin' Omi!"
"Five laps Atsumu!"
2
Four days later, Atsumu and Sakusa have gotten past the incident enough to sit across from each other at a team dinner after a game. It helped that Atsumu had been given another five laps when he requested an apology for the blood stains on his shirt.
And today after the game, when asked about the white strip bandaged across the bridge of his nose, Sakusa stared at Atsumu behind the camera right in the eyes as he gave the answer, "accident during practice."
Now they sit in silence at the end of the table, both reading over the menu options while trying to ignore Bokuto's loud socializing with a separate party.
"What're ya gettin'?" Atsumu asks.
At some point, Sakusa would have been put off, or even annoyed by Atsumu initiating small talk. But in recent months, he's finally come to accept the setter's inability to sit in silence for longer than two minutes.
"I don't know," he answers, glancing up at Atsumu then back to his menu. "I usually get the udon but I'm not really in the mood for it."
Atsumu hums in understanding, putting his menu down. "I'm gettin' the curry."
Sakusa gives a tiny nod, not looking up from the menu as Atsumu watches his eyes flit back and forth across the words. His hair is a bit tousled, as none of them ever have the energy after a match to properly fix theirs up after a match, and the bags under his eyes suggest he may have benefited from going straight home rather than agreeing to dinner from his coach's pocket.
If Sakusa notices Atsumu's staring, he doesn't say anything. Maybe it's just something else he's learned to get used to.
He still has his eyes on the menu when he picks up his already almost emptied water glass. When he tilts it to get the last couple sips from the bottom, the rim taps against his nose and he jolts the cup away from himself with a wince, shutting his eyes tightly.
Atsumu sharply inhales at the sight, also wincing as Sakusa carefully brings two fingers to push beside the pain.
"Sorry," Atsumu says quietly, probably unheard by the teammates next to them.
Sakusa opens his eyes as he lowers his hand, then gives a shake of his head as if to say don't worry about it. But how can Atsumu not when his nose reddens by three shades every time something so much as taps it?
The waitress comes back, and it's a bit of an ordeal for her to get everyone's orders down. Sakusa gets the curry.
When the food finally comes, Atsumu's mouth waters at the sight of his bowl. They quickly say a blessing and the table of hungry athletes starts to dig in.
"Tsum-tsum," Bokuto says from a couple seats down with a full mouth. "Can I have some takoyaki?"
Atsumu looks to where Bokuto points his chopsticks at Atsumu's side dish. And he considers for a second before the scooting the plate closer to himself.
"No."
"Aw!"
Atsumu ignores his whining, instead looking across the table to where Sakusa is chewing his first bite of curry. He swallows and takes a sip of his new glass of water, then looks back at the Atsumu. The blonde holds up a thumb in question, and Sakusa nods in approval.
Atsumu finds great pride in the fact that his suggestion has been Omi approved, and is almost too distracted by Sakusa's content face as he takes another bite to notice Bokuto's sneaky hand coming closer to his plate.
He does notice, though, and tries to bat the hand away. But Bokuto doesn't give up, dodging the swat and stabbing his chopsticks into a piece of takoyaki.
"Hey!" Atsumu scolds, reaching across the table to try to get it back.
In the process, his elbow knocks over his glass, and water and ice cubes spill onto the table. But mostly into Sakusa's lap.
The whole table freezes as they turn their heads to Sakusa, who silently puts the cup back into a standing position and glares up at Atsumu, still leaned over the table, with a darkened expression.
"…My bad."
"Sit. Down."
Atsumu follows the order immediately, for whatever reason, and Sakusa accepts napkins from teammates to dry his clothes the best he can.
"Ya have your bag, right?"
"I don't want to wear my sweaty jersey shorts," Sakusa says with disgust, offended that it was even suggested.
"Right," Atsumu sighs, picking his own bag up from the floor to open. "Well I have an extra pair. They're clean, don't worry."
He holds them out for longer than he wants to as Sakusa contemplates whether or not he wants to accept. But he finally does, snatching the shorts away and storming off to the bathroom.
"You've got a gift for tickin' him off," Meian comments, getting a chorus of agreement from the table.
It's all in jest, but Atsumu still slouches in defeat at the fact that it's so true. He doesn't do it on purpose. That's a lie. He doesn't do it on purpose when it counts.
It doesn't really matter when he's taunting Sakusa when he's in the lead of their serve competition to get a rise out of him, or when he's teasing him about how his poor interview skills are. Because Sakusa will just snap back or scoff and that'll be that.
But times like this, when they were truly getting along and Atsumu was so close to starting real conversation with him, it's just his bad luck striking.
He's so stuck in his head about it he doesn't notice Bokuto bravely stealing another piece of takoyaki as Sakusa stalks back to the table with a scowl and Inarizaki branded shorts from Atsumu's third year.
No one dares to speak at he pulls out his chair harshly and takes his seat. Except Atsumu, that is.
"I'm sorry," he says.
The clear sincerity in his tone makes Sakusa look almost confused at the words as he looks over at Atsumu.
