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Chapter Text

Atsumu’s first impression of Sakusa is less than stellar. 

He exhausted from the five hour train ride it took to get from Hyogo to Tokyo and stressed because he knows first years don’t normally get invited to the All Japan Training Camp. He won't let them regret it. Which is why when another boy shuffles into the locker room with a mask on, looking altogether miserable at the prospect of playing with the best players in Japan, Atsumu vows to keep his distance. The last thing he needs is to get sick after travelling halfway across the country to be here.

Atsumu wants to smack him for being so careless. But he’s the youngest and he doesn’t want to give anyone another reason to call him immature, so he ignores him. Until he can't because when they get on court Atsumu realizes there’s no way he could possibly be sick and play like that. 

“Hey, who’s that with the freaky wrists?” He points. 

Eikichi looks up from his phone. “Who?” 

“The wing spiker.” Atsumu nods his head towards him.

“Oh, that’s Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’s the same year as you, I think. Wicked player but a real weird guy.” 

Atsumu hides his grimace behind a look of casual intrigue. It’s a little annoying that another first-year was invited. In a petty way, he was living off the high of being the youngest. 

“Huh.” Atsumu stares as Sakusa dives to make a receive. “Weird how?”

Eikichi hums. “He’s sort of antisocial, I guess. I haven’t talked to him much but I brushed shoulders with him in the changing room and I thought he was going to kill me.”  

Atsumu doesn’t know Eikichi well, or at all really. He only knows his name because he passed him his water bottle and introduced himself, so he takes what he says with a grain of salt. Atsumu knows what it’s like when people think that you’re weird. 

He watches the rest of the game attentively. The players are good. They have to be, they were handpicked to be here after all, but some are clearly better than others. Sakusa falls into the latter category. His spikes look brutal but the setter keeps sending the ball just a little too low. 

Atsumu knows he could do it better. He could make him jump higher and spike harder. 

He resolves himself to ask Sakusa to practice with him sometime over the next few days. Weird guy or not.

---

At dinner, Sakusa sits by himself. Perfect .

Atsumu grabs his tray and heads over. “Hey, anyone sittin’ here?”

Sakusa glares at him with his jaw clenched. “No.” It’s not a welcome reception by any means but Atsumu isn’t known as the more obnoxious twin for nothing. 

“Great.” Atsumu sets his tray down across from him. “I’m Miya, but ya can call me Atsumu.”

“I’m not going to do that.” He picks at his rice idly.

“This is the part where ya introduce yerself," Atsumu continues undeterred. 

Sakusa’s lips twist in displeasure. “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he eventually mutters while looking away. 

“Pleasure ta’ meet ya'," Atsumu lies and crams an egg roll into his mouth. Sakusa blinks at him, unimpressed. He swallows. 

“So, Omi-kun ya want to practice later? I’ll set fer ya.” He gives him his most charming grin.

“Don’t call me that,” he immediately fires back. But as for the rest of the question, he seems to think it over which is honestly a little better than the point-blank no Atsumu was expecting based on their conversation so far. “I want to have a bath before anyone else.”

“What, why?” Atsumu asks reflexively. He crams another eggroll in his mouth.  

Sakusa sighs and glances around the room like he’s looking for an escape route. “Because it’s gross if everyone uses it first.” Sakusa’s eyes widen as they catch a guy from another table standing up and setting his tray on the pile. He eats faster. 

“Sure.” Atsumu raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t care unless it has to do with the game. “How’s about tomorrow mornin’?” 

“Why are you so interested?” Sakusa squints at him like he thinks Atsumu is secretly trying to con him into doing his homework or something. 

Prickly bastard or not, Atsumu can admit when someone’s got skill. “Dunno. I think yer pretty good but I could make ya better. Certainly better than that setter ya were playin’ with earlier.”

Sakusa looks at him skeptically. “We’re going to be practicing tomorrow anyway.” 

Atsumu starts to get the feeling he might be more trouble than he’s worth. But it’s embarrassing to give up now.  

“Sounds like yer bein’ lazy," Atsumu provokes with a mocking lilt to his voice. 

Sakusa glares. “I'm conserving my energy. There’s a difference.” 

Atsumu grins in a way that always manages to get under Osamu’s skin. “I wasn’t aware that invitees for All Japan needed to conserve energy. See, I was under the impression that the best players would have the best stamina.” 

Sakusa’s lips twist. 

“So, what do ya’ say? Tomorrow at 7?”

Sakusa stares at him bitterly. “Fine,” he grits out, “don’t make me regret it.”

Atsumu grins smugly. “Course not, Omi-kun.”

“Call me that again and you can count me out.” Sakusa shoves a final bite of rice into his mouth and then leaves.

As Sakusa hurriedly shuffles towards the exit, Atsumu wonders if he’s made a mistake. If playing with Sakusa is really worth the effort. But he remembers seeing him on the court, smashing down a serve that ricocheted right off a third year libero’s receive, and feels what he can only describe as a hunger.  

He came to Tokyo to play volleyball and he’s going to play as much as he possibly can and he’s going to do it with the best players. If Sakusa happens to be a bastard off the court, well, he doesn’t need to be his friend to play with him.

---

Despite his dedication to volleyball, Atsumu hates waking up early and he hates himself for agreeing to it. But like morning practices, he sucks it up and heads to breakfast.

Sakusa is already eating in the dining hall when he gets there. 

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, slapping his tray down on the table across from him. 

Sakusa looks up blearily and nods at him. Atsumu doesn’t have the energy to make conversation and it seems Sakusa doesn’t either.

Osamu makes fun of his tendency to zone out in the mornings, but luckily Sakusa has that in common too. He finds himself staring at Sakusa's wavy hair, slightly ruffled with sleep. He wonders if he perms it. Does it make it hard to brush? And his eyes are a weird grey colour he hasn't seen before. Although his most distinctive characteristic are his moles. The obvious two are on his forehead but he has little ones smattering his neck too. They suit him. It takes him a full minute to realize they’ve been staring at each other. He doesn’t bother looking away.

Eventually, Sakusa is the one who breaks it. “Are you done?”

Atsumu glances down at his mostly empty dish, even though he doesn't think that's what Sakusa was referring to. “Yeah, I guess.”

Grabbing his tray, Sakusa stands. “Let’s go.”

---

Sakusa insists on warming up first. Atsumu thinks it's a waste of the empty gym and tells him so. 

“I’m not going to pull a muscle just because you can’t wait five minutes," he says, bending down to touch his ankles. 

It's too early to argue. Plus, he feels a dull sting at the imagined disappointment Kita might feel if he knew he didn't warm up properly. He's not even the captain but his presence is undeniable. Atsumu reluctantly runs a short lap.

Sakusa demands that Atsumu grab the bin of balls from the backroom. Every protest is met with a curt, “It was your idea to come here.” Atsumu gives in.

“What do you want to start with?” Sakusa asks in a rare display of magnanimity. 

What he wants to do should be obvious. What else could he possibly want with a wing-spiker? “Let’s do some spikes.”

Atsumu prides himself on his synchronicity. It’s what makes him such a good setter. He can match with any spiker, and given the amount of time he spent watching Sakusa yesterday it’s easier than most.  

He tosses the ball and Sakusa receives it, sending it to him for the set.

He starts easy and sends the ball perfectly into Sakusa’s hand as he runs up for a spike. He seems to pause before slamming it down onto the other side of the court with spin. Sakusa doesn’t thank him. Just walks back ready for the next ball.

“Don’t doubt my sets.” Atsumu grins, but like his tone, it's too sharp.

“I was just making sure.”

True to his word, the next time Sakusa doesn’t hesitate. 

Atsumu sets it at that height a few times before deciding to send the ball higher. Sakusa slams it down, just like the last. He keeps it there for a few more then sends it higher again. Sakusa hits it then whips around to glare at him.

“Stop that.”

Atsumu tries to smile innocently but fails. “I’m only makin' yer spike-hit height higher.”

Sakusa glares. “It’s exhausting.”

“But you can hit it higher more often if you practice,” Atsumu argues.

“Is it really a good idea to make your opponents stronger?”

Atsumu shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Everytime he sets the ball he gets a better idea of Sakusa’s play style. Know thy enemy and all that jazz. 

Sakusa looks at him for a long moment. Then turns back to his position to spike it.

“Do you want to try doing a quick?” he asks impulsively.

Sakusa raises his eyebrows in displeasure but nods. “Alright.”

“I’ll get it to you wherever you are, so just jump.” 

As soon as Sakusa receives the ball and sends it to him he runs to the other side of the court, opposite to where they’d been practising until now. He jumps and Atsumu sends it backwards into his palm. There’s no hesitation as he slams it onto the other side of the net. Atsumu fucking wishes his team members could play like this. 

He can see the tilt of a grin on Sakusa’s face. 

“Nice.” He raises his hands for a high-five.

Sakusa frowns. “I’m not touching you.”

Atsumu glares. “What- I’m not dirty or anything. Don’t be rude.” 

Sakusa grits his teeth. “I don’t touch people.” Surprisingly, the generalization actually does make him feel a little bit better. But, Sakusa is still acting like a snob so he’s sure as shit going to call him on it. 

“It’s not like a high-five is gonna kill ya.” He steps closer.

Sakusa doesn’t move his feet but leans back. “I don’t care.”

Atsumu turns on his heel and scoffs. “Whatever.” 

He notices then that there are other people in the gym. It looks like they’re still warming up.

“Do you want to try again?” Sakusa asks like it physically pains him to extend an olive branch of any kind. 

He wants to brush him out of annoyance but he gets the feeling that Sakusa isn’t the kind of person to extend that branch twice. Despite the guy being about as considerate as a toddler he does want to practice more. 

Reluctantly, he grits out, “Yeah.” 

When they nail the next quick Atsumu flashes him a grin but doesn’t reach a high-five. Sakusa looks like he’s trying to hold back one of his own. 

---

Atsumu watches him wipe down his utensils with disinfectant.

“So, who do ya think is the best player here?” Atsumu asks to break the silence. 

“Probably Ushijima,” Sakusa responds immediately. "His power and spin makes him a difficult opponent."

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at his quick response but hums in agreement. It's obvious to anyone watching how strong he is and the more Atsumu thinks about it, how alike Ushijima and Sakusa are. They're both wing-spikers with powerful spins and deadly serves except Ushijima is clearly more experienced. But then why does he not care at all about Ushijima? Atsumu reasons to himself it's because he's older and probably wouldn't want to play with him anyway.

The table falls into a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Atsumu musters all the tact he has and asks, “So, do ya have some kinda mental disorder?”

Without missing a beat, Sakusa spits, “Fuck off.”

Atsumu raises his hands in surrender. “Woah, I’m not tryin' ta be rude. I’m genuinely curious.” He’s a little of both if he’s being truly honest, but he does his best to convey pure intentions.

Sakusa stares at him harshly. “It’s none of your business.” 

“Suit yourself. I guess ya aren’t interested in who I overheard was getting sick,” Atsumu pulls out of his ass. Based on the way Sakusa wears a mask at every possible instance and cleans every surface religiously he figures he’s probably some type of hypochondriac. Plus, seeing him riled up is an added bonus. 

Sakusa’s lips pinch together. He looks like he’d very much like to throttle him if he didn’t have to touch him to do it.

“You’re lying,” he settles on.

“I might be. But do you really want to take that risk?” Atsumu twirls his chopsticks around his fingers. 

Without the mask in front of his face, Atsumu can plainly see the way Sakusa’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “You’re holding me psychologically hostage.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. All we’re doing is exchangin’ information.”

He levels his glare at him. “Is this how you always try to make friends?”

He wants to say, “who says I’m trying to be friends with ya?”  But he holds himself back for once. The words pull at a memory of last year’s school fair. 

“What do ya mean you partnered up with Makoto?” He yells at him. They’ve always been partners for projects. 

Osamu looks over his shoulder at him without turning around in his seat. “I think it’s pretty damn obvious what it means. I’m going to make the rice balls with Makoto because he’s not bein’ a prick.”

Atsumu scowls and walks in front of him so he can’t ignore him. “Is this about earlier?”

Osamu looks up at him, unimpressed. “What do you think?”

“You’re mad because I called someone out on being a bad player? Why? They deserve to know when they suck.”

Osamu throws his hands up. “This is why the team is always pissed at you. You take shit way too seriously. You push too hard and then pick ‘em apart when they mess up. ”

“Oh, so it’s wrong to care about the game we spend everyday practicin’, is it?” He slams his hands down on the desk. Makoto looks between the two of them with apprehension, wondering if he should get the teacher or not. 

“Maybe if you tried carin' about the players on your team for once you might be able to actually keep a friend.” Osamu looks him straight in the eye. 

He flinches. His brother always had a way of cutting straight to his core. “Shut up! You self-centered asshole!” He launches himself over the desk, inevitably landing them both in detention.

He wasn’t interested in changing at the time. Too pissed off at Osamu and too driven with a sole focus on volleyball to acknowledge his words. Even when some members of their team decided to have a sleepover and “forgot” to tell him. But even if he's not necessarily trying to be friends with Sakusa, maybe he is pushing a little too hard. 

“Argh, fine. I didn’t overhear anything. No need to get yer knickers in a twist.”

Sakusa lets out a sigh of relief. 

“It’s not like I’m gonna gossip to people if you tell me anythin'. I couldn’t care less about most of the people here,” Atsumu admits.

“But, you care about me?” Sakusa looks equal parts annoyed and skeptical. 

Atsumu pauses. “I think yer interestin’.” 

It’s not the right thing to say. Sakusa immediately pulls back. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” 

Atsumu runs his hand through his hair. “Why do ya gotta make this so difficult? I’m saying I think yer…” he twists his mouth before reluctantly muttering, “kinda cool or whatever.”

Sakusa raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “You think I’m cool?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Atsumu whines. Sakusa is still looking at him like he’s a particularly strange puzzle. 

“Why?”

“This is embarrassin’. Can’t ya just take the compliment?” He knows his cheeks are red. 

Sakusa shrugs. “I’m curious.” His lips twitch in amusement at Atsumu’s discomfort. 

“Because you’re an alright spiker, obviously. I wish my team could play like you.”  

In his neon green and yellow tracksuit he looks a little bit like a preening parrot. “Huh.” A smirk starts to grow on his face.

“Oh, shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Ya said it with yer eyes.”  He’s annoyed and embarrassed but secretly relieved as the weight of Sakusa’s resentment lifts off him.

---

He doesn’t talk much to Sakusa the rest of the week outside of meals. After their impromptu morning meet up they silently mutually agree that once was enough and that the week will probably be exhausting without the added weight of waking up at an ungodly hour. 

At the end of camp he feels like he could confidently call Sakusa an acquaintance he’s on relatively good terms with.

It kind of makes him want to brag to Osamu that he made a friend.

---

They meet again at the Interhigh National Tournament in the finals. Neither of them play the whole time, swapping out for third or second years. He watches Sakusa closely when he's on the court. He hopes Sakusa watches him too.

It’s not unusual for him to want to impress someone in volleyball but he registers then, if only dimly, that he might have a bit of a fixation on Sakusa.

He plays his best but it’s not enough. His team’s not good enough. To say he’s devastated would not be an overstatement. He knows it’ll only fuel him to push himself harder, that he still has two more years to take the crown but it still stings. Second place is just first loser.

When they line up between the net Sakusa smirks. “Better luck next time, Miya.” It’s surprisingly expressionate for him but then again, he did just win nationals. 

“I won’t need luck.” He seethes. That only makes Sakusa’s grin wider. 

He shakes Sakusa’s hand.

Only after he’s on the bus back home does he realize that that was the first time he touched Sakusa at all. 

---

Predictably, they are both invited back to the All Japan Youth Camp. 

This time he’s roommates with Hoshiumi, which is fine because there’s no way that he’s possibly worse than Osamu. Even if his high energy starts to grate on his nerves. 

He plans on casually approaching Sakusa tomorrow morning but is surprised when Sakusa comes to him first that evening. He makes a bee-line straight for Atsumu (and Hoshiumi,) in the common area.

His face rotates through annoyed, embarrassed and finally, resignation. Then asks him (and Hoshiumi,) for a favour so gravely he thinks that Komori must be dead.

Sakusa leads them to the dormitories like he’s walking to his own execution. “This is my room.”

“Okay, and? Why did you call us up here?” Atsumu says as dread settles in his stomach.

“It’s horrifying to even say…” Sakusa looks away. “There’s a cockroach...Please get rid of it.”

“That’s it?” Atsumu yells. “You seemed so worried I thought you murdered Komori-kun!”

“Of course not, my hands would get dirty.” 

Komori takes that as his cue and opens the door. “Sakusa would never kill me! He’s my teammate!”

Sakusa levels a glare at him. “Well, I thought about it a few times.”

“Wait, what now?” Komori pales. 

“Always leaving the sink area messy without any consideration for whoever uses it next, leaving crumbs everywhere in the room…”

“So, that’s why there’s a cockroach,” Hoshiumi casually remarks.

“I don’t care how. Kill it no matter what you need to do.” 

“This is about the cockroach, right?” Komori asks nervously. 

They do, eventually, get the cockroach with the help of Kageyama who showed up to berate them about how loud they were being. That’s when things get somehow weirder.

“I can’t stay in this room,” Sakusa declares with all the air of a prince.

“What’s the problem now?” Komori reluctantly asks. 

“A cockroach was in here, there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep knowing that it’s disgusting little feet have touched things. Maybe there’s more…”

Atsumu knows an opportunity when he hears one. Plus if he doesn’t step in this might take all night. “Fine. If Hoshiumi agrees you can stay with me," he says, trying not to sound too eager.

It's a slightly twisted thing to say and he knows it. Sakusa might too because he tilts his head like Atsumu's just said something quite odd, but thankfully Hoshiumi and Komori don't think twice about it.

He plays it off like it's a natural course of action. He's not sure if his act fools Sakusa, but he doesn't say anything about how he's volunteered Hoshiumi's bed instead of swapping his own.

Hoshiumi nods. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care at this point. Just let me go grab my stuff. It’ll only take a minute. I didn’t unpack anything anyway.” 

Sakusa’s face pinches like he wants to complain but seems to think better of it at the last moment. “Alright.”

Atsumu hovers awkwardly at their door while Sakusa pulls on his latex gloves and packs his stuff back up into a suitcase. Luckily, it seems he didn’t have time to unpack much and it doesn’t take long before Sakusa is telling him to lead the way. So he does.

---

The first night is rough. Probably on par with rooming with Osamu but, in the opposite sense. Sakusa is every bit as clean as Osamu is messy.  

He insists on having what Atsumu is certain is the longest shower anyone has ever had and then inspecting the whole room for bugs. Upon finding none, he decides to disinfect the whole room anyway.

“It smells like a hospital in here,” Atsumu says from under his covers. His muscles ache and he just wants Sakusa to turn off the light. 

“I’d disinfect you too if I could,” he says while changing into his pyjamas. Miya has the errant thought that he looks kind of cute in his bright blue pants. Has he heard of a colour palette that doesn’t involve neon? 

“That’s kinda kinky.”

“Shut up, Miya.” He looks tired too. Atsumu half expects him to pull on another mask but he doesn’t. 

“Can I turn this off?” Atsumu asks, gesturing to the lamp between their beds.

Sakusa buries himself under the blankets until only his eyes peek out. He looks ridiculous and Atsumu wants to say so but he’s too tired. “Yeah,” he agrees, muffled by the covers.

“Goodnight, Omi-kun”

“Don’t call me that...goodnight, Miya.”

---

The next night, Atsumu takes the time to do his skin care routine. It’s not vain, it’s practical. If he spends all day working out, there’s going to be oil in his pores, it’s just a fact. 

“What’s that?” Sakusa asks from beside him the washroom, because apparently he can’t get a minute alone. 

“It’s a face mask,” he says defensively. He squeezes some more out of the tube and applies it to his face. It’s green and goopy and cold. It's fantastic. 

“Huh, I didn’t think you cared about your skin,” Sakusa remarks, washing his own face. 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?” Because it sounds a lot like Sakusa is calling him ugly. 

Sakusa wipes his face down with a warm cloth. “I don’t know, you don’t come across as the kind of guy to regularly do face masks.” He’s not sure what that implies but he’s not sure he likes it. 

“Shut up. Don’t knock ‘em till you try ‘em.” He glares, looking Sakusa in the eyes through the mirror. He gets enough shit from Osamu about them. 

“Are you offering?” Sakusa asks unreadably. 

It throws him off. But he figures Sakusa is the sort of guy who cares about his health and his skin by extension. “I guess so.”

Sakusa raises his eyebrow demandingly, as if to say “get on with it then.”

“Hold out your hand.” 

Sakusa does and he squeezes some onto his fingers. Atsumu watches attentively as he smears some onto his cheek. He’s laying it on too thick, it’ll take forever to dry. 

“Urgh, you’re doing it wrong. Come’re.” 

Sakusa eyes him skeptically, as he often does, but reluctantly takes a step closer. Atsumu realizes immediately that this is much more intimate than he initially thought. He's close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. But there’s no backing out now. He reaches out and gently spreads the goop on his cheek down to his chin. He squeezes more out of the tube and starts to apply it to the other side.

Sakusa looks far more comfortable than Atsumu thought he would have considering he frequently looks like he would gladly rid himself of his teammates when they so much as pat him on the back. 

“Do you have a hair tie?” he asks when he realizes that Sakusa’s bangs hang down onto his forehead.  

“Yeah, one sec.” Sakusa steps away to peel one off his hairbrush. He washes the remnants of the mask from his fingers and pulls the top of his hair into a short ponytail. Then steps right back into Atsumu’s space expectantly. 

Atsumu desperately does not want to make this awkward or call attention to the fact that Sakusa apparently wants him to touch his face, so he squeezes more onto his fingers and gently puts it on Sakusa’s forehead. He tries not to look him in the eyes, instead focusing on applying it diligently. Very diligently. 

Eventually there’s no more skin to cover so he steps away and washes his hands.

“Now what?” Sakusa looks less like he wants someone to kill him on the spot (his usual look,) and more soft. With green goop covering his face he looks almost approachable. Atsumu feels special that he’s the only one who gets to see it. 

He’s also grateful that the mask hides his blush. “We wait about fifteen minutes for it to dry.” 

“Okay.” Sakusa heads back into their room and sits on his bed, effectively ending the moment Atsumu thought they might have been sharing. 

Wide awake with thoughts he doesn’t want to keep having, Atsumu needs to fill the silence. “I can play some music or something.”

“I don't care.”

He pulls out his mobile speaker, which Osamu told him he was stupid to bring but look at him now, and connects it to his phone. He puts on a jpop playlist quietly enough that it won’t disturb the people in the hall, but loud enough that if Sakusa doesn’t talk to him for fifteen minutes it won’t get weird. 

He lasts a minute before he’s bored again. 

“We should play a game.” He looks at Sakusa from his bed. 

“What kind of game?” Sakusa looks up with casual interest.

“I don’t know. I’ll look one up.” He searches for games to play at sleepovers. Because that’s sort of what this is. He wonders idly if this is what guys normally do at sleepovers. He didn’t do this with his roommate at All Japan last year. He was a third year student and they barely talked. 

His only real experience with sleepovers have been at training camps. Although Osamu is occasionally invited over by his friends outside of volleyball to spend the night. He doesn’t mention it when he gets back and seems to carry an odd sense of guilt at going without him. Atsumu never brings it up.

A lot of the answers look like prompts for kids, flashlight tag and pillow fighting. He thinks Sakusa would rather smother him with a pillow than engage in anything remotely close to that. “There’s Would You Rather .” 

“And that is?” Sakusa flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“Uh, it looks like we choose between hypothetical situations. For example, would ya rather have more time or more money?” he reads directly off the website. “Which is dumb because obviously the choice is more time, if you have more time you can get better.”

Sakusa hums in agreement. 

“So, I guess we take turns askin’ questions. Not quite sure how ya win or if this really counts as a game, but whatever.” Atsumu tosses his phone behind him on the bed and turns to look at Sakusa. 

“You go first,” Sakusa glances at him, moving his head minimally on the bed. 

“Alright.” Atsumu takes a moment to think. “Okay, would ya rather never play volleyball again or never wash your hands again?”

Sakusa sits up and looks at him intensely. “Can I use hand sanitizer instead of washing them?” 

“Sure.”

Sakusa looks like he’s carefully weighing the pros and cons of each, which Atsumu supposes he is. “I’d never wash my hands.”

“Really? I’m surprised.” He honestly is, by both Sakusa’s apparent love of the sport and the fact he’d be willing to give up washing his hands for anything.

“It wouldn’t be great but I’d probably be able to get away with washing them in the shower.” He shrugs.

“Huh, fair enough. Your turn.”

Sakusa thinks. “Would you rather play as a spiker or libero?”

“Spiker for sure. It’s the second best position.” Atsumu grins. 

Sakusa scoffs. Atsumu ignores him. 

“Would ya rather…" he flounders, trying to think of a question. What would Samu ask? "Eat sweet things for the rest of your life or salty things.”

“Salty obviously, umeboshi is the best. How else would you be able to get your protein?”

“Good point, except for the umeboshi part. That’s just weird.”

“Hah?” Sakusa looks genuinely offended. “You’re joking.”

“No? They’re super sour.”

Sakusa stands up and grabs his bag. He digs out a package that Atsumu quickly realizes is umeboshi candy. 

He walks over to Atsumu’s bed. “Here.” He holds out the wrapped candy. 

Their fingers brush when he takes it and Atsumu does not think about it. Because thinking about it would mean acknowledging that he’s touched Sakusa more in the last five minutes than he has in his entire life and that he noticed it.

“Thanks.” Atsumu unwraps it and pops it in his mouth. 

It’s sweet but the more he rolls it around his mouth the tangier it tastes. He bites it reflexively. The middle is overbearingly salty and gooey, sticking to his teeth. Together, the combination of flavours is intense to say the least.

Sakusa observes him from his bed. “Well?”

He can't tell if he likes it or not. “It’s not terrible,” Atsumu concedes. 

Sakusa nods. “Do you want another?”

“Alright.” Because he’s not going to turn down candy, especially if Sakusa is the one offering it. He tosses another to him from his bed. Which he could have done in the first place but didn’t. And Atsumu is not thinking about it. 

“Thanks. It’s your turn.” He pops the candy into his mouth and sets the wrappers on the nightstand next to Sakusa’s.

“Would you rather...this is hard.” Sakusa grabs his phone and types quickly.

“Are you looking up questions?”

“Yeah.” Sakusa doesn’t look up from his phone to answer.

“Why don’t ya just read ‘em out and then we’ll both answer.”

Sakusa nods. “Okay, would you rather...some of these are dumb.”

“Like what?”

“Would you rather find your soulmate today or win the lottery next year?”

“Lottery,” Atsumu answers immediately. The girls in his class are annoying and he can’t imagine dating one would be much better. Besides, more money means more volleyball equipment and endless snacks and a new separate room from Osamu. 

“Yeah. Besides, the idea that there’s only one person out there for you seems kind of messed up. How would you even know they were your soulmate? Wouldn’t there be expectations?” Sakusa says, annoyed. 

