Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Miya Atsumu hasn’t been in the guy’s lap thirty seconds, and there is already a hand on his ass.

God, he's already regretting his decision to give him a lap dance just to steal what's actually his.

Carefully schooling his expression, keeping the irritation well beneath the surface, Atsumu batts the asshole’s hand away. He is one of those middle-aged financial types and according to the blonde, definitely too much of a baby to possess the specific item Atsumu wants back so badly.

His gaze flicks to the desired object, then to the man’s throat. Actually, it's quite easy to get it back into his hands. Atsumu could just kill him. Easy.

A knife is warm in the sleeve of his burgundy jacket, a sharp blade pressed against his arm and ready to slit his throat and let him bleed. But this isn't a job he needs to get done – at least not an ‘official’ one, no. Atsumu only commits murder under three circumstances.

One, when it’s a paid hit that he is willing to accept. Two, when he’s in actual immediate danger. Three, when it’s inevitable in order to get him to his real target.

Paid hits usually come from Yakuza and whoever is the executor for those has actually no chance to refuse them. Saying no to Yakuza was a death sentence for an independent contractor but Atsumu is an assassin from Inarizaki and well—they don't let Yakuza tell them what to do.

All the mob does is suggest what mark they would pay for, and anyone who wants to push the limits and force Inarizaki's assassins into a job pays with their lives. These bastards knew that.

But no, this man on whom he is seated isn’t a mark Yakuza wants dead and Atsumu is definitely not in danger nor is it necessary to kill him in order to get this item. Besides, he still needs that asshole alive because that lovely thing hooked to his belt so splendidly does indeed belong to his brother Osamu, and Atsumu can't remember his twin of all people gifting this very knife to anyone but himself.

“’S pretty,” Atsumu says with a nod towards the leather sheath paved to the man’s belt. Two symbols adorn the loop of the brown cover, sewn on a patch and infallibly intended for the twins. A sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu and Osamu.

“Not as pretty as you are,” murmurs the man into his ear and Atsumu wants to puke.

God, he hates him.

Atsumu has been seducing this idiot all evening until he was finally taken to his hotel room. They're somewhere in Miyagi, in Sendai, on the 39th floor of a fancy hotel, and this man is so keen on Atsumu that he can barely restrain himself. Atsumu scowls at the ceiling as that jerk places a defiant hand firmly on his hip, itching to go back down to his ass.

Disgusting.

“Where’d’ya got it from?”

“Who cares?”

The man nibbles at Atsumu's jaw, one finger sneaking under Atsumu's waistband while his other hand gropes back at his ass. It was nerve-wracking and by no means in a good way. Atsumu knows he has the looks and how to move his body just right but that doesn’t mean he grants everyone permission to touch him. Especially not those fuckers who think of themselves as Gods.

The pressure of the knife hidden in his sleeve feels better with every passing second.

“I care,” Atsumu drops his playfulness as he grabs the man’s wrist and shoves his hand away but the man snatches Atsumu’s arm, gripping it tightly, and oh—that was a mistake.

In a heartbeat, Atsumu has him shoved back against the mattress of the king-size bed they are sitting on, fingers tight around the asshole’s throat. He dugs his knee against the man’s crotch, blood boiling beneath his skin while his patience wears thin.

The bastard seizes Atsumu's arm with both hands and tries to yank him away, but he is too feeble. So, he just choked underneath him, eyes gleaming with remorse for having touched Atsumu at all. He couldn't know any better, could he?

Never in his life would he have deliberately touched an assassin against their will, let alone accepted a lap dance from them. But how could he have known what awaited him? There were no assassins in Miyagi–or at least that's what he thought.

It was cute, Atsumu hadn't even pulled out his knife yet and the man was struggling, fearing for his life. He was weak, no threat. Atsumu smirks; he would have Osamu's baby back in his hands in no time.

Easy.

“I really hate to repeat myself, but for ya, honey, I'll do it again.” The grip on that asshole’s throat tightens, Atsumu’s gaze flicks to Osamu’s knife. “Where did ya get it from?”

“Please–”

Atsumu slips one of the knives from his sleeve into his hand and taps the man’s nose with the tip of the blade. His eyes widen in fear and panic.