"…Okay."
He focuses back on his food, and Atsumu smiles. Sakusa is the type to simply acknowledge an apology when it's given, which perturbed Atsumu at first.
"I'm bein' the bigger person here and apologizin', the least ya can do is say it's fine or somethin'!"
"Why would I say it's fine, when it's not fine? If it were fine, it wouldn't warrant an apology in the first place."
He smiles at the memory from their first month playing together, when Atsumu had mistakenly scared the shit out of Sakusa, jumping out from behind a locker room shower curtain thinking it was Bokuto.
"Careful, you're drooling."
He quickly brings a hand to wipe at his mouth, but when no saliva is found, he whips his head to the side to glare at a smirking Inunaki who had mumbled in his ear.
3
Sakusa is just about on Atsumu's last nerve today.
All morning, his hits have been weak, and his defense lacking. Atsumu called him out on it a couple times, of course, but when he would usually get a snappy retort, Sakusa simply rolled his eyes or looked away instead.
It's obvious that something is bothering him with the way he mopes around the court, but when questioned by Meian, he had brushed it off, saying he simply didn't sleep well. But that excuse won't get him anywhere with the standards Atsumu has for his hitters.
They begin a scrimmage to wrap up the last hour of practice, and Sakusa somehow starts to perform even worse. He doesn't attempt a single jump serve and all of his receives are wobbly. When he spikes one of Atsumu's perfect sets out of bounds, it's the last straw for the setter.
He mumbles out a barely audible, "my bad," and Atsumu stares in disbelief.
"Alright," he finally snaps, "what the hell is with ya today? Your dog die or somethin'?"
He really meant no harm. It's just a saying. It's totally a saying. When people get all moody, someone might ask if their dog died. It's a thing. He didn't mean anything by it.
But when Sakusa's bottom lip starts to quiver and his brows scrunch into each other in a devastated way, Atsumu knows he fucked up. And then Sakusa nods.
"Yes."
With the way his voice cracks, it's clear he'll start sobbing if he attempts to open his mouth again. Atsumu, on the other hand, can't seem to pick his jaw up off the ground. This is just his fucking luck.
It's almost comical how every head in the gym mechanically turns to Atsumu. But it's not comical, because they're all looking at him so disapprovingly you'd think he killed Sakusa's dog himself.
"Uh, sorry, Omi," he offers hesitantly.
No response.
"To be honest, I forgot ya even had a dog when I—"
A very unexpected, almost pathetic, tiny sob cuts him off as Sakusa drops his face into his hands.
"Atsumu," Meian hisses out as a scold. Everyone else seems to still be in a state of shock.
The setter throws his hands up. He was apologizing, for real. He just can't do anything right in this situation, can he?
Bokuto manages to lead Sakusa to the sidelines with a hand hovering over him like he'll explode. The coaches are just as perplexed by the sight as the team, glancing at each other warily as Bokuto explains.
"We've lost how many games with him?" Inunaki asks. "So many, and I've never seen him shed a tear. Not once."
"You broke him, Atsumu," Tomas says, and Atsumu is very annoyed by how serious he sounds.
"How was I s'posed to know?" he defends, trying not to reach a volume Sakusa would hear him at.
"Back to it!" Foster orders, and they can all see Sakusa trudging in the direction of the locker room before continuing with the match.
By the end of practice, when they're all filtering into the locker room, Atsumu can't shake the reproachful looks directed at him.
"What d'ya want from me?!" he finally cries, tired of the stares piercing the back of his head while he changed.
"You have to apologize," Barnes tells him.
"I did! You all heard me, I said sorry!"
"Dude," Inunaki says, clasping a hand on his shoulder. "You made Sakusa cry. You've upset a certain balance in the world, and I think the only way to fix it is if Sakusa makes you cry."
"Not happenin', even if I let him try," Atsumu says, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. "But if it makes y'all feel better, I'll go over and apologize more thoroughly."
"It's not supposed to make us feel better," Meian says. "It's supposed to make Sakusa feel better."
Atsumu doesn't bother trying to talk back, especially considering the stern face his captain glares at him with.
"I'll go over now," he grumbles, slamming his locker closed and brushing past to leave.
He stops for a couple things on the way to make his apology more sincere (and so he doesn't have to do as much talking) and heads towards the spiker's apartment. Up the fancy elevator and two doors down, he stops at Sakusa's door.
"Omi, open up!" he calls after the third knock. "I know you're in there, I saw ya in the window!"
He knocks again, and the door is finally swung open. His fist falls lamely from where it would have hit the wood, almost making him drop the brown paper bag hung on the crook of his elbow.
"What?" Sakusa snaps, sniffling immediately after.
Atsumu expects the usual scowl from the other man, but is instead met with a more miserable look. Sakusa's eyes are rimmed red, and only some of his messy curls peek out onto his forehead from under the tightened hood of his black sweatshirt. Blue socks peek out from his sweatpants and, oh, they have little dogs on them. As if this couldn't get more depressing.