Atsumu doesn’t know how anyone would be able to tell if someone was their soulmate or quite what Sakusa means by expectations. “I think they probably mean that you’ll find the person that’s perfect fer ya’.”

“But that’s the same problem. If they have to love you then what’s the point?”

Atsumu pauses. Sakusa frames it like they’re robots without a choice. “Well, maybe they wouldn’t have to love ya’. Maybe they don’t even like ya’ at first, but the potential would be there.” It makes his insides squirm a little to be talking about romance and thinking about Sakusa at the same time. What would Sakusa be like in a relationship? Probably nit-picky as all hell. Would he give them candies? Would he hold their hand? 

Sakusa shrugs. “Either way it sounds like a lot more work than just being given a few million yen.” 

“What’s your type then?” Atsumu asks impulsively.

Sakusa flusters, which Atsumu finds deeply amusing. “I don’t know. I don’t really think about that," he mumbles. Atsumu immediately doubts this based on how intense his reaction to the very concept of soulmates was. 

“Well, think about it,” he demands.

“What’s your type?” Sakusa demands right back.

If someone told him he would, at any point in his life, be willingly spending an evening talking about what his type was while wearing a face mask with Sakusa Kiyoomi, he’d laugh them out of the room. 

He feels uncharacteristically honest. Mostly because Sakusa’s been indulging him so much. “Probably someone as passionate as I am about volleyball for one, or at least athletic,” he says aloud as he thinks it, “They’d also have to be able to deal with me, so confident because I know I’m pushy. I also don’t really like guessin’ at people’s feelings so it’s better if they’re blunt about what they want.”

A panicked rush floods straight to his heart because it sounded like he just described Sakusa straight to his face. Which is crazy because he doesn’t like guys...does he? Is Sakusa his gay awakening? He wants to throw himself off a cliff. Oh fuck, Samu will never let me live this down. Nope. He definitely only feels friendly feelings for Sakusa. Because kissing Sakusa would be weird. He’d probably insist they brush their teeth first, and he’d probably use too much toothpaste and their first kiss would be so minty it would hurt his tongue. Would Sakusa let him use tongue? Hypothetically.

Sakusa nods in understanding. “Yeah, you’re a nightmare.”

“Hey!” He grabs at a pillow to hurl at him.

“But, I’m probably worse.”

Atsumu freezes mid motion.

“Shut up. I know not everyone has the same standard of cleanliness as I do and that I’m 'too rude' according to Komori or whatever. So, I’d probably only be able to actually sustain a relationship with someone who could deal with it.”

The weird tingly feeling in his stomach is back, not that it ever went away. Could he deal with it? Hypothetically speaking. Probably. It’s not like he’s all that bothered that Sakusa wants to wash his hands a lot. Would it be different in a relationship? Would he ask that they wash their hands before touching at all?

“I guess... I’d also like someone who likes volleyball. I don’t know. I don’t think about this very much.”

Holy shit. Atsumu is gonna die. He’s never been so fucking happy for wearing his face mask. Better than clear skin is the fact that Sakusa will never know how red his face is right now. Because it’s sort of sounding like maybe he could possibly fit the definition of Sakusa’s type. If he were thinking about that sort of thing. 

“Sometimes ya sound like a volleyball machine,” he chokes out. 

Sakusa shoots him a glare.

“I mean, ya have to have had a crush on someone. Haven’t ya ever been confessed to?” Astumu says, already aware he’s digging his own grave. 

Sakusa looks away. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Urgh.” Talking to Sakusa is like trying to wrangle answers out of a Sphinx. “Like, have ya dated anyone?”

“No, that sounds like a lot of work.” Atsumu can relate to that. But most guys his age like dating and it's weird that someone as well known as Sakusa hasn't bothered to.

“Yer kiddin'.”

Sakusa stares at him like he expects Atsumu to mock him. Which is fair, but also he thinks it’s dumb that Sakusa has never dated anyone because he is so very obviously hot . Maybe some people find the mask off putting, or his scowl, but it’s not like he’s always frowning. Even if he is right now. 

Sakusa must find Atsumu’s disbelief to be relatively genuine because he scoffs. “Like you have.”

Atsumu sniffs. “I’ll have you know I have quite the fan club.”

“So do I. Doesn’t mean they want to date you.” 

“Well, I’ve been confessed to,” Atsumu says pridefully. The logistics of which Sakusa doesn’t have to know. 

“Did they mistake you for Osamu?”

“Rude!” She did actually. But, he’s been confessed to twice and once actually was for him. ‘Dating’ lasted all of two weeks when she got fed up with his volleyball practice and personality. The volleyball thing he could understand but the latter stung just a bit. 

“But yeah, datin' was a pain.” It’s an understatement but, he doesn’t really want to get into it. The face mask is starting to pull at his skin. “We should wash these off now.” He stands up from the bed and leads the way to the washroom.

“Alright.” He can hear Sakusa’s light footsteps following him. 

“Use a cloth and rinse it off with warm water,” he explains running his face cloth under the warm water. 

“I’m not brain damaged. I know how to wipe down my face.”

Atsumu shrugs. “Could‘ve fooled me,” he teases. 

There’s only one sink and he’s of the belief that it’s first come first serve so he wipes down his face thoroughly while Sakusa hovers. Eventually he steps back to let Sakusa use it.

Atsumu pulls out his moisturizer. Sakusa raises his eyebrows curiously. He stares with his stupid weird grey doe eyes. 

“Oh, stop lookin’ at me like that. Fine.” He motions with his hand that Sakusa should step closer and he dollops some of the creme on his hand. Surprisingly obedient, he does. And then he’s touching Sakusa’s face again. 

“The mask will dry out yer skin otherwise so ya need ta moisturize after,” he explains as he carefully dabs the creme onto his face. 

“I see.” Sakusa's face is no more readable than when he's on the court. Which is to say, not at all.

Figuring that he’s not going to get another reason to touch Sakusa’s face in the near future (if ever,) he indulges his curiosity. “Ya know, I thought ya really hated people touchin’ ya.” He applies the moisturizer slower than he usually would to give him time to answer.

Sakusa hums. “You’ve showered and I know you haven’t touched anything outside this room.” He glances between Atsumu’s face and the wall behind him.  

Atsumu gets the distinct impression like he’s holding something back but for once decides not to press his luck. 

“There ya go.” Atsumu swallows and steps back. He allows himself to look at Sakusa’s face for a moment longer than he usually would, like an artist admiring his work. 

Sakusa turns to the mirror and mutters a thanks.

“No problem. We should probably get ta bed though.”

Atsumu grabs his toothbrush and puts a generous amount of toothpaste on it. Sakusa does the same. He has that thought about kissing Sakusa again and decides he's really too tired to be blamed for thinking things. If Sakusa let him touch him because he knew he was clean, would he let him…

He spits out the paste in the sink, turns on the tap and sticks his mouth under it.

Sakusa looks at him unimpressed. “You know the cups are right there, right?”

After standing back up and spitting out the remaining water he says, “This’s faster.”

Sakusa sighs and fills up a cup of water for himself.

Atsumu feels oddly like he’d like to hover in Sakusa’s proximity while he finishes, but he recognizes how strange that is and forces himself to head to bed, first turning off his speaker.

When Sakusa does re-enter the room he’s already comfortable under the covers. 

“Turn off the lights, Omi.”

Sakusa gives him a look at the name, but goes to turn off the overhead light regardless. 

He doesn’t say anything as Sakusa wraps himself up in the blankets. The light from their bedside lamp glows softly on his face. When he’s settled he turns to look at him expectantly.

Atsumu sighs and pulls himself out of bed enough to stretch over and turn off the light. 

“Goodnight, Omi.”

“Don’t call me that. Goodnight, Miya,” Sakusa grumbles.

Despite Sakusa’s near omnipresent grouchiness, Atsumu feels like something has changed between them. He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t.

Chapter Text

Turns out, nothing between them had changed.

“Miya, do you chew gum in the shower?” Sakusa asks him incredulously. He’s sitting on his bed flipping through his Volleyball Monthly magazine when Atsumu steps out of the bathroom. It’s baffling how he can tell so quickly.

Atsumu tightens the towel around his waist. “Don’t see why not.” He bites down a few more times. “‘S not like I’m washing the inside of my mouth in there.”

Sakusa stares like he spat on him. “Thanks for that mental picture.”

“I live to serve, Omi-kun.” He spits his gum out into the trash can of their room. 

“You’re dripping water onto the floor.” Atsumu hears Sakusa crinkle the magazine beneath his fingers.

“So? It’ll dry.” He pulls out clean clothes from his bag.

Sakusa huffs. “It’s carpet, it’ll be gross.”

“Then stay on the bed.” He pulls a shirt over his head.

“I intend to.”

“Good.” He glances over at Sakusa to make sure he’s not looking before dropping the towel and pulling on his underwear and shorts. When he turns back around, Sakusa is looking intently down at his magazine again.

Atsumu sits down on his bed and pulls out his phone to text Samu back. That dick somehow talked their parents into going for all you can eat sushi without him. 

Lesser Twin: there's so much fatty tuna

Lesser Twin: i think i’ll invite suna

Me: YOU RAT BASTARD

Lesser Twin: can't hear you over the sound of my own chewing, which is plentiful

Me: YOU THINK UR SO FUCKING FUNNY

Lesser Twin: i know i am

Lesser Twin: maybe if ur lucky i'll save ya a piece

Me: FOR THREE DAYS? STFU YOU ASSHOLE

Lesser Twin: let it be known, my kindness was refused

Lesser Twin: what are ya doing at camp anyways?

Atsumu looks over at Sakusa cleaning under his nails.

Me: partying every night

Lesser Twin: hoshiumi does seem pretty intense

Me: oh yeah forgot to tell ya, we switched roommates 

Lesser Twin: ?

Me: im staying with sakusa

Lesser Twin: wait

Lesser Twin: you mean the sakusa from itachiyama

Lesser Twin: the one with the face mask who’s always frowning

Me: he’s not always frowning

Lesser Twin: the one whose match you made me watch last year

Lesser Twin: and then talked for like a week

Lesser Twin: that sakusa?

Me: fuck off

Me: i wasn’t that bad

Me: he’s a good player is all

Me: even if he’s weird as shit

Lesser Twin: sounds just like ur type

Me: fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou

Lesser Twin: hmmm

Me: don’t fucking ‘hmmm’ at me. what the hell is that supposed to mean? 

Lesser Twin: you seem a little defensive

Lesser Twin: too defensive

Me: oh pardon me for not announcing that i want to fuck him

Lesser Twin: do you?

Me: NO YOU FUKCING MOTHERFUKCIER

Lesser Twin: hmmmmmm

Me: Samu i swear to god when i get home 

Me: i am going to tell everyone that you were the one who left that magazine in the locker room

Lesser Twin: is that before or after i tell everyone you want to kiss sakusa through his mask

Me: dont even fucking think about it

Atsumu is halfway through typing out specifically how he’s going to beat the shit out of Samu when Sakusa speaks up, “Komori said there’s a group hangout tonight.”

He’s holding his phone so he assumes Komori must have texted him.

“Are we supposed to go or something?” He wouldn’t mind going, but he doesn’t really care either way. 

“Dunno. I think so, but I already showered.” Sakusa frowns. 

Atsumu snorts. “Yer kinda a buzzkill.” 

Sakusa scowls at him. “I don’t see why everyone wants to sit in a cramped room together.”

“Ya think I want to hang out with some randos?” 

Atsumu has never been particularly good at making friends on his own. He doesn’t see the point of bothering with small talk. His typical strategy relies on Samu to establish contact and then hanging around long enough to eventually become friends from sheer proximity alone. 

Sakusa crosses his arms. “Don’t you?”

Atsumu clicks his tongue against the top of his mouth. “Why would I care about hangin’ out with people I don’t even know? It’s not like we’re gonna play volleyball.”

Sakusa’s phone chimes. “He’s coming over here to get us.”

“Great.” Atsumu decides that he’s not going to bother changing out of his pajama pants and shirt. They sit in semi-companionable silence until there’s a knock at their door. Sakusa looks at him expectantly as he puts his socks on.

Atsumu sighs and gets the door. 

Komori looks far too awake for someone who’s been playing volleyball all day. “Hey Miya, did Sakusa tell you about the meet-up?”

“He mentioned it.” Actually seeing Komori in front of him does make him a little more eager to hangout. It might be nice to do whatever it is people do when they have get-togethers. 

“Great! We’ll need more willing participants.” Komori slaps his arm. 

“Why does it sound like yer gonna scam me?” Atsumu half jokes. 

Komori laughs. “It’s a game night.”

Sakusa walks up behind him. He’s wearing his mask again with his track jacket pulled all the way up to chin, artfully paired with his bright neon sweatpants. 

“Do ya own anythin’ that’s not an eyesore?” Atsumu can’t help himself from asking. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Sakusa snaps back. 

Komori looks like he’s getting ready to break up a fight, but Atsumu doesn't think they were being all that aggressive. 

“Are you guys excited?” Komori asks, seemingly out of impulse to diffuse the tension. Sakusa’s frown lines deepen and his eyes narrow. 

“Thrilled.” Atsumu grins. He throws a casual arm over Sakusa’s shoulders. Sakusa brushes him off. It makes Atsumu snicker.

Komori looks between them questioningly and then grins at Sakusa. 

“You made a friend!” Komori announces like Sakusa has achieved some kind of certification. 

Maybe if Atsumu wasn’t paying such close attention he wouldn’t have noticed it, but he is, so he does notice that Sakusa looks a little red.

He’s embarrassed, Atsumu thinks to himself. It makes him want to tease him relentlessly . 

“I don’t know if I’d even call Miya an acquaintance, a pest, maybe.” Sakusa brushes past him to get into the hallway.

“Don’t be like that, Omi.” Atsumu turns to Komori. “We’re best friends in the makin’.”

Sakusa smacks the back of his head. “Do you want to go to this thing or not?”

Atsumu snorts and Komori quickly rushes ahead to lead the way back to his room. 

There are less people than Atsumu expected but it’s still a lot for a small space. He understands Sakusa’s initial distaste for it. 

There are five people already in the room, not counting Sakusa, Komori or himself. He recognizes Kageyama, Hoshiumi and Eikichi but the other two he hasn’t talked to before. Or maybe he has, but they aren’t distinct enough for him to remember. 

He thinks that Sakusa must already know them because they don’t bother with introductions as they shuffle into the already crowded room. Kageyama, Hoshiumi and one of the other two he doesn’t know are sitting on the floor but Eikichi and the other guy are sitting on one of the beds.

Atsumu doesn’t know where to sit so he follows after Sakusa and sits on the empty bed with him. Although he makes sure to put a bit of space between them because Samu doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

“I could be!” Hoshiumi says, already in a passionate shouting match with Kageyama, who seems much less engaged about the whole thing. 

“It’s very unlikely for you to be taller than both your father and mother," Kageyama says in his usual deadpan. 

“How would you know? Is that a fact? A science fact?” Hoshiumi looks around the room like he’s waiting for one of them to jump in with their extensive knowledge of genetics.

Atsumu, who cares about as much for school as he does for making friends, has nothing to contribute on the subject. 

“Okay, I think that’s everyone.” Komori claps his hands. “Does anyone have a preference for games?”

“Volleyball?” Kageyama volunteers, looking very confused. 

“Uh, no,” Komori shuts him down. “Sorry. More like games we can play here.”

“We could play mafia!” Hoshiumi jumps up.

“That sounds dangerous.” Kageyama frowns. Atsumu wonders briefly if he only thinks of volleyball. Not that he’s much better.

Komori sighs. “It’s a detective party game, sort of. Two players are mafia members and try to kill off the rest in secret. Everyone else plays as a villager and has to try and vote them out. If the mafia members outnumber the villagers they win. There’s also a detective who can ask about the identity of one player each round.”

Kageyama nods but looks like he doesn’t understand a word.

“As long as I don’t have to move,” Sakusa contributes but it’s muffled by his mask. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Komori, why don’t you be the storyteller to start?” Hoshiumi says.

“There’s a storyteller too?” Kageyama asks. 

“Uh yeah, you’ll figure it out.” Komori taps him comfortingly on the shoulder.

Atsumu thinks that there’s honestly a solid chance Kageyama won’t.

“Everyone, close your eyes. If I tap you twice on the shoulder you’re a mafia member. If I tap you once you’re the detective.” 

Atsumu closes his eyes. Komori’s light footsteps walk around the room, pausing occasionally. When he gets to him, Atsumu feels two taps on his shoulder. 

Komori walks back to the centre. “Mafia members open your eyes.”

He does. He immediately glances over at Sakusa who’s already looking at him. He raises an eyebrow. Sakusa shrugs. 

He gives Komori a look, but Komori only smiles. “You can pick someone to kill. Just point at them.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. Atsumu figures that’s his cue to take the lead so he points at one of the guys he doesn’t recognize. He looks at Sakusa for approval. He nods. 

“Right. Close your eyes again.” Komori pauses. “Everyone, wake up.”

Atsumu pretends to blink like he’s opening his eyes with the rest of them. 

“Unfortunately, Kodama was hit by a car last night and has been killed.”

“Oh, shoot,” Kodama whines. At least Atsumu knows his name now. 

“You may discuss amongst yourselves.” Komori makes a grandiose gesture with his hands.

Sakusa sighs. 

Kageyama’s eyebrows furrow. “Well, I thought Kodama was an okay libero. He will be missed.” He looks at them as if to say, ‘am I doing this right?”

Hoshiumi ignores him. “It’s a little early to vote someone off now.”

“I agree, we should probably wait until the detective does whatever he does.” Atsumu nods. 

“But if we wait a turn then don’t they get another chance to kill someone?” Eikichi chimes in.

Atsumu knows an opportunity when he sees it. “Ya seem awfully eager to vote someone off. Maybe yer the mafia member.” 

Sakusa nods. 

“Ooh, good point.” Hoshiumi brings his hand up to his chin.

Atsumu leans over to whisper in Sakusa’s ear. “Who’s that other guy?”

“Hoshiumi?” 

Atsumu bats his arm. “Don’t be stupid. The other one.” Astumu gestures discreetly at the guy sitting on the floor. 

Sakusa huffs. “I don’t know. I only look up the people who are threats.”

Atsumu turns to him. “What’s that mean?” 

Sakusa looks like he regrets saying anything. He reluctantly continues, “If they’re good players, I’ll look them up.”

Atsumu grins slyly. He can’t help himself from asking, “Did ya look me up?”

He can’t see Sakusa’s nose from beneath his mask but Atsumu is familiar enough with his expressions to know that he’s scrunching it up in displeasure.

Atsumu’s smile grows wider and more genuine. “Ya did, didn’t ya?”

“What are you two whispering about?” Hosiumi asks. 

“Awfully suspicious if you ask me.” Eikichi jumps on board. 

“Don’t be, we were only talkin’ about Omi’s weird volleyball hobbies.”

Sakusa tches. 

“Oh, you mean his hit list?” Komori jokes. 

“Now you really sound like a mafia player,” Hoshiumi adds.

“Shut up," he snaps. “It’s not a hit list. I just like to be prepared.” 

“Nah, it’s pretty weird. He’s got a notebook and everything,” Komori helpfully adds. If anyone’s looks had the ability to kill Atsumu would bet his money on Sakusa. Luckily for Komori they don’t and he gets to see another day.

“Whatever, just vote already.” Sakusa clenches his fists into his tracksuit pants.

Hoshuimi turns to the group. “Why don’t we wait, is everyone good with that?”

There’s a smattering of nods and ‘yeah’s.

But Atsumu can’t let a subject as rich as this drop, “Didja bring it with ya?” he whispers.

Sakusa glares at him.

“I’ll help ya update it if I can see it.”

Sakusa looks away. “You just want to look at your page.”

Atsumu’s face lights up. “I have my own page!” 

“You’re insufferable,” Sakusa grits out.  

“Close your eyes.” Komori repeats with emphasis, and Atsumu realizes that he might have been trying to talk to them this whole time. 

“Mafia members wake up.” 

Atsumu grins mischievously at Sakusa. Sakusa rolls his eyes, but Atsumu thinks it’s a little fond. Maybe. If he squints. 

“Choose a person to kill.”

Sakusa takes the lead this time and points at Kageyama. Reflexively, Atsumu lightly grabs his arm and shakes his head. Immediately, he realizes what he’s done and hastily drops it. But for some reason Sakusa doesn’t skin him on the spot. He just raises his eyebrows.

Trying very, very hard to repress the flush rising to his cheeks, Atsumu points at the other guy whose name they don’t know. ‘Trust me,’ he mouths. 

Sakusa nods, albeit reluctantly. 

Komori acts like he’s witnessing an honest to god miracle. He freezes and stares with his eyes bulging. Atsumu scowls at him, certain Sakusa is doing the same. 

The rest of the game passes by quickly. Atsumu learns that the other guy’s name is Hamasaki, which will make things easier if he ever has to talk to him again. 

He also learns that Sakusa and him make a surprisingly good team. Atsumu makes accusations left and right and Sakusa nods and occasionally says, “I hate to agree with Miya, but…”

When they win, Atsumu insists on a high-five. Sakusa grimaces from behind his mask but reluctantly settles on a fistbump. Atsumu tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything. That he celebrates with his teammates all the time, why should this feel special? He catches Sakusa and Komori sharing some kind of look before Sakusa turns back toward Hoshiumi who is bouncing on his heels with an apparent infinite amount of energy. 

They play a few more rounds and, against all odds, Kageyama manages to not only figure out how to play, but win two rounds as the mafia. That’s about the point when Atsumu wants to call it a night. 

“We should probably head ta bed now,” he suggests casually. Like they’re still on a team, Sakusa nods vehemently. 

“Lame,” Hoshiumi says and then immediately yawns.

“I would also like to sleep soon,” Kageyama chimes in. 

Sakusa takes that as the last cue he needs and stands up. Atsumu follows him, thanking Komori on his way out. 

His plan was to wash his face again but Sakusa beats him to the washroom, making a beeline for the sink. Knowing from experience that this could take anywhere from one to five minutes, Atsumu goes to sit on his bed instead. He can hear him thoroughly scrubbing at his hands and wonders idly if it hurts. 

It’s then that his thoughts start to drift and he recalls a very important piece of information.

“Omi,” he calls out. 

“What?” The sounds of washing persist. 

“Where do you keep that notebook?”

There’s a brief pause and then Sakusa says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Atsumu grins. “Yes, ya do.”

Sakusa sighs and turns off the sink. “I’m not going to show you, so you may as well just give up now.” 

Atsumu gets up to wash his face and meets Sakusa in the doorway between their bedroom and the washroom. He’s taken his face mask off and Atsumu can clearly see the flat unimpressed line of his mouth. His ever-present slight slouch, makes them almost the same height. 

He holds the eye contact. “I told ya I’ll help ya update it if ya just show me.” 

Sakusa brushes past him. “And I’d rather die.” 

“Cold, Omi, Cold.” 

He quickly runs a cloth under the warm water with a little of his face wash. 

When he comes back into the room Sakusa’s shirtless. It shouldn’t be weird. Atsumu sees guys shirtless literally everyday. He sees them at practice, he sees them in the changing room during gym, he sees Samu every god forsaken day. Maybe it’s the fact that Sakusa went from being so intensely covered to nothing at all that it draws his attention, he tells himself. 

He can’t help but notice the smattering of moles on his back. Sakusa turns to him.

He stares at his abs for no longer than three seconds then forces himself to look at something else. Which happens to be Sakusa’s face. Which is looking at him.

Cool.

Atsumu feigns a sudden intense interest in his bed covers. Straightening the corners of his sheets before he gets in like he’s not about to mess it up anyways. 

He wants to declare that his face is red because he washed it, no other reason. But holds himself back because despite what Samu would have their teammates believe, he is capable of thought. 

Only once he’s safely under the covers of his bed does he allow himself to look back at Sakusa again. He’s no longer shirtless, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons he is Not Thinking About. 

He’s about to get into his bed when Atsumu notices the overhead light is still on. “Don’t forget to turn off the light.”

Sakusa nods but doesn’t look at him.

Then it’s just them in their two beds and a single dim lamp. 

“Goodnight, Omi” 

“Goodnight, Miya.”

-

Practice on the fourth day is grueling and he loves it. His fingertips are sore and his muscles ache from his biceps to his calves. 

As soon as he and Sakusa get back to their room he’s pulling open his backpack and digging out his prize. With a degree of utmost reverence, Atsumu opens his bag of grape gummies. 

Well, he attempts to. 

“Ow,” he pulls his finger back and sucks it into his mouth. “What the fuck? Why is this so sharp?”

“What?” Sakusa looks up from his crossword puzzle. Which Atsumu will be commenting on later. 

“Nothin’, I just cut myself on the wrapper.” He walks to the bathroom and grabs a piece of toilet paper to stop the bleeding before heading back to the desk in their room. 

“What are you doing?” Sakusa watches from his bed. 

“Stoppin’ the bleedin’?” 

His lips curl. “That’s disgusting.” 

“Why thank ya for yer input, Omi. I will be sure to let my body know and stop that disgusting activity at once,” Atsumu says sarcastically. 

Sakusa’s nose twitches. He sets down his pencil. “You’re going to get it infected.” 

He watches curiously as Sakusa walks over to his duffle bag and pulls out an entire first aid kit and sets it on his bed.

“What the fuck? Are ya always just carryin’ that on ya?” 

“Yes.” Sakusa rummages through the box until he’s found what he’s looking for. “Be grateful and sit still.”

Sakusa rips open a disinfectant wipe. Reasonably, Atsumu knows that to treat a wound you have to touch the person. But he’s still shocked when Sakusa’s hand grasps his own.

He presses the alcohol swab to the cut. Atsumu hisses. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Sakusa mutters. 

He frowns. “I’m not the one carryin’ a full first aid kit.”

“Babies aren’t strong enough to carry my kit.” Sakusa deadpans.

It takes Atsumu a second to realize it’s a joke. He snorts. 

Sakusa gently pads it with a gauze. “Hold that for a minute.”

“Omi, it’s barely even a papercut,” Atsumu feels the need to explain.

Sakusa ignores him and opens a Hello Kitty bandaid.

Atsumu’s mouth falls open. “Ya use those?”

“No. I use the plain ones. Komori gave these to me as a joke.” He sets the wrapper on the desk.

“Can I have a plain one?”

“No. Hold still.” Sakusa’s tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly as he applies the bandaid. He’s cute, Atsumu thinks. Then he represses that thought so hard he says the next thing he thinks of outloud.

“Yer hands are dry as fuck.” Yes, it is him. Normal Conversation Master, Miya Atsumu. 

Sakusa takes it in stride. “I am aware.” Sakusa pulls back and drops his hand. He can still feel the residual heat.

“Have ya never heard of moisturizer?” 

Sakusa crosses his arms. “I’ll just wash it off.”

“No? Yer skin absorbs it, ya know?”

Sakusa looks at him skeptically. “I don’t know about that.”

However, this is a subject Atsumu is well versed in. “Trust me, I do. Dry hands are the worst.”