“It’s a simple question, ya know?”

“I—oh God, please, don’t kill me!”

“I won’t if ya jus’ answer my damn question.”

He’s getting impatient.

Atsumu lost count of how many times he already threatened people to get information that was actually useful for him. It isn’t any different now.

The man in his grip starts crying, begging, sobbing that he doesn't want to be killed, and Atsumu massages his temples with the sharp knife in his hand, annoyed with his victim of whom he has already forgotten his name.

“Please,” the man cries again. “I-I have a family! My wife... m-my children! I can’t—”

“I toldja I won’t kill ya if you tell me where ya got this from.”

Asshole. Says he has a family but was about to fall between the sheets with Atsumu—not that the blonde would have ever let it happen. He isn't Atsumu's type at all.

“I can’t tell you! They would kill me if they found out I stole it from them!”

“From who?” Atsumu snaps and after a moment of hesitation, the man parts his quivering lips.

“From—"

Thump.

A bullet finds the asshole’s head and silences him before he has the chance to voice relevant or important information. He was shot, but not by Atsumu. Fuck.

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the head of the king-size bed. He feels his eyes widen as he spots the reflection of a tall person standing behind him, dressed all in black, unsure if it's a foe or a friend. Oh, who is Atsumu trying to fool? No one in this city is his friend.

The gun is still pointing at its target and Atsumu is aware that he can't waste another millisecond wondering what the fuck is going on. It's do or die, and Atsumu isn't ready for the latter.

He jerks his body around and throws the knife from his hand towards the stranger behind him, aiming at the outstretched arm with the pistol. In the movement, Atsumu rips the leather pouch that carries Osamu's knife from the belt of the dead man beneath him, almost destroying the clasp of the cover’s loop and tucking it in the back of his pants.

Osamu would kill him if he ruined the fabric.

Just as Atsumu turns around, he feels gloved fingers sneaking around his wrist. Suede. But before the stranger could take advantage of the situation, Atsumu kicks his chest and pulls himself free from his grip. The man staggers back a few steps and kneels on one leg, grunting a heavy breath at what must have been a sudden attack.

Atsumu pulls another knife from his other sleeve while the man reaches for his chest and presses his slender fingers into his ribcage. To check if something is severely injured? Atsumu wishes it was so. Jet black curls. That's all he's staring down right now.

As Atsumu lunges and rushes toward him, the man's gaze snaps up, causing Atsumu to flinch for a split second, to hesitate for a moment too long. A black mask hides half of his face, making it difficult for Atsumu to read him. All he has are these eyes. These onyx eyes... oh, so cold. Atsumu's movements are fast, but the man is faster.

He stands up, grabs the blade in Atsumu’s hand, and draws the assassin close to him. His knee finds the soft muscle of Atsumu’s stomach and holy shit – that fucking hurt. Pain creeps up to his back, numbing his nerves in a way that is dangerous and causing his eyes to water, nausea more prominent with each inhale. Atsumu is about to double over, a groan leaving his lips, but he is pulled back again, the knife snatched from his hand and thrown away with a clatter.

Bastard.

The masked man wrenches Atsumu’s hands behind his back and presses him into the wall. Atsumu huffs out a laugh as his cheek kisses the cold edges of the wood paneling in the hotel room, and his gaze catches the figure holding him tightly and painfully in place. Atsumu is panting and the need to kill his enemy is bigger than ever.

“Hey, handsome,” he gasps, curling his lips into a sick smirk. “Now what? You gonna kill me?”

“If I wanted you dead, Miya,” the man pulls and twists Atsumu's arm even more, making him hiss and contort his face in torment. “You would have been by the second I walked into this room.”

“Oh? Omi-Omi is generous? My pretty face must’ve reeeeeally charmed ya.”

“The only thing that charms me about your face is putting a bullet between your eyes to shut you up once and for all. That, my dear, is very tempting.”

“If I’m such a hassle to ya, why don’t cha just kill me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi. Atsumu can hardly wait for the day when he draws his blade through his throat. He presses his weight against Atsumu's body and Atsumu's hiss turns into a low groan as the bastard twists his arm harder.