In the two seconds Atsumu doesn't immediately respond, Sakusa becomes impatient enough to start closing his door again. Atsumu pushes a hand against it, expecting a fight, but the door falls open against Sakusa's weak attempt to shut it and his arm drops back down to his side.
"I came to apologize again," Atsumu explains. "It sucks. Your dog, I mean. No, I mean, your dog doesn't suck, but the fact that— whatever, look, I didn't mean to make ya cry in the middle of practice. My bad."
He pulls something out of the paper bag, shoving it towards Sakusa. It's a card, the front reading With Sympathy in elaborate lettering with pastel flowers bordering the edges. Sakusa takes it slowly with two hands, glancing up at Atsumu before slowly opening it.
"…To Omi. Wishing you peace and comfort in this time of loss. May you find comfort in knowing they will rest eternally, and in my never ending love for yo—"
"Okay I didn't read it before I signed it."
Sakusa closes the card like it's a book, and holds it back out to Atsumu.
"No, it's for you," the blonde says, pushing it back to him.
"I read it," Sakusa says, holding it out again. "I don't need it anymore."
"I gave ya heartfelt words of sympathy, the polite thing to do is keep it."
"You didn't even write it."
"That's the point of buyin' cards from the store! They convey what you're tryna say so ya don't have to write it all out yourself."
"This conveys what you want to say?"
"Yes."
"So you hope I find comfort in your never ending love for me?"
"Okay, geez," Atsumu huffs, snatching the card back with a reddening face. "If ya don't want it just say so."
"I did."
"Well, accept this at least."
He holds out the paper bag with a hand on the bottom, and Sakusa gives it a once over before hesitantly taking the handles with the pinch of his fingers. He pulls them apart to look down inside, blinking at the contents.
"Onigiri Miya," he states at the familiar wrapping.
Atsumu nods. "Just the plain chicken kind, no seaweed wrap or seasoning on the rice."
He watches Sakusa's face for his reaction, waiting for the little hint of a twinkle in his eyes at Atsumu's thoughtfulness. So you can imagine Atsumu's surprise when tears start to well up in his eyes instead.
"Whoa, whoa, uh—"
Sakusa takes a deep breath in as if he's gearing up to start full on crying, but holds it in by biting his lips together.
"C'mon, what now?" Atsumu asks. "Ya always get this kind to-go, I thought ya'd appreciate it."
"They were always f—"
Bag handles still in hand, he brings the heels of his palms to press into his wet eyes.
"They were for Yuki."
Yuki… as in the dog. The dead dog. Perfect.
"Ya bought onigiri for your dog?"
Sakusa nods, breathing in quickly through his nose. When he tries to shudder out his breath, it comes out an involuntary sob instead. Sniffling, hiccuping, tears down his face— yeah, he's crying. And it's somewhat Atsumu's fault. Again.
Atsumu's hands hover around Sakusa's figure as he continues to makes pitiful little noises with his head drooped in his hands. The only comfort he has for himself in this moment is knowing Sakusa probably won't tell the team about his fuck up.
"Look, I can get ya another kind," Atsumu offers. "Umeboshi, right? Here just, c'mon."
He steps inside, successfully forcing Sakusa to take a step back. He leads Sakusa to the living room with a touch to his elbow, and the latter shows his red face again, still sniffling. He follows directions to sit on the couch, but refuses to let go of the paper bag when Atsumu tugs at it.
"Okay… keep it," he says, slowly backing up. "I'll be back in a few."
He works up a sweat rushing all the way to his brother's restaurant, but he makes it back in a little less than half an hour. He gives two courteous knocks before opening the door to the apartment and slipping off his shoes.
He makes his way to the living room with the new onigiri and finds that Sakusa hasn't migrated from where he left him, but he has changed positions to lie on his side. His now free head of curls rests on a throw pillow, and he hugs the paper bag to his chest with one hand while the other holds his phone up to his face.
Upon further inspection, he's scrolling through pictures. All of Yuki. Atsumu sets his bag down on the coffee table, then pulls the armchair to sit beside the couch and watch over the armrest.
"Whoa," he says at the video Sakusa is stopped on. "Didn't know ya had him that long."
In the video, the little Omi on camera can't be older than middle school. He's directing his puppy to sit, roll over, turn in a circle, and bark on command. And he has a faint little smile on his face the whole time.
"I got him when I was twelve. He was just four months in this."
He's slightly muffled by half of his face being pressed into the pillow, but Atsumu lends an attentive ear, admiring how Yuki gives Sakusa his paw obediently before taking a treat.
"He was nice the couple times I met him."
"You said he stank."
Atsumu cringes. "I was just messin'."
Sakusa continues to scroll, seemingly unbothered by the man hovering over him looking at each picture and short video. They're mostly only of Yuki, occasionally with one of Sakusa's nieces, but eventually he stops on a selfie.