Sakusa picks up the leftover garbage from cleaning the cut. “I’ll keep that in mind Mr. Sweaty Palm.”

“What- that is not true. My hands are perfectly moist and not- stop lookin’ at me like that.”

Sakusa smirks at him while he puts away his stupid first aid kit. 

“Whatever. Yer just jealous of my soft skin,” he says and cringes internally. It’s the kind of dumb shit he’d say to Samu and then get mocked into oblivion.

Sakusa exhales from his nose and Atsumu counts it as a laugh.

He rolls his eyes. “Sure, Miya.”

---

He realizes that Sakusa more or less has the demeanour of a senior citizen. Which is why they're lounging in their room instead of wandering the halls like he can hear Hoshiumi doing.  

While Sakusa is playing a game or something on his phone he texts Osamu. 

Me: so

He’s quick to respond.

Lesser Twin: whatdya want ya scrub

Me: jeez don’t sound too excited

Lesser Twin: you're keeping me from making cookies

Me: do ya make all my favourite foods the second i leave the house or smth?

Lesser Twin: yeah

Lesser Twin: stop stalling and get to the point

Me: suna’s not there, right?

Lesser Twin: it’s after 9pm. he’s at home. wtf

Me: idk what you do when i'm gone

Lesser Twin: if ya don’t start talking im setting ya down to eat my batter

Me: do you ever think about suna’s hands?

Lesser Twin: what the fuck are you on about

Me: like in a friend way

Me: like maybe you’re thinking they’re pretty dry so you should put some moisturizer on them

Lesser Twin: tsumu, ya sound like a fuckin serial killer

Me: what, so it’s weird to care about the state of my friend’s hands?

Lesser Twin: no but you’re making it sound pretty fuckin weird

Lesser Twin: im gonna pray that this immediately relevant to sakusa or hoshiumi or smth because if you’re laying awake thinkin that suna has dry hands or some shit you’re dumber than i thought possible

Me: obviously im not thinking about suna’s fucking hands

Me: im just wonderin if it’s like a bro thing to moisturize each others hands

Lesser Twin: everything is a bro thing unless you make it weird

Lesser Twin: which for the record, you definitely are

Me: thanks

He lets his phone drop onto his chest and looks over at Sakusa again. There’s no real casual way to offer moisturizer apropos of nothing. Or is there?

Atsumu reaches into his backpack and pulls out the little bottle he’s taken to carrying with him during the volleyball season. It’s lemon and lavender scented which he thinks is nice and Samu thinks is dumb, but Samu also once tried to eat a cake shaped soap bar so what does he know about hygiene anyways? 

He squirts some of it onto his hand like a normal person who’s not trying to find an excuse to rub lotion into their roommate's hands. Then, like a friend, he asks, “Omi, ya want some hand cream?”

Sakusa sets his phone down. “Stop calling me that.” His unimpressed glare is way less effective after being on the receiving end of it all day. 

Atsumu hums and taps his chin like he’s thinking about it. “Nah.”

Sakusa sighs like it’s too much effort to argue further and sits up (that’s when Atsumu knows he’s already won.)

“It’s just going to wash off,” he protests. 

Atsumu gives up on trying to logic with him. “Even if it does, ya can enjoy non-brittle skin for at least an hour.”

“Oh wow, a whole hour? Incredible,” Sakusa mocks. 

“Do ya want the lotion or not?”

“Fine.” Sakusa holds out his palm. He makes a face like he’s doing Atsumu a favour and not the other way around. Which Atsumu supposes might be a little accurate. Atsumu squeezes a drop onto his hand.

It’s then that he realizes that there’s literally no way he’s going to be able to rub lotion into Sakusa’s hands and that Samu might have a point. Not that he’ll ever tell him that.

“Thanks,” Sakusa mutters. 

Atsumu watches with vague disappointment as Sakusa rubs the lotion into his hands. Geez, maybe he does need to get out more…

Sakusa mutters something so quickly Atsumu almost thinks he’s imagined it.

“What?” 

His shoulders curve inwards as he fiddles with a loose thread on the edge of his track pants. “Do you want to go get some snacks?” He rips it off. 

“Ya want to get snacks?" Atsumu doesn’t even try to hide how shocked he is. "And eat them here? ”

Sakusa scowls but there’s a red tint to his cheeks. “I’m not some kind of robot. I can eat in our room.”

“Okay, okay.” Atsumu raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just that last time ya seemed like ya might've tried ta kill Komori for leaving crumbs.”

Sakusa’s lips press into a thin line. “Are you incapable of cleaning up after yourself?” 

“Nope! No crumbs here. Samu’s the messy eater.” They both are but Atsumu is determined to be on his best behaviour.

He doesn’t even know why he wants to hang out with Sakusa so bad. But he does. He really, really, does.

Sakusa looks at him like he’s regretting his own decision so before he can back out Atsumu jumps up and pulls on his shoes.

“We better head ta the convenience store before they close.” 

Sakusa pulls a face and, not for the first time, Atsumu wonders if he can read his thoughts. 

“Let’s go.”

On their walk there Atsumu notices three things about Sakusa, he’s witty, he’s blunt, and he’s tremendously awkward. When someone (Atsumu,) might have tried to fill a lull in conversation, Sakusa lets it hang there. Which is why Atsumu settles on the safe topic of volleyball strategies and serves because he can talk for hours about it.  

“Look, yer an exception, well, you and Ushijima both got that nasty spin on yer balls.” 

Sakusa hums. “Ushijima probably has more power than I do.” 

“Maybe. I’d need to play ya side by side to know fer sure.” 

“His weight lifting regimen is more intense than mine is. It’s only logical that his spikes would have more power too.”

“How the hell do ya know these kinda things? Is Ushijima’s routine public knowledge or something? Is he in yer notebook?”

Sakusa raises his eyebrows at him and levels him with his usual ‘how do you even function with so few brain cells' look. “He told me.”

“Yer silence speaks volumes. I know ya got him in there.”

Sakusa sighs. “Obviously I’ve analyzed him.”

“And then wrote about him in yer Death Note.”

Sakusa glares at him.

“Oh, look we’re here.” Miya quickly diverts his attention. “What did ya wanna grab anyways?”

Sakusa shrugs. 

“I’m gonna grab a meat bun, do ya want one?”

“No thanks.” Sakusa turns down an aisle, leaving him up at the counter.

When he returns he’s laden with a single protein bar and a green tea drink.

Atsumu takes a bite of his bun while Sakusa pays. “Ya know, if ya wanted a protein bar I had some in my bag.”

Sakusa's eyes narrow. “It’s too late for that now.” 

“Don’t ya want to get like an actual snack?”

“Last I checked, protein bars were snacks.”

“It’s not a late night trip to the convenience store snack.” 

Sakusa turns to him skeptically. “What is a ‘late night trip to the convenience store snack?’”

Atsumu grins. “Why Omi-kun, I thought ya’d never ask.” He quickly walks down the snack aisle and returns with real food, cheese chips and cookies. 

“Those look like they’ll be messy.” Sakusa stares at them unimpressed. “And unhealthy."

“That’s the point. What happened to not bein’ a robot. Live a little. We can eat 'em on the balcony or something.” 

Atsumu doesn't know how he can tell, but he knows Sakusa’s lips are doing that twisting thing underneath his mask. 

“I promise I won’t make a mess,” Atsumu adds.

Reluctantly, Sakusa nods. “Fine.”

Atsumu grins all the way back. Until they run into Komori on the way to their room.

“What are you guys doing out?” Komori asks, looking at the bags in Atsumu’s hand. 

“We were just getting a snack.” Sakusa says bluntly, and tries to brush past him to get to their room. 

But Komori’s mouth works faster than Sakusa walks. “So, Miya’s allowed to eat in the room and I’m not?” Komori teases, grinning.

Sakusa grimaces. “I never said you couldn’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure me not saying you couldn’t is what led to the cockroach in the first place. Besides, who says we're even eating in the room?” 

That is the most Atsumu has ever heard Sakusa speak consecutively. 

“It looks like you’re going to go into your room with a bunch of snacks with the intention of eating them. But what do I know?” Komori smirks. 

Atsumu, for once in his life, doesn’t open his mouth.

“Shut up, Komori,” Sakusa says and opens their door and walks inside, leaving the conversation there. 

Atsumu looks at Komori awkwardly. “Uh, I’m gonna go.” 

Komori looks far too pleased. “Have fun.”

When the door closes Sakusa pulls off his mask gives him a look that says ‘don’t mention it or i’ll crush your chips.’ At least that’s how Atsumu interprets it.  

He raises his hands in surrender. He’ll figure it out on his own (or ask Komori later.) He follows Sakusa to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he’s done drying them he walks out to where Sakusa has opened the balcony door.

The balcony is barebones. No chairs, just a plain white metal railing around the edge. Outside feels colder now after briefly passing through the warmth of their room. 

He rips open the chip bag and hands it to Sakusa, then opens the cookies. 

“I don’t think we can eat all this tonight.” 

“The bags are resealable.” 

Sakusa nods, and grabs a chip.

“Well?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“They’re okay.” Sakusa plucks another one from the bag. 

Atsumu tries one and hums in agreement. 

They don’t talk much while they eat but Atsumu thinks it’s nice nonetheless. He likes looking at the cityscape even if their balcony is only on the second floor. It’s different from Hyogo but Atsumu likes it. He likes the lights and the stray people wandering down the street, it feels busy.

He glances at Sakusa. Itachiyama is in Tokyo so Sakusa might not be all that far from home. He's probably used to this sight. He wonders idly what Sakusa would think of Hyogo. He'd probably hate it. The bugs, the lack of air conditioning in most stores, how everything interesting besides volleyball is outside. He almost snorts picturing it. But, maybe he'd like being away from the crowds. Atsumu feels himself smile a little.

When they’re done Sakusa insists that they brush the crumbs off their clothes and pulls out his lint roller. Atsumu thinks that Sakusa’s bag must work like some sort of magic hat considering how much stuff he can fit in there.

He says as much, “What the hell? How did ya even fit all that stuff in yer bag?”

Sakusa continues to roll himself down.

“I fold my clothes,” he says pointedly. 

“I fold my clothes too but I’m also not packing a first aid kit and a hundred of bottles of disinfectant.”

“Clearly not well enough. Now hold still.” Then something Atsumu couldn’t have possibly imagined happens. Sakusa begins meticulously lint rolling his entire upper and lower body. It feels sort of nice even if it is profoundly weird.

When Sakusa starts on his upper thigh he feels the need to start talking about anything. Literally anything. “Ya know we're gettin’ changed into pajamas anyways, right?”

Fuck, if he gets a boner from Sakusa lint rolling him he'll throw himself off the balcony. He thinks of all the bugs that Samu always manages to track back into their room, he thinks of how annoying it is when Rin films him failing at his serves and sends it to the group chat, he thinks of Kita finding his and Samu's porn mag in the club room and looking equal parts mad and disappointed. That seems to mostly do the trick.

“And now you won’t be tracking crumbs inside when you get changed. Unless you planned to change on the balcony.” Sakusa raises his gaze to meet his challengingly. The look he gives him is so intense that it begins to kill the progress he's made. Luckily, Sakusa pulls back and leads the way into their room.

“Ah, whatever," Atsumu manages to choke out. He stands in the cold for a moment longer before following him over the threshold back into their room.

It’s later than he’d normally stay up knowing that there’s practice tomorrow morning, but he can’t find it in himself to regret it.

Chapter Text

Nationals is, to put it bluntly, a fucking disaster. They lose to Karasuno (Kara-fucking-suno,) of all schools, in their first game. It's practically a waste of a trip. 

Maybe it's because everyone is a little crushed after that because when he says he needs to get a drink of water no one follows after him. 

It’s not that he didn’t enjoy it, because he did. But he hates losing. He always has. What is he if he’s not the best at volleyball? 

It’ll be their last match with the third years, with Kita. The thought makes his throat ache and his eyes sting with tears he refuses to shed, at least until he’s alone. 

He tries to find the least occupied washroom in the stadium but what he finds instead is Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

He sticks out like a sore-thumb no matter where he is. His terrible posture, gloomy aura, and neon pants. He reminds him a little of a poison dart frog with his brightly coloured clothes and the ‘touch him and die’ attitude he radiates. 

But by some freakishly terrible odds, he seems to be having an even worse time than Atsumu is. 

He doesn’t notice when Atsumu enters the washroom. His first instinct is to turn around and find somewhere else to have his breakdown. But Sakusa’s shaky breaths and desperate scrubbing at his hands pin his feet to the floor. 

“Omi?” 

When Sakusa makes no move to acknowledge his presence he steps closer. 

“Are ya okay?” 

Sakusa makes a noise, somewhere between a hum and whimper. This is so far out of his depth.

“Should I go get Komori?”

There’s a long pause where Atsumu wonder’s if Sakusa’s going to say anything to him at all.

But then he chokes out, “don’t bother.” 

Atsumu has never been in a position like this before. He barely understands his own emotions, as far as he’s concerned other people’s feelings may as well be in another galaxy. 

When Samu’s upset he normally hugs him but he gets the impression that would be profoundly unwelcome. 

“Can I help?” he asks. 

Sakusa shrugs. 

He awkwardly hovers between the door and the sink. It’s far too late to turn and leave now. 

“What happened?” 

There’s a long pause where the only noise in the room is the sound of running water and Sakusa scraping at his hands. 

Atsumu’s about to drop it and ask something else when Sakusa says, “I had to shake their hands.” 

Atsumu wonders if he means the opposing team or fans or someone else entirely but Sakusa continues before he can ask, “And then this guy wanted to congratulate me and he just grabbed them and he had these disgusting cheese things on his fingers and this stupid ” Omi slams a hand against the edge of the porcelain basin, “fucking sink won’t get hot enough to wash it off. And Komori, that stupid idiot, made me leave my wipes at the hotel because he said I wouldn’t need them. But obviously he was wrong and I never should have listened to him and the dispenser is almost out of soap.” 

Atsumu realizes that Sakusa’s on the verge of tears when his voice cracks as he says ‘dispenser.’ 

“Oh.” Atsumu nods even though Sakusa isn’t looking at him and hasn’t looked at him since he walked in. 

Fuck. Fuck . What does he even say to that? 

“Uh, yeah. That sucks.” Personally, Atsumu has never felt that strongly about cleanliness or whether or not the bathrooms had soap but he does understand having a breaking point. Little things mess him up all the time, when someone talks during his serves, when Samu moves his shit around in their room after he’s organized it, when people refuse to take him seriously about volleyball, when his morning routine is interrupted and he has to start all over. When they build up enough, he figures he feels a bit like Sakusa does right now. 

He notices that Sakusa’s hands seem to be bleeding, not a lot, but it still sends a throb of panic through his chest. He walks up to the sink so that he’s standing next to him. 

“Omi, yer bleedin’. I think yer hands already look plenty clean.”

“They aren’t,” he says with certainty. Sakusa breathes in another shaky breath.

“Why don’tcha take some deep breaths fer me, okay?”

He needs to get Sakusa to stop washing his hands but he doesn't know how or even if he should. He watches as the pin-pricks of blood drip down the sink. 

When Sakusa sniffles, Atsumu looks back up at his face. The tears he’d been so adamantly holding back have begun to leak over the edge. Selfishly, and a little cruelly, he likes that Omi is crying. He takes a sick sort of pleasure in the tears that break his ever cold visage. But more than that, he wants to help him and it twists like a dagger in his stomach. 

He keeps telling him to breathe and wonders if he should get someone who actually knows what they’re doing but that would mean leaving Sakusa on his own and he doesn't want to do that either. 

Impulsively, he washes his hands in the sink next to his, using the last of the soap, which Omi is not happy about if the glare he sends his way is any indication. 

Atsumu moves slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal. 

“I’m going to take yer hands out of the sink now, Omi,” he declares, telegraphing his every move.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sakusa spits out weakly. But Atsumu, for better or worse, softly grasps them anyways.

“They’re clean, I promise.”

Sakusa stares down at Atsumu’s grip with an unreadable expression and Atsumu worries that he’s about to be punched any second now. 

He pulls them out of the sink with minimal resistance. Without entirely letting go, he grabs a paper towel with one hand. 

“We gotta stop the bleedin’, but they’ll have to bandage ya up properly at the first-aid booth.”

He presses the paper towel into Omi’s hands, deliberately positioning himself between him and the sink.

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, so Atsumu continues drying off his hands for him. When he determines them to be dry enough he tosses the used paper towel in the garbage and grabs a fresh one to press into the cuts. 

“I hate paper towels,” Sakusa eventually says. 

“‘M sorry, but it’s a bit late for that don’cha think?” 

Logically, he knows this is the part where he’s supposed to drop Sakusa’s hands, but he keeps holding them anyway. Sakusa’s stopped crying, but he's still sniffling.

“How are ya feelin’ now?” 

Sakusa hums. “Better, sort of.” 

“I guess ya won yer game then.” He risks a glance up at Sakusa’s face but he’s staring intently down at their hands. He follows his gaze back down before he can catch him staring.

“It was an easy match.” Then, as if remembering manners, he asks, “how about you?” 

Atsumu doesn’t really want to answer. He’s ashamed to admit they lost in their first game, especially to someone as good as Sakusa is, but he thinks that just this once Sakusa might be more embarrassed than he is. 

“We lost.” His cheeks redden as he says it. “I can’t believe we lost to Karasuno. They’re unpredictable, I’ll give them that.”

“That’s Kageyama’s team, isn’t it?” 

Even at his lowest, Sakusa manages to hit him where it hurts. Atsumu scowls.

“Yeah.” He scrunches his nose up in disgust. “It don’t mean he’s a better setter,” he mutters. 

“Sure, Miya.” He snaps up to look at Sakusa and catches the tail end of his eye roll. 

“It doesn’t! There’s six people on a team,” he says like he believes it. “It can’t be just my fault,” he adds, but it comes out weaker and more vulnerable than he wanted it too. Because it feels like it is his fault, no matter what Kita tells him, he touches the ball the most. 

Sakusa lightly squeezes his hand. It’s warm and calloused, just like his own. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m kidding. I’m sure you played well.”

There’s no stopping the flush that rises to his cheeks. Involuntarily, his head snaps up to look at Sakusa and their eyes meet. He can’t see his mouth from beneath his mask but he thinks that maybe he might be smiling. He quickly looks away, pretending to be riveted by the bathroom walls tiling. But he keeps his hands in Omi’s because it feels nice. 

He’s saved from having to answer in the worst way possible. 

The door swings open aggressively. “‘Tsumu, are ya in there? Quit yer cryin’ we gotta go.”

And people call him the dramatic twin. 

The look he gives Osamu is plain, unadulterated panic. He rips his hands away from Sakusa’s and jumps back, immediately smacking his tailbone on the sink. 

“Jesus fuck!” His hands fly behind him to grip his back. 

“What?” Osamu says quietly, seemingly to himself. He glances between them and a sly grin that Atsumu wants to wipe right off his face grows. 

“Well, I’ll give you two a minute but Kita’s waitin’ fer us.” He gives Atsumu one last knowing look and Atsumu plans to throttle him the second he leaves. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” he shares, and because Sakusa doesn’t say anything in the second he gives him to respond he continues, “Fuck, I hope he wasn’t announcing that at every washroom he checked.” 

Sakusa exhales out of his nose, in that way that Atsumu has determined is more or less his laugh. 

“I should go.” He wants to leave before this gets awkward, well more awkward than it already is. “Are ya okay to head back on yer own?”

His eyes are red rimmed, only made more evident by his pale complexion. But that also makes the light pink dusting the tips of his cheeks easier to spot, even with the mask on. “I’ll be fine.”

Atsumu nods. He hesitates before leaving, feeling like he should add something or do something but he doesn’t know what because their relationship isn’t quite friends but it’s not not friends.

Just as he’s about to turn and head for the door Sakusa blurts, “Miya, wait,” he pauses, like the next words physically wound him, “thank you.” 

The embarrassment is quelled just a bit by the swell of warmth that fills his chest. “Wasn’t any trouble.” He fidgets with his shirt and then spins on heel to walk to the door. “I’ll see ya soon, Omi.”

He glances back and waves before he steps out into the hall. Omi waves back, and his heart stutters. He catches up with his brother a little ways away.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He refuses to look Samu in the eyes, knowing his stupid smug face will greet him. 

“Oh, but yer gonna.” Uncaring of Atsumu’s ire he continues, “I leave ya alone for ten minutes and yer holding hands with Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.” 

“Ya don’t understand the circumstances.”

“And what were these mysterious circumstances that forced ya ta hold hands?” Osamu teases. Atsumu kicks out the back of his knees. Unfortunately, he doesn’t collapse and manages to steady his footing.

Atsumu prays to Kita’s gods for patience.  

Even though Sakusa didn’t say anything about it, he thinks it might be a violation of his trust to say he was having a breakdown but he doesn’t know how else to justify their position. He knows with an uncanny kind of certainty that if he can’t explain it by the time they get back to the group Suna will be the first to know and the first to make memes about him.

“He was having a tough time and hurt his hands,” he eventually settles on. “I was just helpin’ ta look at ‘em.”

Osamu looks at him skeptically. “Sure, and this has nothing ta do with the fact ya got a crush on him?”

Atsumu chokes on his own spit. “I don’t have a crush on him!” he hisses at him. “Why would ya even say that?” He looks around in case anyone they know is listening, or worse, if Sakusa managed to catch up to them.

“‘Tsumu, if ya were tryin’ ta be subtle ya probably shouldn’t have asked me about moisturizing his hands,” Osamu deadpans. 

“I wasn’t asking about him!” he lies. “That was forever ago anyways, why do ya got the memory of an elephant?” 

Osamu laughs. “As if I’m gonna forget ya askin’ for advice on how to moisturize yer ‘friend’s’ hands.” 

Atsumu smacks the back of his head for good measure. “I don’t even like guys so there’s no way I have a crush on Sakusa.”

Osamu side eyes him. “Ya know ya can like guys, right? I don’t care.” 

The panic is back but for a different reason. It feels like his chest is ripped open and raw and everyone can see it. Can see the way he looks at Sakusa. Can see the way he thinks about him.

“Well, ‘m not and if I was I wouldn’t be into Omi-kun.” He scuffs his shoe on the ground. 

Osamu hums noncommittally. As their bus comes into sight a rush of anxiety hits him.

“Please don’t tell Suna about this,” he blurts before he can think better of it.

Samu looks at him and smiles cryptically. “Oh, I’m definitely tellin’ him, this is too good.” 

“Pretty please, I swear, Suna will never let me live this down,” he begs.

“Never let ya live down what?” 

He jumps and spins around. Suna’s usually flat look is perked up in slight interest. 

“What the fuck is with you guys today? Yer poppin’ outta nowhere.” 

Suna ignores him. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

“None of yer business,” he snaps. Then looks at Osamu hoping to convey both a threatening and pleading aura simultaneously. 

“Christ, don’t make that face.” Osamu pushes him away.

Suna raises his eyebrows and Osamu’s eyes get narrow in that way he does when he’s thinking. Then he tilts his head back and sighs. 

“Fine. But yer gettin’ me puddin’.”

“Deal,” he agrees before Samu can rescind his offer. 

Suna turns and falls into step with them. “Whatever.”

---

Third year is a rush. He’s captain, which is sort of crazy, but he loves it. Volleyball dominates his life, as always, but the omnipresent ‘what are you doing after high school,’ looms over him like never before. 

He knows scouts are looking at him, eager to pull him into the V. Leagues. Middle school Atsumu would have jumped at the chance but high school Atsumu knows better. That despite feeling like his body will last forever, it won’t and that when it eventually fails having a fallback isn’t giving up on his dream but being prepared. He’s received pre-emptive offers from universities too on sports scholarships, some without conditions. 

He’s torn. It’s not that collegiate volleyball is bad, but it’s obviously nothing like the pros. But when he gets a full ride offer from Waseda and a partial from Tokyo he knows he can’t simply brush it off. Especially not when his mom tells him how proud she is of him and any choice he makes. But he still has a few months before he needs to decide concretely. 

Nationals come before he knows it. This time he’s ready for Shouyou and Tobio. They slide through their first two matches with ease and when they get to their third they’re up against Karasuno again. 

It’s a close match, like before. But this time they come out on top. 

They play match after match but the thrill of winning isn’t the only thing driving him forward. He can’t pretend he hasn’t been paying attention to the roster. Their match for the semi-finals is against Itachiyama. 

He’s been aching for a rematch against Sakusa since their first year. It almost feels like fate that they’re both the captains of their teams. He’s the protagonist of this story and Sakusa’s his rival.

When he meets his gaze across the net Sakusa smirks. 

He scores not one service ace, but two, against Sakusa in particular before he manages to receive his jump float serve. 

But Sakusa meets him blow for blow. He spikes a ball with a mean spin at him and for a moment it feels like volleyball isn’t a six on six game, but one on one. Although he fails to receive it and it goes swinging out into the stands his eyes snap to Omi’s with a grin. Nothing feels better than playing against strong players. 

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when they lose. They go into a fifth match to play it out and it’s achingly close. His thighs burn and sweat drips from his hair into his eyes. 

“Good game, Miya,” Sakusa tells him through the net. His palm is as calloused and warm as he remembers, although much sweatier. 

“You too,” he’s upset that he lost, but not with his team. They played well. Sometimes you lose, that’s how games work. But again, it feels like it’s his fault. 

---

He finds Sakusa later, or more accurately, Sakusa finds him.

He isn't hiding per se but he is high up in the stands. Far back enough that no one will try to talk to him about the game he's watching, because he's not really watching. He's too busy thinking about all the plays he could have done differently. The guilt of losing another game weighs heavy on his shoulders.

“Miya,” Sakusa says in his usual monotone. It's not loud, but it startles him regardless. 

“Omi-kun-” he turns around. “Hope ya haven’t come ta gloat.” 

“Don’t be stupid.”  He glances over at the matches below before turning back to him. “There’s a rumour that you’re going into the V. Leagues after high school.”

Atsumu is aware that he’s a fairly high profile volleyball player for a high schooler. He’s even conscious of the fact that there might be gossip about him at times. But the fact that Sakusa not only knows about this gossip but has been actively thinking about it, about him, brings a new level of awe to him

He grins mischievously at him. “Is there?” 

Sakusa ignores his taunt. “Are you?”

Part of him would very much like to tease him, but every second he’s still in this stadium is practically a stolen moment. That, and he wants to know what Sakusa’s doing after high school and if he pushes him too far.... Well, Sakusa is notoriously stubborn. 

“Dunno yet. Probably not. I’m thinking I’ll probably go get a degree or somethin', in case I injure myself and all that before I go pro.”   

Sakusa looks surprised.

Atsumu bristles. “I can do school, ya know? I just prefer volleyball.” It’s true. He’s not great at it but he does relatively okay, better than some at least. 

“Huh. That’s awfully good planning for you, Miya.” 

“I do think ahead on occasion.” 

Sakusa’s hair falls into face and Atsumu feels the oddest urge to brush it back into place. Instead, he stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets and asks, “What about you?” 

Sakusa looks like he expected this question. “I’m going to university.”