“Believe me, I wouldn't hesitate for a second to pull the trigger, but unfortunately there are people who need you alive.”

There weren't many people Sakusa Kiyoomi would take orders from, and in fact, there was only one person he would ever obey. The drawbacks of being a member of fucking Yakuza. Atsumu sneers.

“People, you say? People as in Oikawa Tōru?”

“People as in that's none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if someone wants me dead or alive.”

“Why? So, you can thank them by sucking their dick if they spare your life?”

Atsumu laughs simply because he finds it genuinely amusing.

“Jealous if I would?”

Atsumu offers him a toothy grin and swallows the physical pain Sakusa inflicts on him. He's having too much fun pestering the prickly Yakuza member and he wouldn't mind annoying him further, but today it's Atsumu who's slightly irritated by Sakusa.

Atsumu was this close to finding out how the now dead man obtained Osamu's knife. This close to finding out who he got it from. After so many weeks, this could have been another lead to where his brother might be, but that asshole behind him had to shoot the 'innocent’ man. It’s not like Atsumu would mind, but he needed that damn information.

Hatred isn't even an expression of what Atsumu feels for Sakusa. He loathes him. Even more than that. Atsumu has known him for a few months now and it happens far too often that Sakusa gets in his way. Wherever he meets him, it means trouble. Yakuza means trouble. It's a law of nature.

It's honestly a miracle they haven't killed each other yet. Sakusa is presumably just waiting for the command of his Kumichō Oikawa Tōru, and Atsumu wouldn't dare kill him in a district swarming with his armed members. That would be suicide.

One day, however, he would. Slowly. Torturously.

“Okay. So yer not gonna kill me? That’s great, Omi-kun, ‘cause while we were fighting, I had a splendid idea on how to kill ya!”

“We weren’t fighting. That was your pathetic attempt to escape me and now look how miserably you failed.”

“Sure, whatever ya call it buttercu—ahhhh what the fuck?! Are you stupid?!”

Stabbing pain spreads from his neck into his spine and extends into his back. It creeps down into his legs and begins to worry him whether it was a mistake to have been so careless minutes before. Actually, it’s not even debatable, because being imprudent was clearly a flaw. So, the question here is rather, how bad is the situation Atsumu is currently in?

If he didn't know better, Atsumu would have thought Sakusa had just stabbed him. But if there's one thing he's learned over the past few months in Sendai, it was that the asshole in question never got too close to his victims, let alone touch them. A callous murderer who is disgusted by killing his marks with his own hands. It's almost ridiculous.

Atsumu's eyes are observant, and he knows very well that Sakusa would always prefer a gun to a knife. Safe distance. Far enough away to kill his victim and leave no trace of the crime on himself. God, Atsumu wishes he could kill him, and it would make such a mess that Sakusa would be disgusted by himself.

Atsumu groans as the pain drives into his head and clouds his mind. He feels his muscles go limp and his resistance to Sakusa's grip weaken.

What the fuck did Sakusa do?

“Awww, look at you. You’re just begging for someone to put you in your place,” Sakusa taunts. Fuck him.

One cut. Atsumu only needs one cut, and he could take out that obnoxious bastard. He's not done with him yet, no matter how sick he feels right now.

“Ha, and you think you can handle that? Yer cute, Omi. I could have ya on yer knees in a heartbeat, y’know? It would suit you.”

“You think about that image a lot?”

“Don’t flatter yerself.”

Atsumu grits his teeth. His gaze flicks for a millisecond to the gun in the holster on Sakusa’s belt, then back into his darkened eyes. They’re cold. Icy and murderous.

“It’d shock ya how rarely I actually think of ya.”

“It shocks me that you think at all. Didn't your mother teach you not to lie?”

Atsumu is pissed. He releases a breathless smile but is cut off as Sakusa tightens the grip on his arm and pushes him harder against the wall. A faint hiss escapes from Atsumu's lips. He closes his eyes and contorts his face in pain and dizziness, swallowing his true condition and not letting on how miserable he feels.

Shit, this is not good.

He opens his eyes as he notices Sakusa shifting behind him. Fuck, he can no longer focus his gaze. Everything starts to blur. Whatever Sakusa has injected him with is about to hit the fan and it’s definitely not good.