Yuki is smiling in the weird way that huskies are able to, and his big blue eyes look right at the camera. Beside him, with an arm hugging around his bountiful fur, is Sakusa. He presses his face beside Yuki's, looking at the camera as well. Atsumu can't look away from his expression.
He doesn't think he's ever seen a smile like that from Sakusa. They're usually more sinister and mocking, like when Atsumu fucks up a serve and embarrasses himself. Or triumphant, like when he gets a service ace and rubs it in Atsumu's face.
It's a close-lipped, genuine, sweet smile. It reaches up to his eyes, making them squint ever so slightly, and raising his cheekbones. He sort of looks cute like that.
The dog of course. The dog looks cute. Totally not…
Atsumu mentally strangles himself at the thought as Sakusa scrolls past it, sort of wishing he had gotten a longer look at the photo.
"So," Atsumu starts tentatively, "what happened?"
Sakusa places his phone screen down on the cushion, heaving a deep breath in and out.
"He got old. I came home from practice on Wednesday and he was on my bed, lying on my pillow. He knows he's not supposed to do that. I told him to get off."
Another deep breath. Then in a wobbly voice he gets out,
"He was dead and the first thing I did was scold him."
He shifts to his stomach, burying his face fully in the pillow. Today is Friday, Atsumu mentally notes as Sakusa groans into the fabric. They had Thursday off. He must have been wallowing like this for over twenty-four hours.
He looks like he's gearing up to starting crying again, and while Atsumu could try his best to handle that, he doubts he'll be welcome when the tears start pouring out again.
"I'll uh, get outta your way. See ya at practice?"
He gets a tiny grunt in response. It sounds relatively affirmative.
"Alright, well. Call if ya need anythin', yeah?"
"Mm."
Atsumu stands, scooting the bag on the table an inch closer to the edge as he passes. Once at the door, he puts his shoes back on and takes one more look at Sakusa's still figure.
Not much he can do about this. He's sure that his breathing down Sakusa's neck was doing nothing to help. So he steps out, only able to hope that Sakusa will make an appearance at practice tomorrow.
Sakusa does show up to practice the next day, with puffy red eyes and nods of thanks to the condolences offered by teammates. To his credit, his playing doesn't suck. Not perfect, but not terrible.
Atsumu isn't sure how long it takes to get over your childhood dog dying, but over the next couple weeks Sakusa slowly starts to lose the despondent attitude. And Atsumu likes to think his act of dropping by with takeout as an excuse to keep him company a few times contributed to the lift in spirits.
4
"Omi, did ya get my text last night? It was in the group chat."
Sakusa hums pushing Atsumu further into his stretch with a knee on the setter's back. Most of them still linger on the court after their win against the Falcons, doing post-match stretches while players and coaches get pulled aside for interviews.
"The one about your birthday?"
"Yeah. Ya comin'?"
"…I guess."
Atsumu grins at this, sitting back up as Sakusa's knee slides off of him. Before he can offer to return the favor, Sakusa is leaving with a frown towards the manager summoning him for an interview on the sideline.
"Miya-senshuu!" a voice calls as he stands.
He turns to see a woman waving at him, a microphone in hand and camera man behind her. "Can we get a quick interview?"
He jogs over, greeting her with his media perfect smile. He listens intently to give thorough answers to all of her questions despite his exhaustion, only faltering once when he catches an entertaining interaction over her shoulder.
Bokuto sneezes, a horrific, loud, booming, impressive sneeze, and not one part of him thinks to hold an arm up to his mouth. As if that weren't enough to get Atsumu to smile in amusement, Sakusa makes the most disgusted face he's ever directed at Bokuto. It seriously has to be a record.
And for that reason, Atsumu chuckles in the middle of the reporter's question, causing her to look back in curiosity.
"Sorry," he says, waving it off. "Omi-kun just made a funny face. What was the question?"
"Omi?"
Hopefully the way he stiffens isn't too visible on live television. The reporter is still looking back at the team as he does, but finally turns with a smile.
"Like, Sakusa Kiyoomi? You guys call him Omi?"
"Uh, not all of us."
"That's so cute, who came up with that?"
"Uhh—"
"Well, we'll let you go. Thank you Miya-senshuu, we'll hit back to you Takubo."
He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding when the camera falls and the reporter thanks him again.
It'll be fine. It was such a quick little slip-up, there's no way anyone really paid attention to it. And if they did, they wouldn't care. Who cares about a stupid little nickname that a volleyball player gave to one of his teammates?
Over the next few days, he finds that a lot of people care about the stupid little nickname he gave to his teammate.
Fans are calling out "Omi!" at their meet-and-greet the day after the game. It starts to be used as a hashtag on twitter. Apparently Komori called his cousin to mockingly rub in the nickname's new popularity.
Atsumu is screwed.
"Omi, I said I'm—"
"Don't. Call me that."
"Well I can't just start callin' ya Sakusa all the sudden."
"You most certainly can. And will."
"Nope," Atsumu says, tying his shoe on the locker room bench.
"Miya—"
"Listen, one more time, I am sorry."