Something about the way he says it, with an air of finality and resignation, sets him on edge. “But, ya are going back ta volleyball, right?”

“I want to.” He looks over the edge at the players below. 

“Good,” he says, and then because he figures he’s got nothing left to lose, he continues, “We should exchange numbers.” 

Sakusa’s attention snaps back to him. Atsumu's heart throbs up into his throat. Exchanging phone numbers has never been a big deal. He’s traded digits many times for group projects, but getting a number with the intention of… with intention, makes him nervous. Especially considering the intense look Sakusa’s giving him.

“Fine.” 

In his typical fashion of ‘my way or the highway,’ Sakusa pulls out his phone and demands he tell him his number because he’s not going to let Atsumu hold his phone “with your filthy palms, Miya.” 

Atsumu snorts. 

“Don’t spam me.” 

“But who else am I goin’ ta send all my chain mail too?” 

Sakusa looks at him with disgust. 

“I should get back ta my team.”

Sakusa nods. “Probably, although I’m sure they’re doing fine without you.” 

“I don’t like what yer implying.”

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of reading between the lines.” Sakusa's eyes glint with mischeif. It’s amazing how much he manages to emote so much smugness despite the cloth covering most of his face. 

Atsumu turns to leave but not before calling out teasingly, (although he’s very serious and he knows that Sakusa knows it too,) “I hope ya get yer ass kicked in the finals!” 

“I’m sure you do. Have a safe ride back.” 

Atsumu glares and walks (he does not stomp,) back to find Osamu and the rest of their team.

--

At first, it’s hard to come up with excuses to text Omi. He manages but he thinks his effort is worth acknowledging. He’s sifted through plenty of volleyball memes sending him only the best of the best. 

It’s only made more difficult by the fact that Sakusa almost never texts first. Yet it doesn’t feel like it’s a one-sided relationship. Sakusa is a surprisingly riveting conversation partner, mostly because he’s entirely uncensored in his opinions and boy, does he have a lot of them. 

On a whim, while picking up groceries for his mom with Osamu he texts him. 

Me: why is dawn so fucking expensive?

He’s surprisingly quick to respond.

Omi: the dish soap?

Me: yeah

Omi: cause it’s the best

Me: how much better can it be for double the price

Omi: i made that mistake once

Omi: it makes all other soaps seem like watered down garbage

Me: :/

Me: palmolive is so cheap tho

Omi: talk to me about that off brand dish soap again, i fuckin dare you

Me: idk what the big difference is

Omi: it’s like a regular serve vs a pinch server

Me: fine, u’ve convinced me

Omi: this is my service to the world, never ask me for anything again

Me: :/

“Who are ya textin’?” Osamu says, trying to get a look at his phone.

He’s quick to shove it back into his pocket and hide his grin. He’s not going to allow weeks of caution to go to waste. 

“Aran texted me a meme,” he lies.

“Lemme see.”

“Ya wouldn’t get it.” He leans down to peruse the soup cans.

Unfortunately, Osamu is more familiar with his methods of avoidance than others. He hums skeptically, but walks to the checkout.  

“Ya got yer wallet?” Osamu asks.

“Dontcha have yers?”

“Forgot it.”

“Fine.” He digs into his pants and grabs it. 

Then, like a bastard, while he’s paying the cashier Samu stuffs his hand into his pocket and grabs his phone. 

“Hey!”

“Yer change.” The unfazed cashier tries to hand him the money while Samu darts to the exit. He glares at him from across the store. 

“Thanks,” he says hurriedly, grabbing their groceries, which are really too heavy for one person.

He sprints to catch up to him, the bags slapping at his thighs. 

Osamu looks at him in partial surprise and partial smugness. “Ya’ve been texting Omi-kun.”

“Fuck off.” Because of course that asshole knows his password. He tries to grab his phone back but Osamu easily spins out of his grasp. Damn grocery bags.

“I can’t believe ya managed to get his number and then held out on me.”

“It’s not a big deal so I didn’t bother ta tell ya.” He grabs at Samu again.

“If it’s not a big deal why can’t I read yer texts?” His eyes scan through his open text convo.

“I don’t go readin’ yer texts! Give it here.” He elbows his gut. 

“Ow! Fine, take it.” He hands it back. “Can’t believe yer big move on him is talkin’ about dish soap.”

Atsumu stuffs it back into his pocket after checking that his brother didn’t send anything incriminating. “I’m not makin’ a move on ‘im” 

Osamu scoffs. “Like I’m gonna believe that.”

“It’s the truth, I don’t know what ya want me to say. We’re friends.”

“Either yer lying ta me or yer lying ta yerself.” 

Atsumu shoves the grocery bags into his arms. “Yer readin’ into things that aren’t there.”

“Why are ya so defensive if there’s nothin’ there. ‘Tsumu, I know ya like ‘im in yer weird sorta twisted way.” 

“Whatever.” Atsumu believes that’s the end of that. 

They get halfway home when Osamu asks him, “Have ya asked him what he’s goin’ ta to after high school?”

He’s not quite sure how Osamu plans to weaponize this information yet, but he’s still cautious. “He says he’s going to university.” 

“Which one?”

“Don’t know. He hasn’t picked last time I checked.”

Osamu hums in acknowledgement. “Have you picked?”

Atsumu turns to look at him. They’ve been avoiding this topic like the plague for weeks. “Not sure yet. I’m thinkin’ Waseda, they offered a full ride so it seems like a waste not ta. It’d be nice ta see their campus first though.”

Osamu blinks at him with wide-eyes. “That’s really far, Tsumu”

Guilt hits him hard. “Weren’t ya lookin’ at culinary schools in Tokyo too?”

“They’re expensive. Unfortunately, cookin’ schools don’t offer sports scholarships.”

“Ya could get a degree in business or something and try and get into the industry from that angle.”

“Maybe.” 

“We can look at ‘em when we get back. Besides, if ya hate it, ya can always drop out.” 

The idea of moving hundreds of miles away from his brother always seems like a good idea when he’s mad but in truth, it scares the shit out of him. He doesn’t know what he would do without Samu and he doesn’t want to find out. 

---

When they get back they look at Osamu’s options. He gently nudges him towards the ones in the Tokyo area specifically. He’s got just as many scholarships as Atsumu, so it should be easy to find a school in theory but Atsumu gets the sense that he’s not quite sold on the whole ‘business’ degree thing. 

He distracts himself from the inescapable dread in the only way he knows how. Bothering other people. By some miracle Sakusa texts him first.

Omi: did you watch the hornets match?

Me: not yet, is it good?

Omi: number 10 serves like you 10:33 

Sakusa sends a link to the match on YouTube. 

He clicks the link and waits for it to load on his painfully slow wifi. While the pinwheel spins agonizingly, his heart patters in his chest. Sakusa thinks of him when he watches volleyball. Sakusa thinks of him outside of their conversations. 

The video loads and he skips to the 10:33 mark. Number 10 tosses the ball up and sends it slamming into the audience.

Me: fuck you

Omi: 🤭

‘Osamu asked where you were going to school,’ he types out and then immediately erases. He doesn’t want Sakusa to think he talks about him with his brother to the point where Osamu would ask about him. It might come across as more obsessive than he would like. 

Omi: Hi Miya!!!

It’s uncanny how quick his heart can speed up. 

Me: hi?

Omi: It’s Komori, Sakusa went to get more snacks

Life is so unfair. 

Me: oh hey, what are you two up to?

Omi: Sakusa’s watching old matches and I'm his hostage

Omi: What are you doing?

Me: looking at school stuff for samu

Omi: Oh! Exciting! Have either of you picked a school yet?

Me: not yet. i’m thinking about waseda though.

Omi: Really????

He’s almost offended for a minute before he receives,

Omi: That’s where Sakusa plans to go

Omi: He hasn’t officially decided yet but I’ve seen him on that website almost twice a day

Me: no way

Omi: I can hear him coming back. Tell my family I love them

Me: you will be missed

Me: rip

Omi: ignore anything he’s told you

Omi: can’t leave my phone alone for 5 minutes istg

Omi: you’re going to waseda?

Me: idk maybe

Omi: what do you think of the facilities?

Me: I live in Hyogo

Omi: cool story

Me: why would i know what the facilities look like??

Omi: some of us actually intend to look at the schools we plan to go to

Me: hey! I plan on looking around the school but if you haven’t noticed i live 500km away

Omi: hmmmm

Me: i gotta plan an actual trip on like the weekend or break or something unlike SOME PEOPLE who can just fuckin walk there 

Omi: it’s busy

Me: cool story

Omi: :/

Me: can you just look and tell me if it’s good? Save me the trip

There’s a long pause. Which is anxiety inducing but also means that Sakusa is genuinely considering his offer, that or Komori is being murdered. 

Omi: fine

Omi: is there anything in particular you’re wanting to look at?

Me: just the gyms and the dorms

Omi: ok

Just like that Waseda feels closer than ever. The fear is still there, but for the first time in days he feels a little excited about life after high school. 

Chapter Text

It stings like betrayal when he accepts the offer to Waseda. Despite knowing the decision to be a good one, the right one, it feels wrong. Wrong to abandon his brother and wrong to wait when he should be running headlong onto the professionals court.

But if he’s being 100% truthful he doesn’t feel strong enough for the V. Leagues. Not yet.

Worse, despite his best effort at finding schools in Tokyo, Osamu decides on a 2-year degree at a culinary school in Nagano. And he’s proud of him. So proud, But he hates it too. It hurts him to hate out of love but he does because that’s who he is.

Part of him wants to ignore Osamu, but he’s already feeling the separation anxiety and doesn’t want to waste the time they have left. Which is why he’s been hovering in his space for the last few days without really talking to him. 

Not long after accepting, he gets an email from Waseda about on campus accommodations for athletes explaining how he has to stay in a dorm. That’s fine because he had nowhere else to stay anyway. Suddenly it hits him that Sakusa might also have to stay on campus. Provided he’s even going to Waseda. He gave the school his reluctant seal of approval after taking a tour, although he was unimpressed with the gym's showers. Atsumu is still surprised that they let him inspect them.

There's an attachment in the email with a form that allows roommate requests and Atsumu is too selfish to even think about passing it up. Before he can second guess himself he fires off a text. 

Me: hey

Me: are you going to go to waseda?

Omi: yes

Omi: are you?

Me: yea

Me: soooooo

Me: you saw that email about accommodations right?

Omi: unfortunately

Me: you see where i'm going with this

Omi: unfortunately 

Me: ur gonna hurt my feelings

Me: i'm a joy to live with

Me: ask samu

Omi: give me his number

Me: i’ll do you one better and pass the phone to him right now

He glances up at Samu sitting across from him on the couch. He smiles. Osamu frowns.

Me: tsumu is the best roommate ever

Me: also an amazing setter

Me: i wish i were more like him

Omi: this is sad to witness

Me: wow, i didn't expect samu to be so kind but there ya have it

Omi: :/

Me: i mean, i won’t be that offended if you want to randomize the choice and end up with some slob but okay

Me: they might not even vacuum

Me: eating on top of the bed, brushing crumbs onto the ground

Me: attracting bugs

Me: unrelated, but i can get rid of bugs no problem

Omi: u really want to room with me?

Yes. 

Me: I think it’s better than living with some person I don’t know 

Me: what if they suck?

Me: worse than you that is

Omi: i’m flattered 

Me: :)

Omi: i feel like i'm going to regret this

Me: :)

Omi: :(

Me: :)

Omi: stop that

Me: :|

Omi: fine

Me: :)

Omi: :)

Omi: :(******

Me: too late, you smiled

Omi: i take it back, no rooming together ur insufferable

Me: i’ve already submitted my form

Omi: :/

Omi: it’s been 30 seconds 

Me: i type fast and email faster

Omi: sure miya

Me: so just to confirm, even tho i definitely have already submitted and it’s too late to back out, but you want to be roommates right?

Omi: want is a strong word

Omi: agree to be is better

Me: :)

Omi: i'm going to go now

Me: ok, roomie

“Hey Samu, guess what.”

Osamu pulls his gaze away from the rerun of Godzilla he’d been watching. “What?”

“Sakusa and I are going to be roommates.” He puffs out his chest pridefully.

Osamu turns fully away from the screen, tossing his legs up onto the couch. “How the hell did ya manage that?”

“I'm a joy to live with and he recognized that.” 

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

Atsumu nods sarcastically. “I will be sure to give Omi a resounding review from you.” 

“You know, I’m happy for ya but I thought he was some sort of neat-freak, isn’t that going to be hard to live with?” 

Atsumu hadn’t actually thought that far ahead. In the day dreams Atsumu indulges in on occasion, Sakusa wears no shirt and likes to watch volleyball matches with him. He also cleans their room and tells him that he’s the best setter he’s ever played with. Of course, he never actually thought he’d be roommates with him again. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Osamu stares at him for so long that Atsumu feels the urge to wiggle in his seat, then he shrugs. “If ya say so.”

---

He plans to move in a week before the term starts at the end of March. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet that he’s not on vacation or at training camp and he really won’t be seeing Osamu until summer break. 

The night before he leaves, he crawls into his brother’s bed and is met with only minimal resistance. They don't talk about it.

His stuff is practically falling out of his bags on the platform with the way it's haphazardly shoved into his duffle bag and a single suitcase. He tries not to make it a tearful goodbye when he boards the Shinkansen to Tokyo, but fails miserably when Osamu’s voice breaks calling him a ‘scrub.’

The train ride is pretty and exhausting. He feels self concious about the redness tinting his eyes and hopes no one will notice he's been crying. When he gets to Tokyo, he bails on taking the subway or bus to the school and hops in the first cab he can find.

Atsumu’s stomach squirms at the thought of seeing Sakusa again.

Me: first person to the room gets to pick their bed 

Omi: if you insist

Me: i don’t like how u said that

Me: i take it back

Me: person with the lightest hair picks their bed first

Omi: coward

Predictably, Sakusa-You Can Never Be Too Prepared- Kiyoomi is already in their room when he gets there. Just like the first time he met him, he’s wearing his mask. 

“Omi!” A wave of cleaning products assault his nose as he steps into the room. 

“Miya,” he greets from where he’s crouched by one of the two desks in the room. He’s got black latex gloves on and a wipe in his grasp.

There’s a lot of things Atsumu could potentially comment on. The fact that Sakusa is religiously cleaning their room before they’ve even moved in, the fact he has three volleyballs and ten bottles of salonpas lining the floor, or that he’s already put up a poster that says, “Effort” and if Atsumu is not mistaken, is for some video game over the bed closest to the window. But above all else, Sakusa’s outfit is truly atrocious. He can’t even blame it on his school colours because they very clearly aren’t. 

“What are ya wearing?”

“Shorts.” He’s already turned back to wiping down the desk. The bright orange garment stretches tightly over his ass, which Atsumu forces himself not to linger on. Instead, he takes in the rest of his absurd outfit including a neon green shirt and vibrant yellow shoes. 

“Yeah, believe it or not I got that much.”

Did Komori really let him go out dressed like this?

When he finally stands up, his height becomes more apparent. How Atsumu forgot that he was this much taller than him he’ll never know. He really should be intimidating but it’s hard to take him seriously when he looks like he let a toddler dress him. 

“What bed do you want?” he deadpans.

One is already covered with Sakusa’s stuff and has the poster over it and the other is completely empty. Atsumu snorts and doesn’t bother with a response, instead dropping his duffle on the unoccupied one.

“Good choice,” Sakusa says, like he was given any choice at all.

“When did ya get here?” he asks, pulling out some of his clothes.

“A couple hours ago.” He tosses out the used wipe. “How was the trip?”

“Exhausting. I was thinking about getting some late lunch if you wanted to come with.”

Sakusa gives the desks an inspecting once over and nods. “Alright. I was just finishing up here anyways.” 

“Ya can give me a tour around campus." Astumu grins.

Sakusa cocks an eyebrow at him. "I’ll give you a tour around the food court, final offer."

"I'll take it but tomorrow I wanna go see the gym."

Sakusa grunts and Atsumu takes that as an affirmative. He leads the way in his truly ridiculously tight orange shorts. Atsumu blames the attention grabbing colour when his eyes start to drift.

---

They meet the team a few days before the term officially starts. The gym, which he had already seen a few days prior, is huge even in comparison to Inarizaki’s. The ceiling stretches high like it would in a stadium and Atsumu fights the urge to shout and see if his voice will echo.

He instantly takes a liking to their captain, Yuji, who has a friendly demeanour that reminds him uncannily of Aran. Simultaneously, he dislikes the first string setter, Okamura, immensely. He’s haughty and boastful, and while he plays alright (Atsumu has seen videos of their matches,) he thinks he might not be entirely deserving of his confidence to the extent that he describes himself. He especially hates the way he talks down to him, like he wasn’t the captain of a powerhouse school who went to nationals every year of his volleyball career. 

As for Sakusa, he takes to the team like a fish to cola, which is to say not at all. Although not for lack of trying, Atsumu thinks anyway. He’s polite, in his own way, but he comes across as stiff amongst the college players who are anything but.   

Nevertheless, after the initial warm up drills they decide to have a friendly match. The chemistry is a bit off but Atsumu knows that he’ll learn to work with them. Likewise, Sakusa’s reservation doesn't seem to carry over to the court and he plays just like how he remembers at nationals. Except this time they’re on the same team.

He pauses mid game to comment on it. “Omi, this is the first time we’ve played on the same team in almost three years.”

Sakusa hums consideringly. “I guess so.”

Yuji glances between them. “Do you know each other?” 

A sort of pre-emptive possessiveness temporarily takes over him and Atsumu announces, “I’ve known Omi for years!” 

Sakusa sighs. Yuji looks to him questioningly. 

“Yeah,” he responds, resigned to his fate of being Atsumu's buddy. 

Winning. Atsumu buries his excitement and rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t sound too excited,” Atsumu drolls.  

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Sakusa snaps back.  

While Okamura subtly grates on his nerves it’s evident that he’s not without experience on him. It gives him hope that maybe he can learn something from collegiate volleyball after all, even if it’s out of spite. 

Of course, technically speaking he’s got some moves of his own. Volleyball is his life blood after all, and he knows that his skills aren’t something to laugh at. The older collegiate players are good, but Atsumu quietly believes that college is where dreams go to die (himself the exception) and that many of the players here won’t be going pro. 

Practices pass in a blur like the lectures that Atsumu forces himself to adjust too. School is, as it always has been,  just an interim activity between volleyball practice. Eventually the discussion of this year's starting team. Yuji confides in him that at the very least they’ll use him as a pinch server, which is so obviously a waste of his talents (he’s here on a scholarship to play volleyball, he thinks furiously,) but Yuji follows it up with a promise that they’ll try putting him in their next practice match against Tokyo and if it goes well he could be regularly see time on the first string.

It’s a start. 

---

“Miya, why are there three piles of clothes on the floor?” Sakusa asks in a way that’s more condemning than actually interested in an answer. Atsumu is surprised it’s managed to slip his focus for so long but it has been disorienting figuring out where all their classes are. 

“Clean pile, dirty pile, passable pile.” He points at each one.

Sakusa looks progressively more disgusted with each added piece of information. “Passable?”

“Yeah, it’s when-”

“Stop. I don’t want to know. Clean it up.”

“I will but first I want to finish reading this chapter. It’s due tomorrow.” He holds up the textbook on anatomy he’s been half reading over the past fifteen minutes. 

Sakusa glares down at him. “Fine. But it better be fixed by the time I’m back from my run.”

The distance between them over the years has allowed Atsumu the luxury of forgetting what a bitch Sakusa can be.

“Whatever, your majesty.” 

Sakusa sneers and pulls on his running shoes. 

Atsumu did plan to take care of the problem. But then Yuji came by with the promise of free BBQ and who was he to turn down free food? Not Atsumu, that's for sure. When he returns to their room, laden with kebabs, Sakusa is playing a first person shooter.

“Omi, I got snacks,” he announces.

Sakusa hums and not his “agreeable but too lazy to speak” hum, it’s his “fuck you” hum. Sakusa plays without headphones so Atsumu is privy to the absolute mauling he’s giving to the enemy team. At least he assumes that’s what’s happening based on all the gunshots. 

“Here,” he holds out a kebab.

“I’m busy.” Sakusa doesn’t look away from his computer. 

“But they’re still hot. Yuji took me to this block party, well more of a barbecue and I brought some back,” he explains, holding out the kebab in front of the screen.

Sakusa pushes his arm out of the way. 

So Atsumu does what he would have done if Sakusa were Osamu. He tries to put it in his mouth. 

The second the kebab touches Sakusa’s lips he flinches back. “What are you doing?”

“Just take it, you loser." He prods him with it again.

“I don’t want it!” He pushes his chair back, head tilting around the kebab to try and see his game.

“Don’t waste ‘em. Just eat it.”

“Miya, get that thing out of my face.” Sakusa seethes. 

“They’re good though, you're being,” he drops the kebab onto the keyboard of Sakusa’s laptop, “ridiculous.”

Sakusa stops playing his game and looks at the sauce dripping into his computer. Atsumu freezes, like a deer caught in headlights.

When Sakusa turns to look at him Atsumu breaks out of his state.

“Omi, I am so, so, sorry. Please don’t kill me. I can go get another kebab.” 

Sakusa’s throat pulses. “I don’t want another fucking kebab!” He let’s go of his grip on his mouse.

Atsumu takes a step back. 

“Right, yeah I can see that now. Should I,” Atsumu looks around, “get a wipe or something?”

“I’m going to kill you, Miya,” Sakusa growls out. Atsumu believes him. 

“I can go actually. I can just leave. For a bit. Yep.” Atsumu slowly backs out of the room. 

Sakusa pushes his chair back. “Get back here, Miya!”

But Atsumu is already hurrying down the hall.

---

When Sakusa doesn’t immediately kill him upon his return he almost assumes he’s been let off the hook, because if it were Osamu he’d simply beat the shit out of him on the spot. But Sakusa is different. He’s cold and scary silences. It takes Atsumu awhile to realize it because Sakusa’s glare is very, very, effective, but it’s all a bluff. Unlike Osamu or Rin, Sakusa won’t actually hit him because that would mean he would have to touch him.

He finds crueller, more unusual, ways of punishing him. 

“Oh this?” Sakusa says looking up from the collection of fatty tuna he came back to the room with. 

He doesn’t know how Sakusa knows it’s his favourite, or if he even knows at all. It could simply be a strange trick played on him by the gods. 

“Just some sushi I picked up.” He eats it agonizingly slow while he reads his stupid book. Not sparing Atsumu a glance. 

He would almost think that maybe he was reading into things too much, that Sakusa couldn’t possibly be that vindictive. Then practice happens. 

Atsumu wouldn’t say he’s jealous that Sakusa chose to practice with Otani, but he is surprised. He watches them through passing glances and from the corner of his eye. The combos they do are so basic Atsumu could have done five years ago with his eyes closed while missing a finger and still  they would have been cleaner.

“Otani, you're getting a lot better,” Sakusa says just slightly too loud for it to not be a disingenuous compliment as far as Atsumu is concerned. 

Otani blinks his dumb little eyes at him and smiles. “Thanks, Sakusa, that means a lot coming from you.”

Sakusa looks over at Atsumu. “Don’t you think, Miya?”

The look in his eyes is too innocent. Sakusa never looks innocent and he definitely doesn’t compliment half-baked spikers like the likes of Otani. He doesn't even compliment him and he’s the best damn setter on the team. 

Atsumu stares at him and does his best to hide his envy, but obviously not well enough because Sakusa's lip twitches ever so slightly up. 

“Yer doin’ fine, Otani,” he says and hopes it doesn’t come out as fake.

He knows that Sakusa knows that he knows what’s going on. Sakusa smirks. “I think he could be a first string setter,” he adds.

Atsumu grits his teeth. “With nothin’ but second tempo sets,” it’s not a compliment but he says it like it’s one. 

Otani looks between them. “Er, thanks guys.” 

Atsumu turns back to practising serves and receives with Yuji. He’s going to make it hurt. 

It keeps his mind off Omi until he hears a booming laugh from Okamura. Who is standing with Sakusa. Since he's apparently decided to become a social butterfly today. Atsumu doesn't want to think about what Sakusa could have possibly said to have made him laugh like that.

A stirring in his gut has him digging his well trimmed nails into his palms. He’s not close enough to hear them but if the “no stop, it” gesture Okamura makes is any indication than perhaps Sakusa is better at group bonding than he initially gave him credit for. 

If Atsumu thought he hated hearing him compliment Otani it’s nothing on this.

“Earth to Miya, come on dude. You’re going to get brained,” Hiroki drawls. 

Atsumu snaps back to the present, but not before he takes one last compulsive glance at Sakusa. Sakusa, who is already looking back at him with the innocent doe eyes he has yet to truly pull off.

Bastard. 

---

Sakusa is playing his first person shooter when Atsumu decides it’s time to beg for forgiveness. Even if it wounds his pride. 

“Fine. You win, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up the room,”

Somehow Atsumu manages to tell the difference between Sakusa’s non-verbal hums, because it’s not his “fuck you” hum, it’s his “go on” hum. 

“And I’ll vacuum?” he offers. 

Sakusa hums again.

“And do the laundry?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he finally says. 

Groaning, Atsumu shoves the pile of clean clothes in his dresser. That’s a problem for when he gets back, and grabs the rest of the “passable” and “not even close to passable” piles, then he looks over at his bed spread and decides to do that too. 

The laundry room is in a communal space so he opts to stay with it while it washes. 

Me: how's school?

Lesser Twin: ok

Lesser Twin: classes are different when tests are making things

Lesser Twin: how's the roomie?

Me: still mad

Lesser Twin: who could have possibly foreseen this

Me: stfu

Me: i’m cleaning the room now so he’ll be happy

Lesser Twin: wish you would have done that back in the day

Me: says fucking YOU

Me: Mr. I Will Eat Cookies In Bed and Then Sleep in The Crumbs For Weeks

Lesser Twin: I can’t help it that my body is more durable than yours

Me: fdjkahjdf

Me: i hate you

Me: idk why i thought that he’d just like cleaning or smth

Lesser Twin: lmaooo wtf did you think he was gonna be ur maid?? 

Lesser Twin: 👀

Me: No! Obviously not. 

Except that’s exactly what he thought. Guilt stabs at him belatedly.

Me: don’t make fun of me but i think i need to be a better roommate

Lesser Twin: what gave it away

Me: :/

Me: i’m trying to ask you what i should do dumbass

Lesser Twin: clean yer room for one

Me: check

Lesser Twin: idk man just don't be an asshole

Lesser Twin: help him with stuff

Lesser Twin: do stuff he wants to do

Me: idk what he likes to do

Me: all he does is play volleyball and video games

Lesser Twin: then do that

Lesser Twin: oh and for the love of god tsumu, don’t be weird

Me: ???

Me: i’m never weird

Lesser Twin: 👀

Lesser Twin: do you want me to cite incidents?