Sakusa purses his lips at the apology, but doesn't complain.
"…Fine."
"I'm truly sorry, Omi."
Sakusa slams his locker. "You have lost any privilege to call me anything other than my actual name!"
"So I had the privilege at some point?" Atsumu smirks, following him out past teammates who roll their eyes at his antics.
"No."
"Omi, it's not as bad as you're makin' it out to be."
"Sakusa. Sa. Ku. Sa."
"I told ya, I can't call ya that, it just doesn't slip off the tongue!"
"Well you're not calling me Omi anymore."
"Kiyoomi, then?"
Sakusa freezes in place, narrowing his eyes at Atsumu with an unreadable expression. It was supposed to be another little jab at Sakusa, another joke, but instead the two are left staring at each other in an awkward silence. Atsumu regrets the name ever coming out of his mouth.
"…Sakusa it is."
"Good."
The surname doesn't last Atsumu thirty minutes into practice before he reverts back to the nickname, and Kiyoomi doesn't bother to correct him.
5
"Happy birthday Miyas, happy birthday to you!"
The twins blow out the twenty-four candles (Aran refused to count out forty-eight) on the cake sat on one of the tables of Onigiri Miya after hours. Their friends clap around them as some of the lights are switched back and they get to socializing around the table.
The Inarizaki alumni had seated themselves closest to the twins in the middle of the restaurant tables pushed together, and at each end sit the MSBY team and some of Osamu's college friends. Gifts and envelopes start to stack up in front of them one by one as Osamu manages to wrangle the cake cutter from Atsumu and start distributing slices.
People are standing up, sitting back down, grabbing cake slices, and placing down cards, but Atsumu is able to peek through limbs and smiling faces to get a look at Kiyoomi further down. He had taken the end seat, listening to the conversation happening between Bokuto next to him and Tomas across from him. Somehow in all the chaos he's able to sense Atsumu's eyes on him, just as he picks up the umeboshi onigiri in front of him.
Kiyoomi isn't big on sweets. He doesn't hate them, but he doesn't prefer them either. Even if Osamu and Atsumu hadn't blown on the cake, he probably would have denied a slice. Why Atsumu knows this, he's not totally sure. But he demanded that his brother leave one onigiri out so Kiyoomi would have something to snack on too.
When they make eye contact, Atsumu gets a grateful nod before Gin blocks his view to grab a slice of cake, earning him an elbow to the gut that he's left offended and confused by.
"Start opening presents twins," Aran says from across the table, and conversation dies down to watch them.
They open boxes of homemade soaps Aran's mother insisted he deliver, and photo albums from Kita that he already added a few pictures to for them. Bokuto got Osamu a three month paid gym membership and he doesn't know whether or not to be offended. Suna got Atsumu an EJP baseball cap and gets a similar reaction.
Then they start to open the cards, trying and failing to keep their gift cards separate as they read birthday wishes. The pile starts to shrink, and Osamu hands Atsumu a blue envelope addressed to Miya A, from Sakusa K.
He filters out the noise as he opens it, intent on being fully focused on the writing that's longer than he would have expected.
Miya,
It's a wonder you've managed to survive this long. Mainly because I'm surprised I haven't killed you yet.
But your constant need to annoy me aside, you have proved to be a more than tolerable teammate. I'm grateful for your efforts to deepen our friendship, and against my will I've found myself enjoying your company.
"Alright," Atsumu says above the chattering, waving the card that he barely got halfway through reading. "Who's this actually from?"
There's silence as he looks around the table. People lean over to get a better look at the card then sit back in their seats, and he can't find the guilty face among them.
"What d'ya mean?" Osamu asks, looking over Atsumu's shoulder as he brings the card back down.
"I mean there's no way Omi wrote this," he chuckles. "More than tolerable teammate? Grateful for my efforts to deepen our friendship? Finds himself enjoying my company? Fess up, whoever it—"
There's a loud scrape of a chair at the end of the table, and heads whip to the sound as Kiyoomi stands. He turns on his heel, grabbing his MSBY jacket from the back of the chair and walking out of the restaurant without a word as the bell rings above the door.
Atsumu's stomach drops worse than when his brother caught him looking at their aunt's sexy firemen calender in middle school.
There are immature 'ooo's (thank you MSBY) as Atsumu focuses back on the card again. Kiyoomi actually wrote this?
When I first moved to Osaka, it felt that the last thing I needed was an idiot breathing down my neck, trying to force me to go out with him and the team. But your incessant knocking on my door and insistence that I join you all ended up being helpful, and I adjusted to the new city and team better than I expected to.
And I appreciated the onigiri and takeout you brought over after Yuki passed, even if it was only to apologize for taking part in me humiliating myself in front of the team. I despise handling people when they're emotional, so I can empathize with any discomfort you fought through when I was dispirited.
Happy birthday, hopefully you won't spill water on anyone when you use this.
— Sakusa
Atsumu's thumb holds the two-free-dinners voucher in place against the blank side of the card, and normally his mouth would be watering at the thought of that curry that never ceases to hit the spot. But instead he's panicking. He fucked up, again.
"Maybe go apologize," Osamu grumbles after reading, and it snaps Atsumu into action.
He stands with the card and struggles to get into his hoodie as he pushes out the door.
"Omi!" he calls, but the figure down further down the sidewalk only quickens his pace.
So Atsumu breaks into a jog to catch up. Even once he's at Kiyoomi's side, the other man doesn't stop, his gaze dead set in front of him as Atsumu studies his indignant expression. He holds back a smile at how the twin beauty marks on Kiyoomi's forehead move with each little twitch in his furrowed brow. But this isn't time to admire Kiyoomi's pretty face, or unpack the fact that he is admitting to himself that there is a time to admire Kiyoomi's pretty face.
"I'm sorry."
No response.
"Omi, I seriously didn't think—"
"Did you have to read it off in front of everyone?"
"I know, I know, I didn't mean to—"
"And was what I wrote so ridiculous that you couldn't even entertain the idea of it being from me?"
He's finally come to a stop, turning resolutely to face Atsumu full on.
"No!" the blonde answers quickly, and a little too loudly in the late night.
There's still an angry wrinkle in Kiyoomi's brow, just barely hiding the more dejected feeling he has as he waits for Atsumu to continue.
"It was just— I mean, you've never said anything like that before! I was caught off guard. Doesn't mean I think it's ridiculous."
Kiyoomi's face softens just a bit. Atsumu yet again has to hold back a smile, because the intimidating scowl the spiker normally wears has morphed into something closer to a pout and there's definitely a pink tint to his cheekbones.
"You're a dick."
"Yeah, okay."
"It's not easy to say stupid things like that," Kiyoomi explains. "I thought this was a good opportunity to write it down instead."
"It was," Atsumu agrees. "And it wasn't stupid. Corny, but not stupid."
Kiyoomi scoffs, turning to leave again but stopped by Atsumu grabbing his arm.
"I'm glad I was able help to ya," he says, dropping the arm. "I didn't wanna let ya hole up in your room last year, but I was also sorta worried that I pushed it too far sometimes. It's good to know I didn't."
The taller man huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at the sidewalk. "You did sometimes."
"I consider ya a friend too, Omi," Atsumu continues, ignoring the comment. "And I enjoy your company too. Why else would I bother ya to go out with us all the time?"
Kiyoomi doesn't answer, his gaze fixed on the card in Atsumu's hand. "You're not going to keep that, are you?"
"I'm gonna cherish it, Omi."
"You're insufferable."
"Come back to the party."
Kiyoomi visibly cringes at the request, and Atsumu doesn't hold back his amused smile this time.
"You're lucky if I even show my face in practice tomorrow after you read that out loud."
Now Atsumu cringes.
"I really am sorry," he says, curving his brows into each other and offering a pitying smile, something he doesn't think he's ever done for anyone other than his mother.
And may it go down in the history books, that on October 5th, 2019, at 11:42 pm in the streets of Osaka, Sakusa Kiyoomi directed a genuine, tiny smile back at Miya Atsumu. In the subtext, make sure to include that he rolled his eyes while he did it.
"I know," he says quietly, turning to continue the path to his apartment. "Good night."
Atsumu manages to pull a strangled "G'night!" out of his ass a full five seconds after Sakusa turns his back.
+1
"I'll go easy on you next time we do receive drills so you look good in front of Coach."
"I can buy dessert after if you take me."
"Tsum-tsum, I'll massage your shoulders after practice!"
"Yeah I'm not willing to top that."
Atsumu shakes his head, closing his locker. When it was revealed Kiyoomi gifted him a voucher for the team's favorite post-match restaurant, it became a war of 'who can entice Atsumu's ego the most'.
"What makes y'all think I haven't already found a date to take?"
When the locker room erupts into laughter, he decides he won't be taking anyone in here as his plus one.
They continue to bother him throughout practice, offering insincere apologies for their laughter and coming up with more incentives. At some point the things they suggest are actually worth more than a meal, but they just don't give up.
Foster is fed up with the distraction, so instead of ending practice on time, he orders them to do ten laps. Somehow this is Atsumu's fault, according to the groans directed at him from Bokuto, Inunaki, and Tomas, AKA the one's who are actually to blame. Atsumu ignores whatever stupid conversation they have around him as they run, instead focused on Kiyoomi keeping a steady pace ahead of them.
Would it be weird to invite the person who had given him the voucher in the first place? Certainly not. Would Atsumu act weird the whole time, now he's realized his apparent crush on that person? Probably.
But he speeds up anyway, leaving his yapping teammates to catch up to Kiyoomi and match his pace.
"What?" he asks, sensing Atsumu gearing up to ask him something.
"D'ya wanna— are those my shorts?"
Kiyoomi shrugs. Atsumu leans forward to get a better look.
"Those are my shorts."
"I just grabbed the first thing out of my laundry, okay?" he snaps.