Me: what incidents

Me: and quit it with the fuckin eyes

Lesser Twin: when you wanted Kita to like you so you went to his desk

Me: OK 

Me: that’s enough of that

Lesser Twin: and insisted upon greeting him there everyday for like a week even tho he wasn’t in yer class or yer year

Me: why ya gotta do that

Lesser Twin: and then there was that time

Me: STOP 

Me: I GET IT I WON'T

Lesser Twin: gl, yer gonna need it

Talking to Osamu makes him feel less lonely for a while, even if it makes him more aware of the distance between as soon as he stops texting. 

When he gets back to the room he starts vacuuming with the one Sakusa had the foresight to bring. Seemingly trusting him to perform a simple task, Sakusa only occasionally glances over from his game to him with an appraising eye. When he finishes and the grime of cleaning has settled into his skin, he takes a much needed shower. 

The niceness of being clean in freshly laundered clothes brings him comfort he hasn’t felt since he first got here. 

“Omi, I’m gonna die,” he whines from his bed. 

Sakusa snorts. He loves that noise. It’s the sound of cute forgiveness. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

And because he wants to press his luck, he asks, “You wanna watch a movie?”

Sakusa turns away from his laptop. “Do you not have homework?” he asks accusingly. 

“Yer literally playing a video game.” 

“I did mine when they assigned it.”

Of course he did. 

“Do ya want ta watch the movie or no?”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know. I haven't picked one yet.” Then, because he’s trying the whole being nice thing, he continues, “Is there one ya wanna see?”

“Not in particular.” Sakusa shrugs.

“We can pick one together then.”

Sakusa seems to mull this over and then brings his laptop over to Atsumu’s bed. Logically, Atsumu knew that they’d be sitting next to each other to watch it but his single bed is so much smaller when there’s two six foot athletes on it. It dips and creaks when Sakusa carefully drops down. 

His leg brushes Atsumu’s in his bright blue sweatpants. They're hideous. Atsumu is almost fond of them. 

He brings up Netflix and goes straight to the action films so Atsumu figures that must be his preference. Curiously, he tries to catch a glimpse of what he normally watches but he scrolls too fast for him to see. 

Atsumu brings up a hand to point at the screen and Sakusa smacks it away.

“Don’t touch it.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

But Sakusa touched his hand. God, he feels so ridiculous for feeling good because Sakusa Kiyoomi deigned to slap him. 

“That one looks interestin’.” he points at one, keeping his hand at a distance.  

Sakusa clicks on it without a preamble. 

Atsumu enjoys the movie to a startling degree. The horrible logic every character uses before going into a situation woefully unprepared is deeply amusing to him. He can’t help himself from commenting on almost every scene. He expects Sakusa to tell him to shut up at least once but he nods along to his commentary and even adds his own. 

When Sakusa re-adjusts the laptop on his lap and his leg rests closer than before, Atsumu knows he’s reading into things but he can’t help grinning. 

---

The practice match goes far better than Atsumu could have anticipated. He gets to show off not only the range of his sets but his receives as well. 

When Yuji tells him, weeks later, that he’s going to be on the regular rotation he turns to Okamura with a casual grin.

“As long as I’m not steppin’ on any toes.” He doesn’t leer but he doesn’t quite pull off the genuine delivery he was aiming for. 

Just loud enough for Atsumu to hear, Sakusa snorts, and then quickly moves away to finish putting the balls back in the bin. 

“It’s fine,” Okamura grits out. “Don’t embarrass the team.”

“Course not.” His satisfaction bleeds through his words. “‘m just happy to play with such skilled players.”

Okamura sneers and spins on his heel leaving the gym entirely. Yuji makes an excuse and chases after him shortly after. 

“You’re so fake,” Sakusa remarks on the way back to their room. 

Atsumu sniffs. “I’m cordial. I would like ta get along with our teammates." Unlike you, goes unspoken.

“You call that getting along?” Sakusa argues. “At least I’m not picking fights.” 

“So, ya weren’t tryin’ ta kill Taro earlier?”

Taro, the wing spiker Sakusa is set to imminently replace on the first string. If Atsumu had a mental list of people he liked least on the team (he does,) Taro would come right after Okamura. 

Somehow Taro took the news even worse than Okamura did, and far more personally. But instead of biting comments and aggressive pacing, Taro cut straight to the core of Sakusa’s dislikes and started touching him. Not for long periods just the occasional brush and slap on the back, enough that it wouldn’t be plainly evident how purposeful it was. It had only been a week but Sakusa looked about ready to bite his head off. Atsumu might help him. 

“It’s not my fault that he’s not good enough.” Sakusa frowns. “I don’t know why he’s got to take everything as some sort of personal vendetta against him.” He clucks his tongue. “I don’t care about him or his pathetic attempts at trying to get back at me.”

Maybe he’s a bad person but Atsumu loves it when Sakusa gets mean. Especially, when it’s not directed at him. 

“Agreed. I hate it when people complain but refuse ta get stronger themselves.” 

Sakusa nods. 

“If only ya really did produce poison like a dart frog, he’d die on contact.”

Sakusa starts to nod but then looks at him confused. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Atsumu realizes he’s never actually shared this thought before. “Yer sorta like a poison dart frog, ya know? Ya like bright colours and ya hate it when people touch ya.”

Sakusa looks at him disdainfully. “Your jokes are terrible.”

Atsumu huffs. “Yer no comedian either.” 

Sakusa ignores him and sighs. “I don’t know what to do about him.”

“You could try tellin’ all the other spikers how much better they are than him. Ya’ve gotten real good at flattery,” Atsumu teases. 

Sakusa glares at him. “Not everyone is as easy to get to as you.” 

“I knew it!” Atsumu feels strangely vindicated. 

Sakusa ignores him again. “Besides, the problem isn’t that I want to annoy him, I can do that easily enough by just being on the team. I want him to stop bothering me.”

“Make him quit the team?”

Sakusa stares at him skeptically. “And how am I going to do that?”

“How should I know? Start a rumour about him or make practice so unbearable that he quits.” 

“I don’t know how to spread a rumour but I can probably make practice difficult. Maybe.”

“That’s the spirit! Yer great at makin’ things hard,” Atsumu says and then immediately flushes with realization. “As in difficult, because yer hard to get along with.” 

Sakusa stares at him and exhales out of his nose in that way he does when he thinks something is funny but doesn’t want to laugh.  

“You’re kind of evil.”

“Yer plannin’ on makin’ the poor guy’s life hell after he got kicked off first string and I’m evil?”

Sakusa thinks for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. He’s probably having a hard time.”

“Nah, he sucks. He chose to take it badly and now he’s takin’ it out on you. ‘S only fair, let ‘im have it.”

Sakusa looks at him for a long moment. “I’m starting to think you might be a bad influence.”

“I’m the bad influence?” Atsumu stares slack jawed at him. “Out of the two of us I am not the one most likely to take petty revenge.”

Sakusa shrugs. “But you are the one more likely to encourage it.”

“Maybe.” Atsumu grins at him. Sakusa grins back. 

---

Watching movies with Sakusa becomes a regular thing. Although it takes awhile for him to notice, too high on the feeling of almost not quite cuddling him, that Sakusa is hiding something from him. That being, his recently watched list. 

But nothing can last forever and eventually Sakusa gets up to pee leaving Atsumu alone with his computer. He’s only stepped back into the room when Atsumu’s face splits into a shit eating grin. 

“Hey, Omi,” he tries to sound casual but his amusement bleeds through anyway. 

Sakusa looks at him, immediately suspicious. “What?”

“Why have we been watching nothin’ but action movies when ya clearly prefer rom-coms?” 

Sakusa blushes. Actually blushes. “My sister uses my account,” he deadpans. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Atsumu's grin doesn’t falter, “Cause I thought ya might say that, so I looked at the other accounts on here, and if I’m not mistaken, this one is yer sister's, right?” 

He turns the computer around to point at it. Sakusa doesn’t break their staring contest. 

“Stop stalking my Netflix.” He crosses his arms. “Anyways, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t use mine.” 

Atsumu looks at him skeptically. “So ya didn’t watch Love Bender ?”

“Never heard of it.” Sakusa glares down at him.

“And ya’ve never seen Nets and Knights , a rom-com about,'' Atsumu reads off the screen, “teenage volleyball players who get sent back in time to the era of knights. Will they make it out with their hearts intact?” Atsumu can’t help himself, he snickers. 

Sakusa breaks his gaze and grabs his computer back. He sits down next to him on the bed anyways. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell?” Atsumu tries to ask with a straight face and fails miserably. 

“Nope.” Sakusa stares at the screen as if he focuses hard enough Atsumu might cease to exist. His face is still a rosy pink. 

“Omi, yer so easy to read. I can’t believe ya like these.”

“I don’t. I like action,” Sakusa denies.

“And ya clearly like romance so why don’t we watch something from that category for once.” 

Sakusa's jaw clenches. “No.”

“Omi, I promise I won’t make fun of ya.” He lightly jostles his arm. 

Sakusa raises his eyebrows. “You absolutely will.”

“Okay, yeah I will,” Atsumu admits. Sakusa frowns at him so he continues, “But we can make fun of them together!”

Sakusa’s lips twist like he’s considering it. “No.” 

“Please, Omi.” He uses his puppy dog eyes. They’ve never been effective but he’s not one to give up just because something hasn’t worked before. 

“Stop that. You look gross.” He sighs in resignation. “Put on whatever you want.”

Atsumu smiles toothily at him. “You got it.”

He flips through some of the options before settling on one about a heist gone wrong with a thief and the museum security guard. “How’s about this one?”

“Whatever.”

It's as close to Sakusa’s approval as he’s going to get.

It’s surprisingly attention grabbing but nothing is as interesting as Sakusa’s reactions. At first he pretends to be disinterested, arms crossed and face flat. 

But when things start to pick up Atsumu can’t help stealing glances at him. He’s smiling. Just a little. That’s when Atsumu realizes he’s got a problem, because his heart skips a beat and he realizes that he doesn’t just want to kiss him, although he wants that too, but he wants to hold his hand. In that moment, he realizes that he honest to god likes him. The worst part is knowing that Osamu was right.

When Sakusa laughs, not a snicker, not a sharp exhale from his nose, a real laugh, Atsumu knows that they’re only going to be watching rom-coms from now on. 

The credits roll and Sakusa's shoulders have long since sunk into the pillows behind him.

“That was pretty good,” Atsumu comments, hoping it’ll make him less defensive. But it’s also the truth because he did like it. 

“It was,” he reluctantly admits. 

“Wanna watch another?”

“We have practice tomorrow,” Sakusa says but doesn’t move. 

He really is too easy to read. “Not until ten.” 

Sakusa’s lips pinch together. “I guess I could watch one more.”

Sakusa falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through but Atsumu keeps the movie going until the credits roll. He kills time with his nightly Instagram check until he can't put it off any longer and wakes Sakusa up to sleep in his own bed, even though he desperately wants to pretend to fall asleep himself and keep him there. 

---

At some point, wanting to kiss Sakusa becomes background noise to other more peculiar thoughts like wanting to feed him candy while he’s gaming and putting an ice cube down his back and covering him in so many layers that he looks more blanket than person and simultaneously wanting to remove everything he’s wearing except his mask. 

He keeps these thoughts to himself, obviously. Except for the ice cube one, which he does. And yeah, Omi yells at him but he’s kinda sexy when he’s mad, so who’s really winning? But then he beats him over the head with a pillow and it shouldn’t hurt but it kind of does. 

Luckily, Atsumu has developed a strategy for when Kiyoomi goes cold and ignores him, which is often but less frequent than all of his friends predicted. 

He grabs the vacuum while Sakusa goes back to playing his game with his hood pulled up over his head as a defensive precaution.

He saves Omi’s desk for last. Sure, he could probably manage to vacuum around his chair but where was the fun in that?

As he reaches the vacuum under his desk he ducks down to rest his chin on Omi’s shoulder, something he never would have even attempted months ago. Sakusa stiffens beneath him but continues playing. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks challengingly, trying weakly to jostle him off. Atsumu knows that if he really wanted him gone he’d have tried harder. 

“I’m vacuuming, obviously.” And he is, albeit blindly and very poorly beneath Sakusa’s chair. 

“And you have to do that on my shoulder?” Without seeing his face Atsumu knows he’s raising his eyebrows. 

“I don’t know, did ya have ta order takeout without me?” 

Sakusa snorts. “You’re still thinking about that? You said you were going out with Yuji.”

“But I wouldn’t have if I knew ya were gonna get curry,” he mutters.  “It’s not like we didn’t invite ya.”

Sakusa hums. Headshot. 

“Who’s winning?” Atsumu bumps his head against Sakusa’s hood. 

“Me, obviously.” Sakusa tries to shake him off again, but it’s no more effective than the first attempt. 

Atsumu hums. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t play a lot of video games anymore.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything as he runs around the map. It’s kind of mesmerizing to watch.

“I can show you.”

That snaps Atsumu’s attention back. “Huh?”

“I’ll show you how to play if you want.”

“Alright, but I’m probably going to suck.” He pulls himself away from Sakusa.

Sakusa nods. “Probably.”

---

“You suck.” 

He does. Profoundly so. “Hey! Unlike some people I saw the sun instead of staying inside.” 

“Never heard of it.” Sakusa’s hood is pulled back down so his curls stick up just a tad. He looks so disgustingly smug. Atsumu wants to smack it off him. 

“Shut up. How do I reload?” Atsumu growls at the screen. 

“Hit R but it’ll auto reload when you run out.” 

Atsumu reloads. “Why is it so hard to shoot these bastards?”

Sakusa hums, a small smile tugging at his lips. Atsumu’s computer tings from behind them.

“Your download is done,” Sakusa says while bringing up the game on his desktop. 

“Omi, this isn’t going to be a fair fight,” Atsumu whines. 

Sakusa fiddles with his computer. “What I’m hearing is that you’re a coward.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just that you’ve obviously played this more than I have.” Atsumu dies. Again. 

“I think that much is clear.” Then he spins back to Atsumu. “I’ve set up a one v. one custom. Switch with me.” 

“Fine.” 

Ten matches later Atsumu is so annoyed he feels like the blood is going to burst out of his ears. 

“How are you so good?”

“Some people are born winners, others...” Sakusa drolls.

“Fuck you.”

Sakusa laughs. Atsumu’s heart throbs in his chest, even annoyed as he is. 

“If you’re so sure of yourself why don’t we make a wager?”

“A wager,” Atsumu mocks, “yer so fucking formal. It’s a bet, ya bitch, and I’m not makin’ one against ya. Do ya think I’m fuckin’ stupid? You’ll toast my ass.” 

“If you win one game out of ten against me I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything?” Atsumu turns to look at him, shock and intrigue plain as day on his face. 

Sakusa eyes him suspiciously. “Don’t make it gross, but yes.”

“I wasn’t going to! Yer always so suspicious of me for no reason.”

“You literally put an ice cube down my back, unprompted, less than three hours ago.” 

Atsumu huffs. But the offer is enticing even if it feels like a trick. He can probably win at least once by chance. Maybe by cheating, even if he hasn’t figured out a way yet. 

“What do you get outta this?”

Sakusa grins, his little evil one, the one where he’s trying to look innocent but so very clearly is not. “If I win you do anything I ask. It’s only fair.”

He’ll probably make him deep clean the room or travel across town for his premium umeboshi. But on the other hand the possibility of making Sakusa do anything sends a thrill through him, not unlike playing the lottery. His mother always told him that the lottery was less about winning and more about the dream of winning for a short time. 

He could ask Omi to do anything . Well, obviously not anything, anything , he wouldn’t make it weird. But in that split second, maybe he could make it weird and ask Omi for a kiss. Or...

“Miya?”

Atsumu forces down the flush. “Alright, Omi. Yer on.”

Sakusa grins and Atsumu realizes exactly what he wants. 

“If I win you have to call me by my first name,” he declares. 

Sakusa’s eyes widen, not a lot but Atsumu has gotten half decent at reading his minute reactions. There’s a light flush on his cheeks that could be from anything really, but Atsumu thinks that maybe he’s managed to fluster him.

“Fine,” Sakusa spins around on his chair before Atsumu can assess his reaction any further. 

Nine rounds later Atsumu is starting to feel a little panicky about the whole losing thing. He should have forced Omi to at least announce what he plans to make him do before he agreed. Why did he hand him a blank cheque? 

“Omi, stop trying so hard,” Atsumu begs jokingly, but they both know he’s not really joking. 

Sakusa only chuckles. The next and final map loads, the same as all the others. Atsumu decides to take a different approach this time. He’s going to run as fast as he can, find a hiding spot and then he’s going to snipe him. Precisely like Sakusa has been doing to him for the last nine rounds. 

The mouse feels damp and warm beneath his hand but his fingers don’t shake. He’s got that much going for him.

“Stop hiding,” Sakusa says as the minutes tick on. 

“Come find me, bitch.” He resists the urge to turn around and try and look over at Sakusa’s computer. Knowing his luck, that would be the second that Sakusa puts a bullet in his head. 

But then a miracle happens. Below the building Atsumu has stationed himself in, he sees him. Wandering down the street. He doesn’t think too hard, just pulls up the scope and takes aim. 

Headshot. “Holy shit.”

Sakusa groans.

“Yes!” he cheers rocking back on his chair. He spins around to gloat.

Sakusa looks at him almost amused. “Congratulations you have a 5% success rate.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

“Whatever,” Sakusa turns back to his computer, “Atsumu.”

His cheeks sting and he’s glad Sakusa can’t see his face. Even if he sort of wishes he could see Sakusa’s.

“Want ta play another?” he asks, riding high on victory. 

“Are you willing to make another bet?”

Atsumu laughs. “No. I know when to cut my losses.” 

An invite for another game pops up on his screen. He accepts. They play for another hour and Sakusa decimates him. Brutally. 

Maybe it’s because he lost that he plays so aggressively but Atsumu can’t shake the thought that maybe he let him win. 

---

It was bound to happen eventually. 

Sakusa was supposed to be out with Komori all afternoon which is why he indulged himself in the first place. Jerking off in the shower is okay, but it’s by no means his preference. If given the choice, he’ll take his bed any day of the week. It’s more relaxing for one, and for two, he can also watch porn at the same time. It somehow makes him feel both more guilty and less at the same time when he watches the ones with tall, dark haired actors. 

So when Sakusa busts back into the room, flicking open the lock in one easy fluid motion, Atsumu simply hopes he’ll die of a heart attack on the spot. 

“Tsumu, I found-” Sakusa starts.

“Fuck!” He sits up and desperately tries to mute his phone. It glitches for a moment and Atsumu prays Sakusa doesn't hear the moaning.

Maybe he could have tried to play it off but truthfully, Sakusa’s entrance scared the hell out of him. Sakusa looks at him in confusion. Atsumu sees the moment that realization dawns on his face. Then he turns on heel and walks right back out. 

Atsumu can’t bring himself to finish after that. He allows himself the luxury of wallowing in embarrassment and partial guilt. He can't even complain to his brother about it because the only thing that could possibily make it worse is if more people knew.

He has a shower while he waits, hoping to wash away the shame. It doesn’t work.

He hopes that Sakusa has the social aptitude to Not Mention It. 

He returns with takeout. 

The first thing out of his mouth is, “I sincerely hope you wash those sheets before I lie on them.” 

So much for ignoring the problem. “I do,” Atsumu argues. “Most of the time.”

“Miya!” Sakusa says aghast. 

“It’s not like I don’t use a tissue! I’m not completely disgusting. Besides, you only lay on top of them anyways.”  

“Well, I definitely will from now on. That's so gross.” Sakusa says like he's some kind of sexless being that’s never touched his own dick.

Atsumu is hit with a shock of outrage.  “What, so you wash your sheets every time you jack-off? How much Tide do you use?”  he asks pointedly. 

Kiyoomi turns beet red. “I’m not answering that.”

Atsumu plows on, his defensiveness coming out in sharply edged questions. “What do ya just not get off or something? Is sexual repression how ya stay sharp on the court? Volleyball is an outlet for all yer-”

“Stop talking, oh my god,” Sakusa whines. 

“Smacking those balls-”

“Atsumu!”

“Or maybe whenever I go out ya actually-”

Sakusa grabs a pillow off his bed and whacks him over the head with it.

“Shut up! What do you want me to say? Explicitly detail how I jerk off?"

Atsumu flushes. “Not when you put it like that.”

The tables have turned once more and Sakusa can sense the blood in the water. 

“I don’t know, Tsumu. You seem pretty interested in the how and when,” he teases smugly.

Panic slams back into his chest. “I’m a curious person by nature,” he rushes to explain, “but I’m going to propose that we drop this subject and never bring it up again,” Atsumu says despite knowing that this conversation will never leave his mind. 

“We're watching movies in my bed from now on.” Sakusa pulls the takeout boxes out of the bag. 

“Where ya jerk off instead?” Atsumu teases trying to lighten the mood. 

Sakusa whips around to glare at him. 

“I’m kidding! Oh my god.” 

Sakusa huffs. “Shut up or I’ll eat your sushi.”

Through the embarrassment, Atsumu’s heart throbs in his chest. A roller coaster of emotions in a matter of minutes. “Ya got me sushi?”

“You’d whine for hours if I didn’t,” Sakusa mutters. 

“Omi,” Atsumu drag outs his name, “you love me.”

“I’m going to eat your tuna now,” he deadpans, grabbing his chopsticks. 

Atsumu jumps up. “No!” 

Sakusa eats a piece anyways.

Atsumu stares in slack jawed betrayal. “Omi.” 

“You're such a drama queen, there’s more in the box.”

There is, of course. “Thank you,” he mutters before shoving a piece into his mouth. 

Sakusa hums. “You're ridiculous,” he says but it’s fond. 

---

Months pass and before he knows it he’s in his second term, thrown right back into midterms. It’s a nightmaresque blur of tests that Atsumu feels woefully under prepared for despite studying diligently for them. Thus upon finishing the last of them, he treats himself to onigiri, and not the prepackaged kind. It was a bit out of the way to get, but Atsumu doesn't often wander around Tokyo and eating decently cooked onigiri reminds him a little of Osamu when he’s feeling homesick. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

He comes back to the room to find Sakusa buried under blankets he didn’t even know they had. It’s a surprise to say the least. 

“Omi?”

Sakusa groans.

“Everything all right in there?”

“No,” he says, muffled by the fabric. “Everything sucks.”  

“Okay, I see where yer coming from, but care to be a little more specific.” Sakusa’s kind of freaking him out, even if it’s sort of endearing. 

The pile flops over. 

“Omi?”

“I failed the math midterm,” the pile mutters softly. “They sent the marks back today.” 

For a perfectionist like Sakusa it must be pretty devastating, especially since he’s used to high grades. Atsumu has never failed anything before but his marks have never been incredibly high either. “Ah, that sucks.”

Sakusa pokes his head out of the stack covering him. “I’ve never failed a test before,” he mutters into a pillow. His hair sticks up in all directions. Atsumu sort of wants to fix it and sort of wants to run his hands through it until there’s no saving it. He does neither. 

“Give me a minute.” He ducks into the washroom and showers, then changes into his ‘inside’ clothes, one of the many things that living with Sakusa has made him accustomed to Post-Bed Incident. He grabs his laptop and sits down next to him. 

Atsumu pulls at the layer of blankets. “Gimme.”

Sakusa grumbles but allows Atsumu to pull the blankets away from him enough that he can drape himself underneath them too. The blankets fall around them

“Hi.” Atsumu smiles at him. Sakusa’s lips tilt up, then he glances at Atsumu’s hair and pouts. 

“Your hair’s still wet.”

Atsumu runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back in a way he hopes looks sexy, based entirely upon what he’s seen in shampoo ads. “That's rich comin’ from you.”

Then he shakes his head back and forth spraying water everywhere. Sakusa wipes a drop of water from his face.

“I’m going to kill you and Okamura will help me do it,” he says gravely. His hand grips his pillow tightly.

“But then you’d be stuck playin’ with Okamura,” Atsumu pleads. 

“If that’s the price I have to pay." He lifts his pillow high and wails on Atsumu. 

“Omi! Stop!” But he doesn’t stop.

Atsumu hastily tackles him around the waist, toppling him over on the bed. Years of wrestling Osamu give him an advantage and he manages to keep him down despite Sakusa’s attempts at dislodging him. 

Atsumu grins triumphantly down, hands pinning Sakusa's arms to the bed. 

“Damn Omi, you really don’t know how to pick yer fights,” he teases.

Sakusa scowls up at him, face red. Atsumu laughs. 

“Let me go, Miya.” He pushes up with his chest but Atsumu simply presses down harder. 

“Someone is havin’ a bad day.” 

He struggles for a moment more until the fight simply seems to drop out of him. Atsumu lets his grip on Omi’s arms loosen and when he doesn't strike out to grab him he lets them go altogether. But instead of sitting back up, he flops his upper body down on top of Sakusa's chest. 

Sakusa glances down at him and sighs in resignation, too used to Atsumu’s antics by now. 

Kiyoomi stares up at the ceiling and says, “We should drop out.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“We don’t need this,” he continues.

“Yes, we do.”

“I want to go pro already. Fuck grades.” Atsumu wholeheartedly agrees with that sentiment. 

He snickers. “Who would have thought the great Sakusa Kiyoomi would give up just because he failed a math test.” 

Sakusa pushes him. “I hate school.”

“No ya don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Okay, maybe ya do, but we’re going to finish our degrees because we aren’t quitters.” 

Sakusa huffs and shifts, making to get up. Atsumu graciously allows him to and moves back to grab his laptop. 

“Now, we’re gonna watch the Black Jackals match and we’re gonna get takeout and yer gonna do better on yer next one.”

“I don’t deserve volleyball and takeout,” he says, unusually despondent. 

“Well, I deserve them for havin’ ta put up with ya.”

Sakusa scowls at him, which means he’s doing better. Maybe. 

“I’ll let ya pick the place tonight.”

That at least interests him enough to get his phone and scroll through the delivery app while Atsumu brings up the game. Sakusa decides on donburi bowls from a place nearby that he’s deemed acceptable in the past. They settle against the backboard of Sakusa’s bed. The laptop sits on Atsumu’s lap because there’s not enough space to set it between them. 

Atsumu loves re-watching volleyball matches with Sakusa because he’s the only person he’s ever met who likes to replay scenes more than he does. Osamu indulges his replays on occasion with much complaining, but with Sakusa he can rewind as many times as he wants and not worry about it because Sakusa will do it just as much.  

When their donburi bowls arrive they pause the game and eat at their desks. Sakusa adamantly refuses to ever let them eat in bed after the horror stories Atsumu told him about Osamu. Atsumu stuffs his face like someone is going to rip the bowl out of his hand if he doesn’t finish it in under five minutes.

Sakusa watches with morbid fascination as Atsumu cheeks bulge with rice. 

He opens his mouth but Atsumu beats him to it, mouth still full. 

“Don’t even start.”

Sakusa's face twists in disgust. He balls his hands up into little fists like he does when he’s particularly grossed out.

“It’s not-'' he starts but then looks at Atsumu’s cocked eyebrow and let’s it go, “fine.”

He’s the first to finish by a long shot, another point to him on his mental scoreboard, and decides to re-watch a particularly interesting serve while he waits for Omi to return to bed. He swings his arm a couple times trying to recreate the motion. 