Atsumu puts together, at an Olympic level speed, that the restaurant water spilling incident was over a month ago, so for his shorts to have ended up in Kiyoomi's laundry today, he would have had to be wearing them at home.
He could jump up and click his heels together in hopeful glee, or he could not make a fool of himself and just do what he came to do. So he clears his throat just about as nonchalantly as he can, which isn't much.
"Okay. Well, you're the only one who hasn't tried to get that free meal outta me."
"I was the one who gave it to you."
"Right, but since you're also the only one who hasn't gotten on my nerves today, I'm offerin' it to ya."
Kiyoomi glances at him for a moment before facing forward again, showing off that perfect side profile.
"Sure."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Ya free tomorrow for lunch?"
"I should be."
Atsumu pumps a fist. It does not go unnoticed by anyone but Kiyoomi.
"It's like fifty-five degrees out," Atsumu says, clad in jeans and a hoodie.
Kiyoomi still doesn't lose the knee length winter coat, stepping out of his apartment to lock the door behind him. "It's forty-eight. Substantial difference."
"Whatever. Don't complain when ya start sweatin'."
It turns out Atsumu should've been the one told not to complain, because the wind picks up only a minute into their walk. He shivers at every gust, pulling his hood on to protect the back of his neck while Kiyoomi looks very smug with his coat, gloves, and scarf combo.
Conversation flows easy on their walk and train ride. Atsumu laments over his brother ditching him more often now to go on dates with his new girlfriend. Kiyoomi shows him the borderline distasteful memorial Motoya had photo shopped for Yuki that he thought Kiyoomi would actually post.
Atsumu laughs at the image as they approach the restaurant, and holds the door open for Kiyoomi to head in first.
"Just two?" the hostess asks.
They nod and she tells them it'll be a fifteen minute wait, gesturing to the seating they have inside for waiting. Atsumu catches how Kiyoomi eyes the crowded seats warily and jerks his head in the direction of the door.
"Wanna wait outside?"
He nods in response, following Atsumu out the door. They sit on the bench against the wall and windows, and Atsumu is grateful that it's wood and not cold metal that would freeze him through his jeans.
"I know you're regretting not wearing a coat."
Atsumu does his best to not shiver, hunching his shoulders in while his hands clench into fists in his hoodie pocket. Kiyoomi's lower face is hidden by his scarf, but Atsumu can see the way a triumphant smile is reaching his eyes.
"It's not that bad," he lies, holding back the urge to tighten the drawstrings of his hoodie.
He blinks away the dryness in his eyes, then holds his eyes harshly closed to hide them from the cold.
"Atsumu."
It's a wake up call if he's ever heard one. His eyes shoot open at his given name being spoken for what is definitely the first time by Kiyoomi, and he snaps his head to the side to look at him in shock. Kiyoomi doesn't seem affected at all by the new vocabulary coming from his mouth, and he doesn't seem to care how it affects Atsumu, as he isn't even meeting the man's gaze. Instead he looks down at where his now bare hands hold out his gloves.
Atsumu takes a big, dumb, long moment to put it together, and finally takes the gloves like they're made of glass. He slips them on over his numbing fingers and looks back up at Kiyoomi as he rubs his palms together.
"Thanks."
It's a miracle he can get the word out of his dry mouth and pounding heart. Kiyoomi just hums, hiding his hands in his coat pockets and ducking his chin further into his scarf. And Atsumu wants so badly to unravel that scarf for a full, unobstructed view of his stupidly handsome face.
"You're a volleyball player," Kiyoomi says as he stares ahead, unaware of the turmoil going on in Atsumu's mind beside him. "And a setter at that. You should know to take care of your hands."
Atsumu can't find it in him to retort something about how he already knows that, so he just nods. Kiyoomi seems perturbed by this response, so he looks over and leans just a tad bit more into Atsumu's space, which does nothing to help the blonde's predicament.
"What is it?"
"What's what?" Atsumu says a little too quickly, his voice just barely cracking.
"You're acting weird."
"I'm not. You're actin' weird."
"What?"
Atsumu stares straight forward with straightened shoulders, but Kiyoomi tilts his head to lean just barely into his view, and to Atsumu's terrible luck, he pulls down his scarf.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
Atsumu finally turns his stiff neck to face Kiyoomi properly. Kiyoomi and his perfect hair, and his cute moles, and his perfectly healed nose, and his smooth, unblemished skin, tinted pink from the cold, and his unfairly not chapped lips.
Atsumu's tongue darts out for a split second to wet his relatively chapped lips without thinking. Kiyoomi's eyes follow the movement.
And with Kiyoomi's gaze not burrowing directly into his eyes, he somehow finds the courage to lean in and plant a quick, light kiss on his cheek.
Kiyoomi flinches back and long fingers shoot up to touch his cheek where the contact was made. Atsumu can feel all the blood drain from his face, and his stomach drops worse than when his brother had snitched on him for looking at their aunt's sexy firemen calender that one time.