Eventually Sakusa joins him again and they resume the match. He’s acutely aware of every part of his body that touches Sakusa’s, from his biceps to his thighs to the footsies game he’s trying to get going. It’s not the first time Atsumu has been under the covers of Omi’s bed but every time he feels special. No one else gets to be this close to Sakusa. Atsumu is not inclined to share.

---

Summer break creeps up on him and before he knows it he’s on a train back to Hyogo. 

Samu, who got out weeks ahead of him, is waiting for him at the station with their truck. He doesn’t even bother playing it cool, wrapping his brother up tightly in a hug. 

“Miss me much?” he teases.

Atsumu pulls back and sneers, “you wish.” 

On the way back, Osamu fills him in on the plan for the next two weeks, which is essentially to do nothing. He hoped Aran would come back but his school schedule is slightly different and it doesn’t quite overlap. He makes a promise to himself to text him more so they don’t drift apart. 

Their mom coddles him like she hasn’t seen him in years and he relishes in it because he’s a mama’s boy. He talks down the amount of takeout he gets and talks up the time he spends studying with Omi. Maybe too much.

“Tsumu if ya say one more thing reminds ya of Omi I’m gonna smack ya,” Osamu threatens from across the table. 

“I can’t help that I spent six months with the guy.” Atsumu shrugs and continues peeling his orange. 

Osamu cocks an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t ya do anythin’ in Tokyo?”

“Omi doesn’t really like crowds.”

Osamu throws an orange at him.

“Hey! I was just explainin’.” Atsumu scowls at him then bends down to grab the orange before their mom notices from the kitchen. Years of witnessing their fighting has given her bat-like detection skills.

“Fuck. If I have to hear one more fun fact about ‘Omi’ I’m gonna kill myself. I forgot how whipped you are for ‘im.” 

“‘M not,” Atsumu snaps. “I just spend everyday with him, I don’t know what else ya expect me ta talk about. I played volleyball and did tests and sometimes watched movies with Omi-” Osamu reaches across the table but Atsumu quickly pulls back.  

“Stop tryin’ ta hit me! What did you do then if yer so fuckin’ special?”

“Fer yer information, I joined a cake bakin’ club,” Osamu says haughtily. 

Atsumu bursts into laughter. “No fuckin’ way. And yer gonna make fun of me?”

Osamu scowls. “I don’t know why it’s so weird ta wanna make cakes. They taste good. ‘S not like I’m obsessed with my roommate.”

“I made other friends too,” Atsumu sneers. “But ya don’t know ‘em so it wouldn’t be very interestin’ ta talk about.” 

“Really? Who?” Osamu challenges, leaning back into his chair. 

“Yuji, my captain. We go out for drinks sometimes.” Atsumu crosses his arms.

“And?”

Atsumu swallows. “Sakura and I sometimes study,” he lies. He worked with her on a project once and that was the extent of their contact. 

Osamu looks at him skeptically, somehow always able to tell when he’s lying. But their mom calls them to help with dinner while she grabs some last minute ingredients at the store so he lets it drop. Atsumu cuts the vegetables and Osamu cuts the meat. 

“Look ‘im just sayin’ it wouldn’t kill ya ta do things that aren’t volleyball from time ta time.”

Atsumu glances over at him. “I do. I play video games now.” With Omi, he holds back intentionally. 

Osamu sighs. Atsumu wants to interrogate him about what that’s supposed to mean but his hand slips and he cuts his finger. 

“Shit.” He sucks the finger into his mouth reflexively. 

Osamu spins around. “Tsumu, are ya okay? What happened?”

“Nothin’ just cut my hand. It’s not bad.” He pulls it back to inspect it.

Osamu peers down at it. “Looks like it’s shallow. Ya should still disinfect it though.” 

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.” Atsumu ducks away to the washroom where they keep the first aid kit. It’s overwhelmingly well stocked, which makes sense considering the amount of fights he used to get into with Osamu. He grabs the alcohol and pours a small amount onto a swab.

It stings and predictably, it reminds him of Sakusa. Everything seems to remind him of Sakusa these days. Maybe Osamu’s right and he does spend too much time with him, even if he won’t say it directly. But for the life of him, Atsumu can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. Somewhere along the line Sakusa became his best friend, and weirder, he might be Sakusa’s. 

Back in the kitchen, Osamu finishes up preparing the veggies and mixed meat with more flourish than Atsumu's willing to admit. Their mom comes back from her grocery run with the ingredients and promptly kicks them out. 

Dinner is good. He didn’t realize how much he missed home cooked meals until he’s sitting with Samu and his mom next to him. It almost feels like he’s back in high school. 

After dinner he washes the dishes while Osamu dries. It’s silent between them but it’s not uncomfortable. He basks in the intangible comfort of having his brother next to him again. In that moment, he wishes he could just bring Osamu back to university with him and keep him by his side. He wonders if he would get along with Omi. He hopes so, but he doesn’t want them to get along too well. Remaining Omi’s unspoken favourite Miya twin is actually somewhat contingent on him never having more than two conversations with Osamu as far as Atsumu is concerned. 

“‘S it really so bad that I like” him, but he’s not quite ready to admit that aloud, “spending time with ‘im.” 

Osamu sighs, immediately aware of who he’s talking about through twin telepathy. “No. I just,” he takes a breath, dries the dish and sets it on the rack before continuing, “don’t want ya to get yer feelin’s hurt, ya know?”

But before Atsumu can argue about how dumb he thinks that is he continues, “And maybe I… miss ya sometimes and all ya wanna talk about is Omi.”

Then it clicks. He bumps Osamu’s side casually. “Omi’s my friend, not my twin, ya idiot.” He’s not gonna replace ya, he leaves unsaid but he knows that Osamu hears it anyway. 

“I know that, but yer just so far, ya know? I worry about ya sometimes.” 

Atsumu’s throat feels tight and his mouth dry. He tries to push back the burning behind his eyes. “I’m doin’ okay. Ya don’t gotta worry about me.”

Osamu shifts his weight back and forth. “That’s sort of what I’m afraid of,” he hesitates. “That yer not gonna need me anymore.” He keeps his eyes down at the plate he’s drying. 

He’s not going to cry. “I’m always gonna need ya,” he chokes out. 

Osamu looks up at him. “Fuck, Tsumu don’t start cryin’.” He doesn’t look much better himself. 

“I can’t help it ya idiot. Yer the one gettin’ me all emotional.” The stupid tears leak out of his eyes and he’s quick to scrub them away with his damp wrist. He blinks furiously, trying to clear his vision. 

“Yer gonna make me cry too, ya stupid bastard,” the words crack as he speaks them. 

“If I’m a bastard that makes ya one too.” He grins at him, regardless of the tears that have slowed but still drip down his cheeks. He’s been told he’s an ugly crier and watching Osamu in front of him he can kinda see it. 

Distance seems to be a requirement of growing up and Atsumu never hated it more. Why couldn’t Osamu go pro with him? Go to school for a pointless degree with him? But he understands chasing dreams. Osamu’s just as ambitious as he is, even if his love isn’t for volleyball anymore. And yeah, it breaks his heart a little but, he’s never going to be really gone. Even when he goes back he’ll only be a call away, he tells himself. He takes comfort in knowing he’s not the only one who feels that way.

They don’t talk about it again but Atsumu sticks close to Osamu over the rest of the break. Not that he was planning on doing the contrary anyway.

Chapter Text

When he gets back to Tokyo, Sakusa’s already in their room studying. At least that’s what Atsumu assumes based on the way he’s hunched over the desk.

“Miss me?” he asks as he slides off his shoes and coat. 

Kiyoomi spins around to look at him, face flushed and eyes wide. “I thought you weren’t going to be home for another hour.” He almost misses it, too caught up in the funny feeling he gets when Kiyoomi calls their dorm ‘home’, but Kiyoomi isn’t good at being sly. His laptop jostles as he attempts to slide the notebook under it inconspicuously, and oh so suspiciously.  

But Atsumu is sly and he’s good at waiting. So he grins and heads to the washroom to wash his hands. He doesn’t want to give Kiyoomi time to move the notebook but he still washes his hands for the full twenty seconds Omi insists on because he’s a good friend like that. And he can admit that Omi’s habits are rubbing off on him a little, but definitely not to his face.  

“How was yer break?” he asks, swinging on the door frame back into the room. He glances quickly down at Kiyoomi’s laptop and notices, gleefully, that the book is still there. 

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It was okay. My parents weren’t around much but my sister came to visit.” 

“That sounds nice.” Atsumu shuffles towards Kiyoomi’s desk surreptitiously.

Before Atsumu can ask more about them, Kiyoomi leans back into the shitty dorm chair that came with the room and asks, “How about you?”

Atsumu smiles. “It was nice. I missed my ma and Samu. We didn’t do much but we visited Kita and helped out on the farm for a bit.”

“He was your old captain, right?”

Atsumu nods. “Yeah, but he quit after he graduated. Got a rice farm with his grandma. Real picturesque. Samu fuckin’ loves goin’ there.”

“Sounds nice,” Kiyoomi says genuinely. It inspires the picture of him clear as day in Atsumu’s mind, Kiyoomi standing the field, boots on and hat pulled way down over his head. He’s pouting because it’s hot and there’s bugs and it’s vaguely damp and everything he hates but he looks up at him in the vision and smiles like he does when they watch movies and he thinks Atsumu can’t see him, but this time it’s directed at him on purpose. 

“It is, but I get the feelin’ that ya’d hate it,” Atsumu says before a blush can rise to his cheeks. 

“Maybe.”

Atsumu is close now, close enough to reach out and grab the notebook if he were so inclined. He was sort of hoping to have come up with a better plan but if Kiyoomi is one thing it’s predictable. 

He makes a face of suitable shock and points behind Kiyoomi’s head, and screeches, “Is that a cockroach?”

Without missing a beat, Kiyoomi leaps out of his chair. 

What he doesn’t expect is for Kiyoomi to grab his shoulders and hide behind him. Holding him like a human shield. He shouldn’t feel so warm at being sacrificed to the imaginary bug, but apparently he really is in deep because he burns as Kiyoomi’s hands, which aren’t even that warm, dig into his shoulder blades. 

“Kill it!” he demands, and his grip tightens. 

Atsumu holds back his snort of amusement. He takes a step forward and Kiyoomi reluctantly lets go and retreats until his back hits the bathroom entrance. That’s when Atsumu snatches up the notebook and dives onto his bed, uncaring of his outside clothes. 

“You motherfucker,” Kiyoomi snarls. Atsumu braces himself, back to the corner of his bed, and opens the book as fast as he can. It’s immediately apparent what it is. 

“No way.” He can’t help the mischievous grin that rises on his face.

“I’ll give you one chance to give it back and I’ll grant you a merciful death.” Kiyoomi stalks towards him.

“I’ll take my chances.” Atsumu flips through the pages. 

Kiyoomi lunges at him. “Give it!” He goes right for Atsumu’s arms, forcing him to either drop the book or get caught. Atsumu crushes himself up against the wall and tightens his grip on the book.

Kiyoomi presses a knee down harshly onto Atsumu’s leg to keep him from moving. Kiyoomi is built like a brick house, which is to say it hurts. Atsumu hisses through his teeth. “Omi, come on. We can look at it together. My offer still stands, ya know?” 

“You’re insufferable.” Kiyoomi rips one of his arms off Atsumu to tug at the book. Seemingly counter intuitively, Atsumu drops one hand from the notebook to pinch Kiyoomi’s side.

Kiyoomi jerks back and Atsumu attempts to throw him off, but Kiyoomi quickly re-steadies his knee to press down harder into his leg.

“Fuck, Omi, that hurts. Just let me read it.”

“No.” Kiyoomi gives a sharp pull, ripping the book from Atsumu’s grasp.  Kiyoomi tries to stand up but Atsumu quickly throws his arms around his neck and uses his weight to drag him back down onto the bed. 

He wraps his legs around Kiyoomi’s middle to koala him. 

“Tsumu, let me go or I swear to god…” Kiyoomi struggles to stand up. He attempts to elbow Atsumu fruitlessly as he hangs from his back.  

“Omi, please, please, please, please, I’ll never ask for anything ever again,” Atsumu begs into his ear. Up close, Atsumu watches as they turn a rosy pink.

“Stop that! You’re unbelievable.” Kiyoomi flops back on the bed, crushing Atsumu underneath. Atsumu holds his breath and holds tight as Kiyoomi rolls side to side, trying to dislodge him. Eventually Kiyoomi tires enough to lay still for a moment.

“Come on, it’s not like it’s the end of the world. I’m mostly interested in it because of how badly you don’t want me to see it," Atsumu persuades. 

There’s a knock at the door.

“I can’t get it if you don’t let me up,” Kiyoomi says.

“I’m not that fuckin’ stupid, Omi. Yer just gonna rush to the bathroom or something and make me get it.” 

“Hello?” a voice says from the other side. They knock again. 

“Who is it?” Atsumu calls out and Kiyoomi flinches back.

“Don’t yell in my ear,” he hisses. 

“I wouldn’t have to if ya’d just give me-”

“It’s Komori,” Komori calls back.

“Shit. I forgot he was coming to visit today.” Kiyoomi sits up with great difficulty. Atsumu does not make it easier. “Let me up.” 

“Give me the book.”

“Atsumu, let me up right now or I swear I will practice with Okamura for the rest of this season.”

Atsumu hums. It’s a bluff and they both know it. “Sure you will.”

Kiyoomi thrashes back and forth, a move he learned from wrestling Atsumu. But he still pales in comparison to nineteen years of living with a twin. 

“Is everything okay in there?” Komori asks.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi growls. 

“We’re good,” Atsumu yells back. “Just have our hands full is all.”

“Can I come in?”

“No,” Kiyoomi replies at the same time as Atsumu says, “Yeah.” 

“Tsumu, let me go!” Kiyoomi snaps desperately. 

Komori walks in. 

“Then give me the book!”

Kiyoomi falls back against the bed again, taking Atsumu with him. 

Komori stops and stares. His hand reaches out and twitches like he wants to grab them but isn’t sure if that would make it better or worse. 

“What are you guys doing?” he asks incredulously. 

“Cuddling,” Atsumu deadpans and Kiyoomi immediately tries to throw him off again.

“Let me go!”

“Give me the book.”

“No!”

“Then ya better get used to me.” Atsumu clings harder. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and looks to his cousin.

Komori squints down at the book in Kiyoomi’s lap. “Is that Sakusa’s hit list?”

Atsumu grins manically at him. “It sure is.”

“It’s not a fucking hit list.” Kiyoomi scowls. He’s no longer trying to throw him off so Atsumu is really just holding him. Atsumu readjusts his arms so they’re no longer around Kiyoomi's neck but around his stomach. 

Atsumu huffs. “I wouldn’t know ‘cause ya won’t let me read it.” He figures he’ll have to wear Kiyoomi down so in the meantime he directs his attention to Komori.

“How’s it goin’ fer ya, Komori?” He drops his chin onto Kiyoomi’s shoulder like he sometimes does when he’s gaming.

Kiyoomi stiffens and then relaxes his shoulders. He leans ever so slightly back into Atsumu’s chest. Atsumu’s stomach swoops.

Komori’s eyes are wide as he takes in everything. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds, “Not bad. Busy with the Rajins. It’s fun but it’s also exhausting.” 

Kiyoomi nods. This seems to prompt Komori for another bout of analysis and his eyes narrow. 

Atsumu’s chin lifts up as he straightens his back in interest. “Oh, I forgot ya went pro after high school. That’s so cool!” he says earnestly, bulldozing over the sting of jealousy he feels. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t to be honest," Komori admits, still shell shocked. 

Atsumu shrugs as best he can without letting go of Kiyoomi. “Wanted to get a degree and some experience first.”

Komori nods in understanding. Then he directs his attention back to Kiyoomi. After a moment more of assessment, which causes Kiyoomi’s lips to twist and his eyes to harden, he seems to settle on something.

His expression becomes unbearably smug. “What have you been up to, cousin?”

“Same as usual. Volleyball and school,” Kiyoomi says in his usual monotone just barely crossing over the edge into snide. 

Komori nods, but something in his eyes seems disingenuous. It sets Atsumu’s nerves on edge.

“And Atsumu apparently. I didn’t know you guys were so close.”

Kiyoomi clenches his jaw. “We’re roommates. I see him every day.”

Komori looks them up and down. “You used to see me every day.” He tries to pull his face back into a neutral expression, but his lips keep twitching up.

“And?” Kiyoomi asks daringly.

Komori hums and shrugs. “Nothing. I just think that if I tried to hug you, you might have killed me on the spot.” He smirks.

Atsumu watches with interest as Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat up. The possessive feeling that sometimes takes him over, feels distinctly pleased by this development. He’s intensely curious as to what Kiyoomi has to say about it so it’s really no surprise when he ignores it entirely. 

Kiyoomi sighs and grits out, “Tsumu, if you get us donburi bowls right now I’ll let you see the notebook.” 

He doesn’t doubt him because Omi never backs out of his promises. No matter how reluctant he may be to deliver the results.

Atsumu leans forward into Kiyoomi's back. “Really? Ya got it, Omi!”

Atsumu impulsively squeezes him once more, much to Komori’s evident joy, then lets go and jumps up. He not stupid, he knows Kiyoomi is making an excuse to get him out of the room, but if he gets to see the notebook it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make. It’s not like Komori won’t be here when gets back. 

Atsumu turns to Komori, “What do you want?” He doesn’t bother asking Kiyoomi, he always gets the same tofu bowl anyway. Something about not having to worry about parasites in the meat. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Komori says, taking the change in conversation in stride. 

“Don’t have too much fun without me.” Atsumu grins as he pulls back on his shoes and coat. Kiyoomi scowls at him from behind Komori’s back.

---

When he returns to their dorm Komori and Kiyoomi are sitting in the common room space.

“Yer bowls, as promised,” Atsumu announces, setting the bags on the table in front of them. Kiyoomi mutters his thanks. Atsumu flops into the seat next to him and stares expectantly. 

Predictably, Kiyoomi ignores him, instead focusing on opening the disposable chopstick package and rubbing them against each other. Atsumu fakes a cough to get his attention (which he knows Omi hates on principle alone because of the air particles,) but it works. He looks up and says grumpily, “I’ll give it to you when we’re done.” 

Kiyoomi eats even slower than usual, taking the time to converse idly with Komori about his training regimen. Atsumu chimes in occasionally asking about Suna, but otherwise doesn’t contribute much. His leg bounces under the table impatiently. Kiyoomi scowls at him when it starts to shake. 

But he can’t put it off forever, Atsumu smirks as Kiyoomi drags his feet back to the room, leaving Komori with Atsumu in the common room. 

As soon as Kiyoomi slips out of sight Komori turns to him. “Thank you for taking care of Kiyoomi. He’s never been the best at making friends, so I’m glad he has you.” 

And that throws him off guard right from the get go. A flush creeps up his neck.

“Oh.” He’s never been thanked for being someone’s friend before. How is someone supposed to respond to that? “I like hanging out with him,” he blurts. “It’s no trouble.” 

“I’ll admit, I’m a little fascinated by your friendship. Kiyo has a tendency to keep everyone at arm's length, literally and metaphorically,” Komori pauses and then adds as an afterthought, “and he’s a jerk.”

That pulls a laugh from him. But then the rest of the words sink in and that possessive feeling comes back. That urge to keep Kiyoomi all to himself, not that there’s many people vying for his attention (that he knows of anyway.)

“Yeah, but I’m a jerk too so it works out.”

He hears footfalls coming back towards the common room but by the time he realizes that it’s not Kiyoomi it’s too late (he should have known really, Kiyoomi walks silently.) It’s Taro. Atsumu hopes since Kiyoomi is taking his sweet time he’ll move on quickly.

Taro notices them on his way to the kitchen and meanders over.

“Hey Miya, I don’t see you out of your room much. How was the break?” The worst part is he’s not even trying to be mean. It’s so much easier to hate someone when they hate you too but Taro’s only issue is with Kiyoomi.

Now that he's been officially entrusted him with Kiyoomi’s friendship, he wants to act like a semi-functioning adult in front of Komori. 

So he plays polite. “Pretty good, visited my brother and stuff but it’s back to studyin’ now,” he says, trying to cut off any future conversation before it can start. 

Taro nods in understanding. “Ah I get it, I’m just taking a snack break before getting a headstart on the assigned readings myself. Who’s your friend?”

Atsumu tries not show his annoyance.

“I’m Komori Motoya, Kiyoomi’s cousin,” Komori is quick to introduce himself. “Speak of the devil.”

With impeccable timing, Kiyoomi re-enters carrying the notebook. He gives Atsumu a look that says, why the fuck are you talking to Taro ? to which Atsumu stares, beats me. 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” Taro says and shuffles towards the kitchen. 

Atsumu sighs as soon as he’s out of the room. Kiyoomi huffs and sits next to him. 

“He seemed nice,” Komori says.

Atsumu and Kiyoomi hum noncommittally in unison. They share a glance that brings a smirk to Atsumu’s face. Sakusa frowns a little in that way he does when he’s trying to hold back a smile.  

“My notebook?” Atsumu says, holding out his hand expectantly.

“It’s not yours,” Kiyoomi mutters darkly but hands it over. “Don’t get anything on it.”

“I wouldn’t dare! I know this is yer prized possession,” he teases. Komori muffles a snicker.

Atsumu flips it open to the first page where there’s an honest to god table of contents. “Holy shit.” 

It has a list of names that’s got to be at least thirty long. It’s not even a question of who he wants to see first, himself obviously, but if he wants to pretend like he’s not all that interested in it before he inevitably flips to that page. Ultimately, he figures he’s waited long enough to get his hands on it and if anyone is going to be embarrassed today it’s not going to be him.

He scans through the list of names, recognizing most of them, until he lands on his own, or more accurately, The Miya Twins pgs. 13-14. 

He glances up at Kiyoomi positively thrilled. “Two pages just fer us?” Kiyoomi looks back impassively, but the lightest of blushes graze his cheeks.

“There’s two of you. It makes sense that I'd use two pages,” Kiyoomi sneers.

Aww, he’s defensive, Atsumu thinks. 

The Miya Twins

School: Yako Junior High-> Inarizaki High -> Waseda (Atsumu)

Osamu Miya: Wing Spiker

Atsumu Miya: Setter

He skips Osamu’s section entirely and jumps right to his own. 

Height: 6’ 1” 

Stamina 4/5

Game sense 5/5

Power 4/5

Speed 4/5

Technique 5/5

Jumping 4/5

Strengths:

Setting (can set mid-air)

Versatile (can play as an opposite hitter)

Flexible (back bending setting)

Serving (takes six steps for a spike and four steps for jump float)

There are two lines that have been covered with black marker and then: Receiving.

Atsumu runs his finger across them curiously and they come away lightly stained black. Atsumu holds up his fingers to Kiyoomi’s unrelenting gaze. 

“Is there something ya don’t want me to see, Omi?” He tilts his head and smirks. 

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth and leans back into his chair, arms crossed. “Just some revising.”

“Revising ya did two minutes before handing me the book?”

“Yep,” Kiyoomi deadpans. 

Atsumu raises his eyebrows, but wants to continue reading so badly that he lets it drop.

Weaknesses:

Easily provoked - (NOTE: competitive, not easily intimidated) 

Emotional 

Arrogant

Receives? 

Notes:
Sociable? 

Obsessive

Perfectionist

There’s another line of black marker, fresh as the ones preceding it. Atsumu hums as he runs his fingers across it. He flips back a page to see if he can catch what it says from the back, but it's completely indistinguishable.

“Omi,” Atsumu smiles up at him. “This is so sweet. I had no idea ya thought so highly of me.” It's true too. He's not sure quite what he expected, maybe a book of weaknesses. Regardless, it's far more flattering than he actually anticipated it would be.

Kiyoomi scowls at him. “Don’t let anything go to your head. Technical skills don’t reflect your personality.”

Atsumu ignores him. “I have some notes though.”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and stares at the ceiling. “Of course you do.”

“I don’t understand why ‘sociable’ is crossed out. I’m super sociable. I love people!” Atsumu gestures towards Komori, silently asking him to back him up.

That draws a huff of laughter from Kiyoomi, which is not the reaction he was expecting. “You ‘love people?’” Kiyoomi stares at him, an incredulous smile on his face. “Miya, you hate people. The only thing you like about people is intimidating them.”

Atsumu’s jaw drops. “That’s not true. I get along great with the team.”

“Really? So if I asked Okamura if you were friends he would say yes?” 

Atsumu scoffs. “We have a big team. Obviously I’m not goin’ ta get along with everyone.”

“Otani then, or Riku?”

“Those are stupid examples.” Atsumu blushes. “Besides, it's not like ya get along with everyone so great,” Atsumu adds, already feeling like he’s fighting a losing argument. 

“I know that I don’t, but I’m also not claiming that I’m 'sociable.'” Atsumu tries to jump in but Kiyoomi continues, “Don’t get me wrong, you're extroverted and annoying for sure though.”

Atsumu scowls. “Ya know what? We’re movin’ on, since ya wanna be rude. Now, what is ‘obsessive’ about?”

Kiyoomi gives him a look that says, really? as Taro swaggers back into the room. 

“What are you guys talking about?” he asks, dropping into the seat next to Kiyoomi, who subtly leans away from him. 

Atsumu tenses his jaw. As much as he loves flustering Kiyoomi, he doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of Taro. Yuji, maybe. Komori, for sure. But, Taro? Fuck that guy. 

He closes the notebook in front of him like he was done with it anyway. 

“Eh, nothin’. Thought ya were makin’ a snack?” Atsumu says, the warmth in his tone fleeting. Maybe Omi was right about his sociability because he wants Taro to leave yesterday. He’s reminded of why they rarely sit out in the common room. 

Taro shrugs. “I’m waiting for my water to boil.”

Atsumu hums in acknowledgement. Vindictivness swells in his chest. Taro’s intruding on not only his Kiyoomi Time, but his Embarrassing Kiyoomi with his Special Notebook Time, so he lets the awkward silence hang and makes no motion to fill it. 

Komori doesn’t get the memo. That, or he’s a better person than Atsumu or Kiyoomi, which the more Atsumu considers it, is probably the more likely scenario.

“So you play volleyball with Kiyoomi, right? Hope he’s not causing too much trouble.”

Taro laughs, like Komori said something funny, and then puts his grubby little hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Atsumu presses his cut fingernails into his thigh. 

“Sakusa is quite the teammate,” Taro says.

Kiyoomi brushes him off roughly.

“Whoops, my bad,” he says like he means it but they both know that’s not the case.

Atsumu has the oddest urge to switch places with Kiyoomi. He wants to put his chin over his shoulder and pull him tight against his chest with a look that says I hate you and he’s all mine. See how he likes me and not you?

It would make sense, having grown up with a twin, for Atsumu to have learned how to share. God knows their parents tried. But it did only the opposite. It made him want to hoard the things he cared about and make explicitly clear what is his, and more importantly, what was Not Theirs.

He feels a vague sense of guilt sometimes when he thinks about Kiyoomi like that. He doesn’t want to see him as an exclusive commodity or a shiny toy he’s not inclined to share. He’s his own person and Atsumu knows this, even if he wants to monopolize his time. Although sometimes when he’s teetering on the verge of self-indulgence, Atsumu thinks Kiyoomi might feel something similar towards him. He doesn’t have concrete proof or anything close to resembling it, but for all that their teammates think Kiyoomi’s a brick wall they’re wrong. He’s petty and jealous and hates being left behind even if he doesn’t want to go out. And though Kiyoomi will never, ever, say it, Atsumu sometimes gets the impression that Kiyoomi wants to monopolize him too. It’s in the subtle way he positions himself to always be Right There and the snide looks he gives anyone who gets too close, and not just to himself. Atsumu sees it in the takeout he brings back and the offers he makes to stay late and practice with him. 

Although Atsumu wants to sneer at Taro, he holds himself back. Instead, he pulls out the sanitizer he’s taken to carrying in his pocket and offers some to Kiyoomi. 

Kiyoomi stares back surprised but holds out his hand nonetheless. Atsumu shrugs like it’s no big deal even though, and he’s only beginning to grasp this, but maybe it is a big deal. Maybe Kiyoomi’s become so ingrained in his life that he doesn’t even notice quite how many of his habits he’s picked up or how many accommodations he’s made.  

The exposure stings like he’s rubbing that very same sanitizer right onto his open chest. Komori makes it worse by eyeing him up like he just did the strangest thing he’s ever seen because that might get Kiyoomi thinking about how he’s acting. Worse, what if he already knows? 

Atsumu tunes out of the conversation until the sharp sound of a whistling kettle draws him back. 

“That’s me,” Taro says as if he has to take a phone call. He’s probably a business major or something equally pretentious but Atsumu will never care enough to ask him. 

“You spoil him too much, Miya,” Komori says with a sly grin after Taro slips away to the kitchen. 

Kiyoomi blinks at his cousin in disbelief. “You walked in on him physically assaulting me earlier today .”

Atsumu latches on to the subject change like a dying man. “I assaulted you ? Yer the one that lunged at me!” 

“I don’t recall.” Kiyoomi sniffs. 

“Ya said ya were gonna kill me!” Atsumu throws his hands up. 

“It’s your word against mine. That won’t hold up in court.” Amusement rife in his eyes. 

“Komori’s the only judge we need here.”

“Oh, well then,” Kiyoomi turns his attention to Komori, “it was provoked. Preemptive self defense.”

“Yer changin’ yer story awful lot there, Omi,” Atsumu jumps in before Komori can even open his mouth. “And what the fuck is ‘preemptive self defense,’ that’s the most bullshit thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Last I checked, Miya, you weren’t the judge.” 

“Last I checked, Omi, ya had ta call me Atsumu.”

“Fine, Tsumu,” Kiyoomi snarks, but his eyes are mirthful.

Atsumu grins in amusement because their argument is all nonsense, but it feels like he won. 

Komori laughs loudly. Atsumu flinches back. He forgot he was there at all. 

“Wow, you know, when you told me you wanted to room with Miya I couldn’t believe it-”

“I didn’t say ‘wanted’ I said agreed, besides-” Kiyoomi corrects, but Komori steamrolls over him. 

“I mean, you actually wanting to hang out with another person? Willingly? You could have sold me car insurance easier,” Komori teases, but Kiyoomi’s eyes widen in an understanding that Atsumu seems to be missing.

“Do you still not have car insurance?” Kiyoomi says, momentarily shocked. “What the fuck? You drove here. I told you it’s illegal. You have to have it.”

“But I get it now.”

“Oh my god, you offered to drive us later. What if I accepted? You could have gotten us killed.” Kiyoomi runs his hands through his hair, tugging at his curls.

Komori sighs. “Kiyoomi, I can drive. Insurance is just a piece of paper, it doesn’t change my skill.” 

Atsumu re-evaluates his opinion of Komori . 

Kiyoomi stares at him with the ‘reason with him, would you?’ eyes. 

“Er,” Atsumu hesitates, it’s not really his place but he is Kiyoomi’s cousin so he continues, “Komori, ya do need insurance ta drive. If ya get in an accident ya could get in a lotta trouble.” 

“Why is everyone always on my case about that?” Komori turns to Kiyoomi. “Look, I’m just saying that I see why you like him so much.”

Atsumu isn’t sure he should let this driving thing drop quite yet but the need to tease Kiyoomi briefly supersedes it. Kiyoomi will likely give him more than enough of a lecture in a bit anyway, Atsumu reasons to himself.

“Omi, ya like me? Ya like me lots?”

Kiyoomi scowls, face red. “I don’t know where you got that impression.” 

“He texts me about you all the time,” Komori chimes in.

“Complaints, and we’re not done talking about your insurance.”

But Komori clearly does not want to talk about his insurance problems, or lack thereof. 

“He talks about your thighs-”

“Motoya!” Holy shit. Atsumu has never seen Kiyoomi so embarrassed. 

This is the greatest moment of his life. Kiyoomi likes his thighs. Or hates them. At the very least he talks about them. But that’s not the expression someone makes when it is an innocuous subject, so Atsumu feels fairly certain of his initial assumption.

“I’m kidding!” Komori says, suddenly aware of the idea of self preservation. 

“I’m telling auntie about your car,” Kiyoomi says, deadly serious. He keeps his eyes resolutely on Komori's face, no matter how hard Atsumu tries to catch his attention.

Komori pales. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would and I will.” 

“Sakusa, I will tell him everything you have ever sent me. I will let him read the texts,” Komori says desperately. 

Kiyoomi stares like he wishes his eyes could melt Komori like a wax figurine. Komori shrugs, jaw tight and eyes regretful.

Kiyoomi hunches his shoulders in and glares down at the table. “See if I text you anything interesting again.” His slight overbite digs into his bottom lip. 

“I’m sorry, please don’t tell auntie,” Komori begs. 

“You’re the worst and I hate you,” Kiyoomi says seriously. His hands slide in between his thighs like they do when he’s uncomfortable.

Atsumu loves torturing him. He really does. So why does his heart throb when he looks unhappy? 

“I can read the rest of this in our room?” Atsumu offers impulsively, holding up the notebook. He kicks Kiyoomi’s foot underneath the table. 

“Do what you want,” Kiyoomi shrugs like it doesn’t concern him even though it does. He looks truly miserable. For such a blunt guy, he avoids accepting help like the plague. 

One day, Atsumu will make him say what he wants. But today, Atsumu slides up out of his chair. “I’ll talk to ya later, Komori.”

“It was nice seeing you.” Komori smiles but the atmosphere is still tense. Atsumu is eager to leave it behind. 

---

A week passes before he brings it up again. The thigh thing, not the notebook thing. He teased Kiyoomi relentlessly about that the second he returned from hanging out with Komori.  Unfortunately, he was too emotionally exhausted to be properly embarrassed, even when Atsumu pointed out Ushijima’s far too detailed workout regimen. 

Atsumu decides today is the day to bring out the Big Guns and try his hand at seduction. It’s a wonder he hasn't tried sooner. Post shower, he pulls on his plain black booty shorts. Truthfully, they aren’t much different than the ones he plays volleyball in, if a tad shorter. He plops himself down on Kiyoomi’s bed.

Kiyoomi glances up from his puzzle book, thoroughly unimpressed. 

“What are you doing?” Atsumu hides his smile as Kiyoomi’s eyes trace down his body until they land on his shorts. He quickly glances back up to scowl at him. “And what are you wearing? Are those children’s shorts?”

Big words from a guy who’s wardrobe looks like he belongs in a rave for athleisure, Atsumu thinks.

Atsumu looks down like he hadn’t noticed. “These ol’ things? They’re comfy. Ya like em?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow. “They look like shorts,” he settles on. “Why are you on my bed?”

Atsumu ignores his question. “I’m surprised ya don’t have a stronger opinion, after all these are one of my best assets." He slaps his thigh. 

Kiyoomi squints at him in confusion until it clicks. A light blush rises on his cheeks. “Is this about what Komori said?” 

“I don’t know, Omi. You tell me. Yer the one with all the thoughts on ‘em.”

“You-I ugh, I never said I liked them. Komori doesn't know what he’s talking about.” 

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and unprompted Kiyoomi rambles on, 

“I simply said that you went to the gym a lot and you skip arm day all the time because you always think that just hitting shit at practice counts as weight lifting, which it doesn’t, and Komori must have extrapolated from there. Why would I mention your- I would never ever talk about that. Ever.”

That speech might have hurt Atsumu’s feelings (it still does a little,) if Kiyoomi wasn’t such a terrible liar. And he is. He really, really is. 

“So, this text message Komori sent me with a screenshot of the chat ain’t nothin’ then?” Atsumu lies, grabbing his phone. 

“He what?” Kiyoomi's neck snaps with how quickly he turns to look at him. “That motherfucker.” 

“Hmm, let’s go back to the part where ya compliment me.” Atsumu sets his phone back down on the bed.

“What did he send you?” 

“The convo, unless yer talkin’ bout them all the time then I suppose it’s just one of many.” Atsumu shrugs.

Kiyoomi glares at him. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t believe you.”

Atsumu pretends to be shocked. “Ya don’t believe me? Yer best friend? Omi, yer gonna hurt my feelings.” 

“You are not my best friend,” Kiyoomi frowns. 

“I see, I’m just eye candy to ya," Atsumu says dramatically.

Kiyoomi gets up from the desk. Atsumu quickly grabs his phone and shoves it under his thigh.

“Tsumu, give me the phone.”

“Nah.”

“Give me it.” Kiyoomi looms over him 

“Where’s yer manners, Omi?”

“Give me the phone, please,” Kiyoomi grits out.

“Why don’t ya try an’ take it?” Atsumu presses dangerously into flirtation territory. His stomach clenches in nerves. 

Kiyoomi ignores him. “Komori didn’t text you anything.”

Atsumu is only mildly disappointed for a moment, then grins up slyly at him.

“But ya like my thighs.” 

“Guess you’ll never know.” Kiyoomi shrugs.

“Never know? Ya admitted it.”

“No,” he says, like that clarifies anything and then he sits back down and keeps working on his crossword. 

Atsumu sighs. Maybe he is reading into things. 

Me: hypothetically speaking, what would you do if you liked someone?

Lesser Twin: depends 

Lesser Twin: am i friends with this person?

Me: yes

Lesser Twin: are we also roommates in this situation?

Me: hypothetically speaking, yes

Lesser Twin: i wouldn’t do anything

Me: what why

Lesser Twin: it might be hard to live with someone knowing they have romantic feelings for you

Lesser Twin: if they don’t feel the same

Lesser Twin: maybe even if they do

Lesser Twin: do you know if he even likes men?

Me: in this theoretical situation, he doesn’t look at women

Me: and i have on good authority that he likes my thighs

Lesser Twin: well that's sort of good

Me: and we cuddle all the time

Me: theoretically speaking

Lesser Twin: tsumu i know yer talking about sakusa

Lesser Twin: frankly i'm surprised he lets you to touch him at all

Me: theoretically speaking!! If i was!!! I wouldn’t know what to do

Lesser Twin: again, i wouldn’t do anything

Lesser Twin: but im not you so :/

Me: i’ll take that into consideration

---

It’s easier to do nothing than something. In fact, it’s so much easier to do nothing than something that Atsumu does just that for four years. He rooms with Kiyoomi every year and even though their dorm rooms change, their routine doesn’t. Kiyoomi persists with the little dance he forces them to go through before graciously allowing Atsumu to lay in bed with him and watch movies. Kiyoomi's put upon act gets less convincing as time goes on as he always lets Atsumu’s arms brush against his own

Meanwhile, Atsumu reaches god-like levels of repression. Everytime his pinky inches towards Kiyoomi’s he reminds himself that Kiyoomi only sees him as friend and leaves it an inch away. He’s content with that because he’s not just any friend, he’s his best friend. Even if Kiyoomi will only admit it after ingesting copious amounts of alcohol. They have a good thing going. 

This is the year that Atsumu decides he’s going pro with the Black Jackals. Upon announcing this to Kiyoomi, he reveals that he’s not graduating at all in the spring, but staying behind for another six months to finish his honours degree. 

“But yer gonna keep playin’ volleyball, right?” Atsumu asks. “Why do ya need to get a degree like that if yer not even gonna need it?”

Kiyoomi won’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. My parents want me to get a real job.”

Atsumu’s chest burns and not in a good way. “What the hell? Yer one of the best spikers in Japan. Ya can’t just quit!” 

Kiyoomi finally looks up at him. “I didn’t say I was going to quit. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Does volleyball mean so little ta ya that ya don’t even know what ya wanna do?” 

Kiyoomi grits his teeth. “It’s not a matter of what I want.”

“So, what? Are ya just goin’ ta let yer parents live yer life fer ya? Ya think ya can be happy like that?”

“I don’t know.” His shoulders curl in and his eyes stare firmly at the wall behind Atsumu’s head.  

Atsumu pulls at his hair. His throat aches but he swallows it back. “Fine. But when yer workin’ at some stupid fuckin’ office full of regrets don’t come cryin’ ta me,” Atsumu snaps and stomps out of their room. 

He takes a long walk. 

---

To his credit, Kiyoomi does his best to give him space. But they sleep six feet apart so it’s not especially effective. 

Atsumu falls back on the silent treatment, even when his heart pinches at Kiyoomi’s hesitation to ask him to watch a movie (he says he has plans and sits alone at a coffee shop until midnight.)

It’s Osamu all over again. He doesn’t want it to be and it clearly doesn't have to be because Kiyoomi doesn’t want to stop playing. He’s just being a coward. 

It culminates at practice when Kiyoomi misses his quick set. The ball hits the ground with a dull thump. 

“Do ya even care?” Atsumu snaps.

Kiyoomi rounds on him, arms tight by his side. “Obviously I care.” 

Sensing an imminent explosion Yuji pulls him aside and tells him that whatever is going on between him and Sakusa, he needs to fix it and dismisses them for the day.

That night in the darkness of their bedroom, Atsumu breathes out, “I don’t want ya ta quit.” Don’t abandon me, rings out in the silence.

“It’s not your decision,” Kiyoomi says. It’s harder to tell what he’s feeling when Atsumu can’t see his face. 

“It’s not yer parents' decision either." Atsumu twists his blankets in his hands. 

He hears Kiyoomi take a deep breath. “I’m trying to convince them. It’s not like I’m doing nothing.”

Atsumu feels a stab of regret. At the situation, and a little at his own actions. “Oh.” He hesitates. “I just...I want ya ta stay,” Atsumu says, like he’s baring his soul.

A beat passes between them. “I want to.” 

Atsumu gets out of bed. Takes two steps and sits on Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi wheezes. “What are you doing?” 

Kiyoomi’s body is warm and lumpy beneath his antimicrobial blankets. 

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu admits.

“And you couldn’t say that from your bed?” Kiyoomi shuffles underneath him futilely. 

“Nah.” Atsumu shakes his head. “It was important.” 

Kiyoomi rustles under the blankets until his arms break free. He reach out like he’s going to grab him, but then he drops his hand to rest on Atsumu’s leg. 

“Apology accepted.” He pats his leg awkwardly like he’s not sure what to do with it now that it’s there. 

Atsumu toys with the idea of kissing him then and there, but the little Osamu in head speaks up before he can give in. He settles for ruffling Kiyoomi’s already atrocious bedhead. Kiyoomi squawks at him and attempts to sit up. That’s his cue. 

He hops up off his bed and dives back into his own. “Goodnight, Omi.”

Atsumu holds in his amusement at the vaguely grumpy noises from Kiyoomi’s bed. “Goodnight Tsumu.”

Atsumu falls asleep grinning up at their ceiling. 

---

Atsumu hugs Kiyoomi at his graduation. It's not something they usually do, and really Atsumu should maybe try to play it more cool than he does. Instead, he holds him like he’d take him with him if he could. Because he would.  

He learns to live alone in Osaka. It’s what he always dreamed of and it’s lonely in his single bedroom apartment. When he finds a funny video he turns to share it only to find the space next to him empty.

He loves the team like his high school one. Bokuto, Meian and Inunaki make him feel right at home. But he still misses his brother and he misses Kiyoomi. They text regularly but it’s not the same. 

He throws himself into practice until the months pass by like days. His accomplishments show it when he makes it to the first string. 

As Kiyoomi nears the end of his degree he confesses to receiving offers from the league, ones he’s seriously considering. His parents have reluctantly come around since but Atsumu gets the impression that things between them are still tense. 

For a while, Atsumu thought that as long as Kiyoomi kept playing it would be enough for him. Even if they weren't on the same team, Atsumu would take playing against him over nothing. But as Kiyoomi's graduation closes in, Atsumu realizes that it’s not enough. Greed wells up inside him like an endless spring manifesting in text messages he doesn’t fully think through. 

Me: Omi if you betray me for tobio i will officially uninvite you from my birthday party

Omi: wtf

Me: u heard me

Omi: the adlers are good

Omi: it doesn’t mean i'm going to pick them

Omi: ushijima is a decent spiker

Me: and we have bokuto!

Me: and if you were here we’d have you too :)

Me: besides it’s the setter that makes the team

Omi: 🙄

Me: use that big brain of yours to pick the better team

Atsumu texts despite wanting to ask him to pick with his heart. The mere thought of sending Kiyoomi something like that makes his palms sweat. 

Me: but seriously i won’t be too

Atsumu gets halfway through typing heartbroken, before backspacing and typing:

Me: but seriously i won’t be too mad if u choose the adlers

Me: but i will destory you

Me: and you will regret it

Omi: this has got to qualify as some form of harassment

Me: i’m only looking out for your best interests

Me: and it just so happens that your interests are my interests

Me: we're unstoppable and you know it 😎

Omi: i will let you know when i've made a decision 

He sends Kiyoomi videos of himself serving and practicing new combos in the hopes of enticing him, and because he wants to impress him. He always has.  

---

So of course, Kiyoomi shows up to his gym without telling him. 

He doesn't notice at first because they’re mid-practice but once the whistle blows he spots him hovering at the edge of the room.

“What the fuck?” He chokes on his water. 

“Sakusa, thank you for coming. We’re just finishing up a practice match. I’m sure reception has already filled you in,” Meian says. 

Kiyoomi nods. 

“Uh, what the fuck?” Atsumu repeats, this time walking up to Kiyoomi. Meian continues to ignore him.

“I’m here to try out,” Kiyoomi explains. 

“And ya didn’t think ta tell me?” Atsumu asks in partial outrage. Meian gives him a scathing look, which he doesn’t acknowledge. 

Kiyoomi shrugs. “Thought it would be more fun as a surprise.” His grin is as smug as ever. 

Hope swells in his chest. “So yer joinin’ then?” A giddy smile rises on his lips. 

“I said I’d tell you when I know for sure. Right now I’m testing out if I have chemistry with the team,” Kiyoomi says like Atsumu doesn’t know that he’s already made up his mind. There's no hell he’d travel five hundred kilometres to play with a setter he already knows only to turn them down.  

“That’s easy. The only chemistry ya need is with me and we got plenty!” He says, opening his arms wide in a grandiose gesture before immediately wincing.

Why wasn’t Osamu born an only child? His hands tighten into fists as if the pain can take away from his soul crushing embarrassment. 

Kiyoomi snorts. 

Meian steps in. “Why don’t you warm up and then we’ll have you try out some combos with Miya.”

“Alright.” Kiyoomi nods and shuffles a little away from them to stretch.  

“Omi, was my best spiker back in uni,” Atsumu says proudly to Meian.

Kiyoomi pretends he can’t hear him but Atsumu knows he can because his lips pinch together when he’s trying to hide his embarrassment. 

“We know,” Inunaki drawls, appearing seemingly out of thin air. 

Atsumu senses this is going to diverge quickly into a conversation where he is not going to be emerging victorious. 

He speaks before Inunaki can add anything more, “Careful Wan-san, yer jealousy’s showin’."

Atsumu spins on heel to talk to Bokuto who is far less likely to tease him. He glances at Kiyoomi out of the corner of his eye, who’s watching him back less subtly, and winks. 

---

Kiyoomi comes over to his apartment for dinner that evening. He cooks him a curry that Osamu taught him to make after he debuted in his first official game. 

“This actually smells good,” Kiyoomi comments, looking down at his bowl.

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Ya don’t need ta look so surprised. I can cook, ya know?” 

Kiyoomi takes a bite and after determining it not to be poison asks, “Why didn’t you cook more in uni?” 

Atsumu shrugs. “The common room was a disaster, it was easier to eat stuff at the cafe.” He gestures over at his well kept kitchen. “And I like havin’ my own space.”

Kiyoomi nods. 

“Where are ya stayin’ anyways?” 

“Hotel.”  

“Tch. If ya told me ya were comin’ ya coulda just stayed with me.” 

Kiyoomi shrugs. 

“But I meant more in the sense of where are ya gonna stay now that yer on the team?”

“I’m not on the team.”

“But yer gonna be.”

Kiyoomi sighs and relents. “I don’t know. I’ll have to start looking for apartments, I guess.” 

Atsumu makes a pained face like he too doesn’t live there. “Osaka is pricey.”

Kiyoomi nods. “I noticed.”

“Unrelated, but did ya know my six month lease is comin’ to an end?” Atsumu volunteers impulsively. 

Kiyoomi, with the spoon halfway to his lips, brings it back down to stare at him wide eyed. 

Kiyoomi swallows despite not having eaten anything. “You want to live with me?”

Atsumu’s foot bounces beneath the table and his heart hammers in his chest. He hadn’t meant to ask him so suddenly but it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it at all. In fact, it’s a fantasy he thinks about frequently, especially when he’s cooking or watching television (or late at night in bed.) 

Atsumu shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I mean, we already know we can live together, except this time we’ll have our own rooms.” 

Atsumu barely holds himself back from rambling on unless you want to share, because that might be enough embarrassment to finally do him in. 

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows furrow like Atsumu is a particularly difficult crossword clue.

“You’re not sick of me?” he asks like he can’t believe it. His fingers twist together behind his bowl. 

“No?” Atsumu feels like he should be the one asking that, but he can’t bring himself to in case the answer is yes. “I typically don’t make a habit of askin’ people I don’t like to live with me.” 

“You’d have to give up your space,” Kiyoomi reminds. 

“Omi, yer not the same as six college guys who don’t know what a sink is.” Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Ya don’t gotta say anythin’ now but ya can think about it and let me know.”

Kiyoomi stares at him with piercing eyes, almost as though he expects Bokuto to jump out any minute and announce ‘It was just a prank!’

Eventually, he nods. “I will.”

Atsumu’s heart lifts with promise. It’s not a yes but it’s not a no. He shifts the conversation to the safer topic of volleyball plays, and tries to hide how elated he feels behind enthusiasm for interesting strategies. 

---

They move in together.

Kiyoomi lugs the ‘bare essentials’ of his stuff five hundred kilometres from Tokyo and agrees to purchase the rest of it in Osaka. It’s still almost as much as Atsumu brings from his old apartment. Atsumu mocks him but is secretly grateful when they don’t have to buy a new lint roller or any re-fills (Kiyoomi brought an industrial size,) one of Kiyoomi’s many ‘essential’ possessions. 

They have a balcony, that’s the main selling point of their place (and its close range to the gym.) Their housewarming party is small, just the team (not that Atsumu knows anyone else around here anyways.) Kiyoomi looks like he wants to kill himself a little more with every guest who steps inside.

“This can double as Sakusa’s welcome party!” Bokuto cheers, his glass of beer sloshing precariously as he gesticulates wildly on the couch. 

Kiyoomi grinds his teeth from behind him where he’s leaning against the wall. His hands are clenched fists, surely seconds away from throttling him. Which is not how Atsumu wants the team's pseudo first impression of him to go. Technically, they’ve already met at tryouts but Kiyoomi’s contract doesn't officially start for another week to give him time to get settled. 

Inunaki, bless his soul, gently moves Bokuto’s cup down to one of the coasters Atsumu had strategically placed around the room. “Easy tiger. There’s plenty of time to give Sakusa a heart attack, no need to start so early.” 

Bokuto looks over his shoulder to smile apologetically. “Sorry! I’m just so excited for you to play with us.”

Kiyoomi sighs, releasing the tension in his frame and replacing it with guilty look. “I’m looking forward to playing as well.”

“I, for one, am interested in seeing the infamous Sakusa Kiyoomi in person on the court.” Inunaki turns to grin slyly at Atsumu. “After all, if I had to hear Atsumu compare me to you one more time I was going to snap.”

Atsumu’s mouth drops open. Betrayed by his teammates in his own house. 

“When have I ever mentioned Omi?” Atsumu asks, mostly rhetorically because when Bokuto opens his mouth Atsumu hits him with his ‘silence now’  eyes. But unlike Kiyoomi, Bokuto cannot speak in stares.

“Well, last week for sure when I was doing service drills and you were all ‘ya call that a serve? I’ll show ya a serve, hell Omi ’ll kick yer-’” Bokuto imitates Atsumu’s kansai-ben accent, butchering it nicely. 

“Okay! Very interesting point Bokuto, but why don’t ya tell us more about what ya did last weekend, I’m sure Omi will find it facinatin’,” Atsumu says, proverbially throwing Kiyoomi, and everyone else in Bokuto’s immediate proximity, to the wolves. 

“Sure! Well, Keiji, that’s my high school buddy, actually you might know him from when he was a setter at Fukurodani…” 

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows at him. Atsumu shrugs and ducks into the kitchen to grab another beer. 

A few minutes later, Kiyoomi joins him next to the fridge where he’s been not so subtly hiding. 

“Real smooth transition, Miya. I’m starting to think you might be intimidated by me.” Kiyoomi tilts his head. Atsumu secretly loves it when he does this.

“Watch it, thigh-man, don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.” Atsumu leans back against the counter, grinning slyly. 

“That’s old news.” But the glint in his eye suggests otherwise. 

Atsumu continues, “Besides, I’ll be the one kickin’ yer ass when it comes to servin’. If anyone should be intimidated it’s you.” 

“Is that so?” Kiyoomi steps closer. This near, Atsumu can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Are you willing to bet on it?”

Atsumu forces down the nervousness as Kiyoomi looms over him and replies, “Against you? Anyday.” 

He’s not sure what Kiyoomi’s going to do but he wants to find out. 

“Miya! We’re going to play cards. Do you have a deck?” Inunaki calls out, announcing his entrance as he struts into the kitchen. 

Atsumu flinches as Kiyoomi turns and pulls away from him calmly. Atsumu isn’t sure how yet, but he’s going to destroy Inunaki. 

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Inunaki says genuinely. 

Atsumu waves his hands to brush him off. “Ya weren’t,” he lies. “Anyways, I kind of doubt it unless Omi has a pack,” Atsumu explains, wondering if he ever had a pack of cards to begin with at his old apartment.  

Inunaki looks between them, then turns to Kiyoomi and grins. “Guess you’ll have to entertain us with embarrassing stories of Miya from university.”

“Omi would never!” 

“Gladly,” Kiyoomi deadpans.  