"Sorry," he blurts out at the wide eyes directed at him.
He jolts up to his feet in a flash, making Kiyoomi flinch back even more.
"I'm— my bad. Sorry."
He rushes away, leaving his dignity behind on the bench as he hurries off to the train.
When he got home, Atsumu had shoved the gloves in his pocket and fallen face first onto the couch as forlornly as he could, letting a mortified groan out into the pillow. But after only seconds of replaying the moment in his head again, he gets restless and stands to pace around his apartment.
Is he stupid? He stumbles as he trips on the edge of the rug.
Seriously, what was he thinking? His leg bumps the corner of an end table painfully.
He's going to have to transfer teams now. No, transfer countries. Sweden has always looked nice.
"Ow, fuck!" he shouts when he stubs his socked toe on the corner of the wall.
Then there's a knocking at his door, and he clamps his jaw shut and freezes in place like the person on the other side can see him. He prays it isn't—
"Atsumu?"
Yeah, definitely Sakusa Kiyoomi. He just has to play dead.
"I know you're in there, I heard you yelling."
Shit.
He mulls over his options. He could head down the fire escape and book that flight for Sweden. Or he could just stand very still until Kiyoomi leaves. Or he could stop being a wuss and just open the door to face the consequences of his poorly thought out actions.
He eventually decides on the last option, dragging his feet to the door and opening it with a tense face.
Kiyoomi's scarf is off and hanging from the crook of his elbow. He's just about to open his mouth, but Atsumu beats him to it before he can get out a slew of deserved insults to emphasize how much he did not appreciate Atsumu's actions.
"I'm sorry Omi," he says quickly. "I don't why I— well I do know why I did it, but I know I shouldn't have and I'm really sorry. It's just that ya said my name and gave me your gloves and your face was so smooth and perfect. I mean it is perfect, present tense, but in the moment it was just right there but I don't know what I was thinkin' and I'm sorry for—"
"Atsumu,"
Kiyoomi hands clap onto his cheeks, stopping his rant and forcing him to finally make eye contact.
"Stop apologizing."
Then Atsumu's face is tugged forward and Kiyoomi's lips are pressing firmly against his. Before he can even get his head on straight enough to properly kiss back, the smooth lips are pulling away, pressing together shyly.
Atsumu's jaw goes slack as he mourns the loss of the cold hands that fall away from his face, and there's an undeniable flutter in his chest. Kiyoomi slots his fingers together in front of him, looking at Atsumu expectantly.
"…What was that?" Atsumu finally asks dumbly.
Kiyoomi furrows his brows. "You're really annoying."
Atsumu's face splits into a grin. "Ya kissed me."
"You did it first."
"Just on the cheek."
"Still, I thought it meant…"
He trails off unsurely, and Atsumu's smile still doesn't drop.
"I like ya, Omi. I'm not totally sure for how long, but I think it's been a while. I definitely didn't that you'd… d'ya have feelings for me?"
Kiyoomi huffs, shaking his head exasperatedly. "I don't write sincere birthday cards like that for anyone. And I just kissed you. I thought that'd be more of an eye opener for you, idiot."
Atsumu, still smiling like he won the lottery, brings a hand up to cradle Kiyoomi's face as he leans in for another kiss. He does it properly this time, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as his other hand slowly snakes around Kiyoomi's waist over his coat. Kiyoomi's slim fingers wrap around his neck and reach into his undercut as his other hand holds Atsumu's hand in place on his cheek.
They separate, and Atsumu is floored by the infatuated look on Kiyoomi's face. It's almost too good to be true.
"I almost broke your nose."
Kiyoomi looks a bit confused, but nods with hand still scratching the back of Atsumu's head. Atsumu's arm around him tightens.
"And I'm always tickin' ya off when we go out with the team. I spilled cold water all over your pants."
Kiyoomi's brows knit together like he doesn't know where this is going, but he nods again.
"And I made ya cry in front of the team, and I embarrassed ya on TV, and I read that card out loud, and just now I ditched ya at the restaurant."
"Are you trying to make me not like you right now?"
"I just… can't believe my luck."
He's not sure exactly how, but clearly he's doing something right. Because after all that, Kiyoomi still managed to like him back.
Kiyoomi doesn't know how to respond to that, looking a surprised for a second before lowering his gaze to where his hand starts to fiddle with the drawstring of Atsumu's hoodie. Atsumu quickly kisses the wrinkle in his brow, getting him to look up. Then he kisses the pout off his lips, getting his blush to deepen even more.
"Ya like me."
"…Yes."
"A lot."
"Don't push it."
"I'm gonna take ya out to dinner."
"How about a delayed lunch," Kiyoomi suggests, stepping back and looking down at Atsumu's sneakers on the floor of the genkan. "You still have a voucher to use."
Atsumu smiles, putting on his sneakers before stepping out to leave.
He still doesn't wear a coat. But he doesn't regret it, because he has borrowed gloves to wear, a shared scarf, and an arm wrapped around his to keep him warm.