Atsumu looks at him, falsely scandalized. Truthfully, he’s alright with being the butt of the joke if the team gets along. He wants Omi to like them as much as he does and he wants the team to like Omi slightly less than he does (the last thing he needs is a rival.) So he drags his feet into the living room ready to defend himself against whatever claims Kiyoomi’s about to make. 

---

It’s been about three months since they moved in and it almost feels like university, but with less takeout and less homework, and more bills and more money. 

Their couch is more of a loveseat than an actual couch, which is nice when they watch movies together, if a little cramped. The automan helps Atsumu stretch out, because even though they have another chair they always wordlessly watch side by side.

Late night movies after practice inevitably lead to Kiyoomi falling asleep and then getting mad at him the next day for letting him sleep through the ending. They usually have to rewatch it. 

They’re watching another rom-com, this one Kiyoomi admitted to being ‘curious’ about which is code for ‘desperately wanting to watch it.’ 

Atsumu likes the plot of this movie. There’s spies and miscommunication in abundance, but then The Scene happens. The Scene where the protagonist and the love interest are side by side watching a movie and the protagonist yawns and throws his arm over the couch behind her head. Which fucking sucks because Atsumu had been trying to work up the courage to pull that exact move for the last two weeks, and now that they’ve seen it in a movie it’ll be weird and Kiyoomi will know everything. 

Atsumu swallows.

“That’s ridiculous.” Kiyoomi scoffs.

“Yep,” Atsumu squeaks out, then clears his throat. “Couldn’t agree more.”

He feels partially relieved he never tried and partially stupid for even considering it. He leans back into the pillows, hoping to sink away and become one with the cushion. 

Kiyoomi glances over at him. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothin’, ‘m just tired,” he mumbles. 

Kiyoomi hums to himself, seemingly mulling that over. “Do you want to finish this in bed?” 

Atsumu’s pinwheel brain spins. “Huh?”

“We don’t have to but it might be more comfortable if you’re tired." Kiyoomi shrugs.

As if Atsumu could say no. “Sure.”

“Your sheets are clean, right?” Kiyoomi assesses him with narrowed eyes. 

“I think so?” 

Kiyoomi purses his lips.

“Hey, don’t give me that face. Ya know I do laundry.”

Without giving Kiyoomi time to think on it further, Atsumu stands up, cracks his back, and leads the way to his bedroom. 

The walls of his room are plastered with volleyball posters and shelves for his growing manga collection. He’s got photos of Osamu, his mother, Inarizaki, and the Jackals because when they aren't right by his side he wants the memories (he’s even got a photo of him and Omi at his graduation up there.)  

It’s by no means organized. The ground has his collection of volleyball related equipment and extensive merchandise he’s given simply for being on the team, as well as promotional trinkets from sponsors. But he tries to keep it sanitary in case Omi wants to come hang out with him for any reason. 

It’s almost awkward as they shuffle into bed together on top of the sheets. Kiyoomi queues up the movie on his laptop while Atsumu adjusts his singular pillow, which is fine for sleeping but a bit uncomfortable for resting against his headboard. 

“Omi, can I grab yer pillows?”

Omi keeps his eyes focused down on his computer. “Why?”

“What d'ya mean why? Obviously I wanna set ‘em up here. Unlike yer pillow fort, I just use the one.”

Kiyoomi looks up at him to click his tongue. “Fine.”

Atsumu grins and climbs over Kiyoomi, knocking into both his legs and his laptop. Kiyoomi frowns but Atsumu only shrugs and smiles at him mischievously. 

He quickly ducks into Kiyoomi’s room, which is always messier than he expects it to be. Especially considering the demands he makes on the rest of the apartment. Snatches up a few of his prized pillows, including his favourite big one and practically skips back to his room. 

“I come bearing gifts,” Atsumu says, sprinkling the pillows on top of Kiyoomi. They knock over his laptop. Kiyoomi scowls and maneuvers the pillows around the back of the headboard.  

“Is it really a gift if they’re already mine?”

“The gift is my presence.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Of course it is.”

His first big purchase upon receiving his paycheck from the Black Jackals (not including his apartment,) was a queen size mattress. Atsumu will argue until he dies that it is heaven on Earth. He often tries to convince Omi to invest in one himself, despite secretly hoping one day they'll share. So by all means, he has the space to not crowd Kiyoomi, but he’s tired and he wants to be close to him. This once, he he allows himself to shuffle up to his side.

Kiyoomi slouches into the pillows behind him and Atsumu rests his head on the pillows against Kiyoomi’s arm. He’s one degree away from putting his head on his shoulder which Atsumu considers an absolute win. 

Kiyoomi presses play and goes back to being enraptured by the rom-com. Atsumu balances watching Kiyoomi's reactions and watching the movie. When the protagonist comically falls into a dumpster and starts crying Atsumu leans over and pokes him in the stomach.

“He’s like you.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at him. “When has that ever happened to me?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “Yer missin’ the point, it’s not that it has happened to ya, it’s that if it did, ya would cry like little baby.”

Kiyoomi snorts skeptically. “Oh yeah? Well, if I’m like him then you’re like her.” He gestures to the screen where the woman admires her disguise in the mirror in preparation for the big date. 

Atsumu sniffs. “And I would look good doin’ it.” 

Of course, the scene transitions into an awkward dinner where the protagonist shows up covered in garbage and the date seems like it’s all gone to shit but it turns into an interesting night out with an impromptu chase and it’s so very clear they’ve fallen in love. The freshly named representatives of themselves look longingly into each other's eyes.

This is exactly the kind of thing Atsumu wanted to avoid (and deep down, wanted to happen.)

He wiggles his eyebrows at Kiyoomi suggestively, as A Joke. Haha. Another good joke from Atsumu Miya, the funny man who is totally not in love with Kiyoomi Sakusa.  But it works to alleviate the tension and Kiyoomi gives him that amused but begrudging frown and shoves Atsumu’s head back into the pillows.

Atsumu pokes him in the stomach again, before laying back down. His eyes are growing heavy, so he tries to shuffle around the sheets until he can pull them up over himself without moving Kiyoomi too much. He blinks blearily down at the screen.

“Do you want me to go?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Nah, ‘m still watchin’,” Atsumu mutters. He makes an attempt to seem like he’s still paying attention so Kiyoomi won't leave just yet.

Kiyoomi hums and Atsumu can tell he doesn’t really believe him, but continues to watch the movie anyway.

He’s pretty far gone. His muscles have sunk into the mattress and the movie's music has become a comforting white noise when he feels a light touch rustle his hair. He doesn’t open his eyes. 

He feels it again, this time in light strokes.

By God, he wants to confront Kiyoomi about it. But he’s so very tired and it feels oh so nice.

He falls asleep wondering if Kiyoomi would let him run his hands through his hair back.

---

They move movie night to Atsumu’s bedroom permanently with the excuse that it’s ‘more comfortable.’ Which Atsumu will admit, it certainly is. 

He silently cheers when Kiyoomi eventually, inevitably, falls asleep in his bed, because for the first time, he has an excuse to stay. He doesn’t want to take advantage of him but he wants him to be comfortable, so he sets his laptop down on his nightstand, pulls his blankets up over Kiyoomi's body and shuffles over to the other side of the bed. 

In the darkness of the room, he wonders if Kiyoomi would sleep with him like this if they were dating. He envisions Kiyoomi throwing an arm across his waist, rubbing his leg against his own, and lightly kissing him on the cheek to wake him. Would Kiyoomi like that too? Does Kiyoomi dream of romance?

Guilt washes over him like a tidal wave. It feels dirty to think about him so intimately, like grime caked onto his skin that Kiyoomi will so easily be able to spot when he awakens. What kind of friend imagines the other so romantically when he's been trusted enough to sleep together?

He turns away and tries to fall asleep. 

---

He wakes up to Kiyoomi’s legs pressed against his own. An arm thrown across his chest grips at his shirt. It’s disorienting at first, almost too warm, but more than that, it feels good. So good that if not for the ache in his bladder he’d think he was still dreaming. 

He would gladly bask in the miracle occurring if not for the very fact that woke him in the first place. He tries to untangle himself but Kiyoomi has an iron grip on his shirt.

With incredible reluctance, Atsumu lightly shakes Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “Omi, wake up. I gotta pee.”

Kiyoomi grumbles.

Atsumu tries to roll out of his grasp but it’s no more effective. Maybe he’s not trying that hard.

He sighs, and after a moment, shakes Kiyoomi’s shoulder once more, to Kiyoomi’s great annoyance.

Eventually, he opens his eyes, barely, to squint at him. “What?” he rasps out. 

“I need to pee, so if ya would kindly let me up…” Atsumu lightly runs a finger across Kiyoomi’s arm. 

Kiyoomi hums and rolls over to the other side and Atsumu is at last free. 

When he checks back in on him, Kiyoomi has fallen right back asleep. While Atsumu would like to get back into bed (understatement of the century,) he doesn’t think he could justify that indulgence, so he sets his mind to making breakfast. 

Kiyoomi's funny about stuff like that, so he expects him to pretend it never happened. But he shockingly decides to bring it up immediatly. 

“I fell asleep in your bed,” he states bluntly, shuffling into the kitchen. His bed head is as terrible as ever. Atsumu loves it.

“Yep.” He spins back around to his frying pan and cracks another egg. “Do ya want scrambled or sunny side up?”

“Scrambled,” Kiyoomi say. After a moment's hesitation, he adds, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Atsumu shrugs. In a teasing voice he says honestly, “I like it when ya get all cuddly.” 

Kiyoomi humphs. Atsumu risks a glance over his shoulder to see his face. He’s fiddling with the coffee pot but Atsumu thinks (projects?) that his face is tinted ever so slightly red. 

He figures that will be the end of it. But to his surprise it happens again and again, to the point where Kiyoomi actually gets under the covers while they watch the movie. Atsumu sometimes wonders if Sakusa is using the same excuse he is so that they can fall asleep together. 

---

They fall into a routine. Practice, Atsumu cooks whatever recipe suits his fancy and Kiyoomi eats it like the little lab rat he is, they watch matches everyday except on Fridays when they watch a rom-com, they wake-up together on Saturdays then lounge around the house, and repeat. Sometimes they go out for drinks with the team and sometimes they get involved in Bokuto and Shouyo’s shenanigans. Atsumu is thrilled Shouyo’s on the team even if he enables Bokuto like never before. Overall,  Atsumu likes their routine. It feels domestic. Something he never thought he would enjoy, but he does.

Osamu likes to joke that Atsumu is trying to common law marry him. Atsumu chuckles and casually asks him if that’s even possible. Osamu only laughs.

Late that night, Atsumu researches. He’s crushed when he finds out it only applies to heterosexual couples who have lived together for at least seven years. But it gets him thinking. 

If he proposed an “if we’re not married by thirty…” pact, maybe he could marry him? But if ifs and buts were candies and nuts it’d be Christmas everyday. So he lets it go. For now. 

---

Sometimes Atsumu gets the feeling that Kiyoomi might like him too. 

It’s in the way that Kiyoomi buys things that remind him of Atsumu when he goes out. Which is rare to begin with, and even more rare if he goes without him, but inevitably Komori will come to visit and Kiyoomi will find something like a deformed fox stuffy and add it to the windowsill. Mostly he picks up pudding. Atsumu tries not to grin too stupidly every time he chucks it at him. 

It’s in the way he casually touches him. Kiyoomi pulls him by his elbow, by his wrist, by his hand when they go out. Truthfully, Atsumu often does the pulling, but Kiyoomi is the one who grabs on. 

It’s in the way that Kiyoomi hovers in the kitchen while he cooks until Atsumu gives him something simple to do. Sometimes hovering means his chin hooks into Atsumu’s shoulder and Atsumu conveniently manages to do everything himself. 

Atsumu feels like someone is cultivating a thriving ant farm in his stomach when he even considers the notion of confessing. He tells himself he can't because they’re roommates, teammates too and can’t risk damaging their dynamic. He tells himself, that honestly, Kiyoomi might not want to even kiss him if they were together anyway, so who really needs the title of dating when you can be life long roommates? 

He contents himself with his new lifestyle where he loves the smell of disinfectant and has opinions on wet wipe brands and owns a gaming console that sees regular action. 

---

His stir fry is going to be awesome. He knows this because it always is. But with Kiyoomi leaning back into the counter watching him, he tempts fate by attempting to toss it like Osamu does. After all, if Osamu can do it he sure can. 

If Atsumu had to blame anyone, he would say it’s Osamu’s fault (somehow) and that maybe it was a little drafty in there and it threw him off. Bits of rice splatter across the floor and sizzle as they hit the elements on the stove. 

Atsumu cringes and haunches in on himself. He bites his lip and reluctantly turns to look at Kiyoomi.

“Nice,” he comments. He makes no move to help. 

Atsumu grabs his hair in frustration. “Ugh, it’s the wind in here. I almost had it.” 

That makes Kiyoomi snort. “From what, the fan?”

“I don’t wanna hear it from ya,” Atsumu grumbles and turns the heat down. 

Kiyoomi hums, unbearably smug. 

“I’ll get it. Make sure it doesn’t burn.” Atsumu sighs.

He’s approximately halfway through scooping the bits off the floor when his phone pings on the counter. He looks down at his greasy hands. He knows he’ll still have to wipe the floor down with an alcoholic wipe later so it doesn’t stick. 

“Can ya check it?” 

He throws another bundle of wasted rice into the garbage. 

Kiyoomi hums. “It’s from Suna.”

“Huh?” Atsumu whips his head up. “What’s he want?” Atsumu hasn’t heard from Suna since their last game. It’s not that he’s trying to ignore him but he’s learned that unless they live within the immediate proximity of each other adult friendships are mostly maintained through meetups every six months and the occasional text. 

Guess this is his occasional text. 

“Ya know my password, don’tcha?”

“Eleven thirteen?” 

“Yep.”

He hears the telltale click of his phone being unlocked and then silence. “So?”

“Um,” Kiyoomi starts and then stops and hums consideringly. Which is minorly concerning because there’s not much that Kiyoomi won’t say out loud.

“Did he send a picture or somethin’?” Atsumu says throwing the last heap of rice into the garbage. 

When he looks over to Kiyoomi his face is red. Not the light tint that sometimes graces his cheeks when he’s amused, but a vivid red all the way down to his neck, maybe further. It has him preemptively blushing in embarrassment. 

“Oh god, did he send one of my high school videos?” Atsumu asks, rushing over to grab his phone, gross hands be damned. 

Suna: why did osamu just tell me you’ve been in love with sakusa for six years

Suna: wtf where was i for this

He reads with abject horror. He swallows, throat dry. He can come back from this. He can’t come back from this. No, he can and he will come back from this. He dreads looking up at Kiyoomi’s face so he prolongs his stare at his phone for as long as possible.

“Well.” Atsumu hums trying to think of something to say. “That’s an interestin’ perspective.” 

The only interesting thing about this is going to be Samu’s body shape when he’s done with him. 

Another ping.

Suna: and why are you trying to common law marry him

He closes his phone, hoping to god that Kiyoomi didn’t read it. He reflexively looks up at him and meets his eyes. They’re blown wide and he looks like he’s struggling with this almost as much as Atsumu is. Atsumu isn’t sure he manages to convey the suave nonchalance he’s going for, in fact, he’s pretty sure Kiyoomi can see right through him. 

Smacking his lips, he spins on heel and heads over to the sink to wash his hands. “Ya know, Suna, always raising trouble. Bein’ ridiculous. Very interestin’ though. Will give it some thought,” Atsumu rambles on. “Not that I plan on thinkin’ about being in love with ya or anythin’ like that. More like a theoretical situation, like what if I was in love with ya and you were in love with me. Very interestin’ hypothetical.” Why was he born with a mouth? Atsumu closes his eyes and cringes. He squeezes his hands around the against the edge of the basin.  

“Now would be a cool time fer us to eat and fer ya ta potentially say somethin’.” 

“You’re in love with me?” Kiyoomi’s voice cracks as he asks. Atsumu can’t help but look at him. His shoulders are scrunched up by his neck as he bends his fingers back and forth. And his stupid fucking eyes, black as ever, look vulnerable. 

Atsumu clenches his jaw and wonders if he's really going to do this. He swallows. “It’s a soft I’m in love with ya, not a hard one, ya know?” he says, giving up but still trying to play down precisely how deep he is. 

Kiyoomi tilts his head. “Uh, no?”

“It’s like, I'm in love with ya but,” Atsumu tries to think of anything, literally any explanation for the words coming out of his mouth. “Ugh…just let me die in peace,” he says, tipping his head back in defeat. His eyes ache and he almost feels like crying but that’s a whole new level of embarrassment he’s trying hard not to unlock.  

Kiyoomi takes a step towards him. “You’re not terrible.”

Atsumu looks at him in confusion. “Thanks. I didn’t say I was but it’s nice to know I haven’t hit rock bottom yet,” he banters weakly.

Kiyoomi tenses his jaw. “You’re the densest man I’ve ever met, and we both know Bokuto,” he says like every word physically pains him. 

“I hope this is goin’ somewhere otherwise this is kinda mean,” Atsumu says half-jokingly, but hope rises dangerously in his chest.

Kiyoomi looks away and stares towards that balcony. The sun is setting, casting the room in golden light. He looks beautiful, as always. 

“I’m saying that I-” Kiyoomi inhales and looks back at him. “Like you too.” He twists his hands like he doesn’t already know Atsumu is head over heels. 

It takes Atsumu a moment to process. “Oh.” He feels a small smile growing on his face. “Well, that’s good.” His body does a little giddy dance. “That’s really good actually.”  

Kiyoomi tries to hide his smile, but his eyes are soft and amused. 

“Oh my god, ya have a crush on me,” Atsumu says as the words hit him again. 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but his smile peeks through. “Unfortunately.” 

Atsumu, high on the knowledge that Sakusa Kiyoomi likes him, oh my god, boldly steps forward and grabs his hands. Kiyoomi lets him. He’s not sure what he wants to do yet, that’s a lie he wants to kiss him. Is kissing him moving too fast? Would Kiyoomi let him kiss him? Should he ask first? 

“Yer confession to me could use some work though. ‘You’re not terrible,’ Jesus Omi, come on,” he teases, heart hammering in his chest. 

Kiyoomi sneers. “Yours was ‘hypothetically if I liked you’ blah blah blah, ‘interestin’,” Kiyoomi mocks, imitating his accent.

“Well, here’s another hypothetical fer ya, what would ya do if I kissed ya?” 

Kiyoomi inhales sharply and then tries to play it down by clearing his throat to the side. 

Atsumu waits for Kiyoomi’s undoubtedly witty response but it never comes. Instead, he watches frozen with eager eyes as Kiyoomi leans in and his lips hesitantly brush his own. It’s chaste but it has Atsumu grinning like an idiot. 

Only once Kiyoomi pulls back does Atsumu recognize the sound and smell of the overcooked rice sizzling behind him.

“I should get that.” Atsumu gestures behind him to the pan, not breaking eye-contact with Kiyoomi. He might let the rice burn if it means he gets to kiss him again, but he doesn’t want to seem too desperate. 

Kiyoomi nods, pupils blown wide, lips still kissable. Throwing reason out the window, Atsumu drops Kiyoomi’s hands and grabs his waist. He leans in for another, this one longer than the last. Kiyoomi's hand brushes the back of his neck and settles into a soft hold. 

When he pulls away Kiyoomi looks as flustered as he feels. It’s only been seconds but he wants to pull him into another kiss, a hug, something, anything. But the kitchen is starting to get smokey.

“Right. I’ll just-” Atsumu points like Kiyoomi wouldn’t notice the only pan in their small kitchen smoking. 

Kiyoomi waits until Atsumu has turned around to face the stove to ask teasingly, “Six years, huh?”

Atsumu is going to kill Osamu and then Suna. Hell, he’ll spam the Inarizaki group chat with every embarrassing thing they’ve ever done including the time Osamu ate half the pastries that were meant for the whole team.

He’s happy to be facing down the irredeemable stir fry because it hides the way he cringes and his flush blends in with the steam. 

“Samu’s exaggeratin’,” Atsumu grits out. But that has him thinking. “How long have ya liked me?”

Atsumu glances behind him and meets Kiyoomi’s gaze before he turns away towards the wall, arms crossed.

He waits for a moment for Kiyoomu to respond but he doesn’t. Stubborn bastard.

“Aww, Omi are you embarrassed?” Atsumu smirks at him. 

“No, I just-” Kiyoomi mouth wavers back and forth. “Don’t want you to get a big ego.” 

That has Atsumu grinning like a madman. “How long, Omi?”

“You’re going to burn the rice.” 

“I think it’s too late for that,” Atsumu argues, but whips around and pulls the pan off the heat so Kiyoomi can't distract him again.

Heart throbbing in his chest, he stares up at him with expectant eyes. Kiyoomi tells him his puppy dog eyes are gross but they always seem to work in the end. 

He watches as Kiyoomi’s face hardens. Counter intuitively, that’s how he knows it’s working. Kiyoomi tends to pull back physically when he’s emotional.

“A while,” Kiyoomi grumbles. 

“That’s not a number, Omi,” Atsumu sing-songs. 

Kiyoomi humphs. “Probably as long as you.”

“That’s such a cop-out, ya don’t even know how long I’ve liked ya!” Atsumu says indignantly.

Kiyoomi huffs. “Well, then you should just say it.” 

“What is this, an I’ll show ya mine if ya show me yers scenario?” 

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow, uncaring. “You go first.” Where’s the guy who just announces things nobody needs to know whenever he feels like it?  

Atsumu squints at him. “Fine. I’ve liked ya since high school.” Atsumu frowns. “Ugh, why’d ya make me say it.  Now ya have too.” 

Kiyoomi pinches his lips then sighs. “Fine. Same.” 

Atsumu’s about to criticize him again for the cop-out when it hits him. “Wait, really? Ya liked me in high school? But ya were always so ‘Miya, don’t eat in my proximity,’ and ‘if yer jacket touches my jacket it means I’m going to die and haunt ya forever.’”

Kiyoomi stares at him in disgust. “When have I ever said anything about your jacket?”

“Ya didn’t have to say it, ya were always glarin’ like I was gonna infect ya with a fever or somthin’.” 

Kiyoomi scoffs. “Obviously, I didn’t hate you. Why would I give you my number if I didn’t like you?”

Atsumu flushes again, thinking about Kiyoomi in his highlighter jacket plugging his number into his phone. Did Kiyoomi ever wonder what it would have been like to kiss him? Did he think about playing on the same team? Could he have asked him out then? Earlier? “Fuck. We could have been doin’ this fer years.”

Kiyoomi exhales through his nose in amusement. “What exactly are we doing?”

Atsumu rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’ know, datin’ maybe, I hope.”

“Okay.” Kiyoomi nods.

There’s that giddy feeling again. “Ya know, even though it’s kinda Samu’s fault I’m still gonna get him fer this.”

Kiyoomi turns up the fan to blow the smoke out of the room. “Were you planning to confess?”

“Oh yeah, fer sure,” Atsumu lies. 

Kiyoomi looks at him skeptically. Atsumu holds himself back from deflecting the question back at Kiyoomi for once. 

“The point is, when we go back to Hyogo we gotta shove how happy we are in his face,” Atsumu declares. Then regrets it immediately because they haven’t even been dating for ten minutes and he’s inadvertently trying to bring him to meet his mom. 

Kiyoomi stares at him bemused. “This just sounds like you want to kiss me in front of your brother.” 

“Ya’d let me do that?” Atsumu gapes, because that sounds fantastic . Osamu seething in jealousy, maybe even disgust, Kiyoomi’s lips on his lips, they break away and Kiyoomi announces he’s clearly the superior twin once and for all, Osamu cries in defeat and admits Atsumu is living the happier life.

“Absolutely not.” Kiyoomi pulls out his phone. “I’m hungry.” 

“What if ya let me kiss ya and then I take a picture and send it to him?”

“What if I broke up with you?” Kiyoomi deadpans, glancing up.  

“Omi! Ya can’t do that, that’s not allowed.” Atsumu paws at him. 

“Then help me pick out what you want for dinner.”

“I don’t care, as long as I get ta eat it with ya,” he says, pulling him against his chest. 

Kiyoomi’s face contorts. “Don’t be gross,” he says and makes no move to pull out of his arms. 

Atsumu snickers and grins at the splotchy redness in Kiyoomi's cheeks and ears. He wants to kiss him, and with a startling clarity, realizes that he can. So he does, and pecks his cheek. 

Kiyoomi freezes and his lips wiggle in that way Atsumu recognizes as him trying to repress his smile. Atsumu grins. 

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi says.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Atsumu says falsely indignant. 

“You’re too smug.”

“I’m allowed to be smug! The best spiker in Japan wants to be my boyfriend.”

“You're insufferable.” Kiyoomi looks away so he can’t see his face.  

“And ya like it that way.”

“I don’t know where you got that impression,” Kiyoomi says with all the confidence of a man not standing in his boyfriend’s arms. 

Atsumu hums. “Yer right, we should ask Komori for a second opinion.” 

“Don’t you dare.” Kiyoomi lips curl. “Ugh, he’s going to be so self-righteous.” 

Atsumu ‘ooo’s. “Bringing out the three dollar words.”

“That’s not the expression and I call you that everyday.” 

“Just pick what ya want already.”

Kiyoomi wordlessly orders ramen from Atsumu’s favourite restaurant.

“There's a man with his heart set on touching my thighs tonight,” Atsumu teases.

Kiyoomi finally pulls out of his arms and stalks into the living room. Atsumu snickers and gives him time to cooldown while he cleans up the kitchen.

When he comes back in, Kiyoomi is spread out on the loveseat watching the Hornets match. He thinks about it for two seconds and flops on top of him. 

Kiyoomi grunts. “You’re heavy.”

Atsumu ignores him and makes himself comfortable. He rests his back on his chest and his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. 

Atsumu watches Kiyoomi smile at the screen in the corner of his eyes. It’s that soft look he gives the people in rom-coms when they get together. But there’s only ads playing.

He picks up Kiyoomi’s hand and fiddles with his fingers. He likes how rough they feel. How they feel like his own. How they feel like effort and devotion to a sport he loves. That they share. 

“I like you a lot,” he thinks and says aloud. He feels Kiyoomi’s heartbeat behind him. 

He won’t ask but he wants to hear Kiyoomi say it too. 

Like he can hear his thoughts, Kiyoomi echoes back, “I like you too.”

Atsumu is not going to cry. He’s not. But just in case, he grits his teeth and pinches his arm. It doubles as a reminder that he’s not dreaming. That Kiyoomi wants him. Has wanted him. Maybe wanted him as desperately as Atsumu has. The desire he feels for him has been a fixture in his life for almost as long as he’s known him and even holding him now he wants more. He wants to take Kiyoomi to Onigiri Miya, he wants to give him a gold medal at the Olympics, he wants to reenact Kiyoomi’s favourite rom-com, he wants to practice serves with him, he wants to do couples Halloween costumes, he wants to cook together.

He wants, and he wants and he wants. 

And Kiyoomi will indulge him because against all odds, Kiyoomi wants him too.