Atsumu has no idea if this was poison or some kind of narcotic. He has no idea if Sakusa changed his mind and might kill him after all, thus defying his boss. Oikawa Tōru is an asshole, so Atsumu would kind of understand if Sakusa got tired of him.

But fuck, he could only hope that he wouldn't defy Oikawa. Atsumu can't die just yet.

If he is fast enough, he can break free from Sakusa's grip and overpower him. If he is fast enough, he can snatch the gun out of his holster and kill him first. If he is fast enough–

“You want this?”

Sakusa shows him his pistol and taps the muzzle twice against Atsumu’s cheek. He can't see much out of the corner of his eye, but he guesses it's Sakusa’s .22 magnum glock pistol. It’s pitch-black and adorned with roses writhing around the grip. A symbol of love and passion. A sign for Sakusa's bloodlust.

Atsumu was only once close enough to see the branching flowers and leaves. Only once close enough to almost harm Sakusa, but never close enough to touch him. The goon was good, and it pissed Atsumu off. He frowns.

“Children shouldn’t play with guns,” Sakusa says and takes off the safety. Atsumu’s eyes widen at the almost silent click.

Shit.

If he ‘accidentally’ pulls the trigger, he could end Atsumu's life. One twitch, one wrong move, and he is dead. Over and out, and any effort to find Osamu would be ruined. No, his life can't end like this. Not at Sakusa's hands.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Sakusa holds the pistol in front of their faces and twists it to the side so he can admire it while Atsumu just scowls at the metal. Then Sakusa asks mockingly, “Would you even be able to handle a gun?”

“Wouldn’t mind findin’ it out on ya,” Atsumu scoffs and suppresses the urge to vomit. He hasn't felt this bad in a long time. He must be damn careful.

“Don't worry.” Sakusa runs the barrel of the shotgun across Atsumu's cheek, traces it behind his ear, and places the muzzle on the back of his neck. Atsumu hisses as Sakusa points the gun at the same spot where he injected him with something minutes prior. One shot. Dead. “Once again, I am not here because of you.”

Sakusa taps his gloved finger on the barrel. Every bullet he ever fired was dead on target. He never missed his mark and Atsumu is lucky he supposedly wasn't on his list today. Atsumu knows that.

He has watched Sakusa Kiyoomi long enough to know how to regain control of this situation. Atsumu is at least as skilled as Sakusa – he would even claim to be more talented. But today he can't do much.

It wouldn't be the first time Atsumu eliminated a member of Yakuza, only this time he didn't have a contract to do so. On top of that, they're in Miyagi – Oikawa's territory. And since this masked bastard belongs to his troupe, it would be suicide to kill him.

Fulfilling a sanctioned hit was one thing – the person who called in the hit would be blamed and punished if anyone felt compelled. The hitman was doing his job after all. But killing a sort of a made man without a contract put the blame squarely on Atsumu’s head.

No, killing Sakusa has to be postponed.

“Are you scared, Miya?”

Sakusa leans toward him and even though Atsumu can't see his miserable face, he knows he's grinning wickedly underneath his mask. He notices the way the corners of his eyes crease into a nasty smile, and he catches the derisive tone lacing his voice.

Honestly, Atsumu can’t wait for the day when someone would tell him Sakusa is going to be his next mark.

Atsumu glares at Sakusa, knowing full well that he wants to elicit something in Atsumu that will permit him to kill him as well. But he holds his gaze like Sakusa couldn’t have intimidated him if he’d wanted to. No fear whatsoever. Just icy indifference. Atsumu looks him straight in the eye, cool and collected, and silently dares him to make him blink.

“What do ya want?” He asks calmly.

Sakusa tilts the pistol and draws the barrel down Atsumu's spine, stopping when he reaches the knife stuck in the back of Atsumu's cargo pants. Sakusa stuffs his gun back into the holster strapped to his belt and snatches the leather sheath, along with the knife, from Atsumu's grasp. Atsumu grunts and stirs to wrestle back and stop Sakusa from taking Osamu's knife away from him, but Sakusa almost easily holds him back in place.

Atsumu is running out of strength.

“I want the knife back,” Sakusa smirks. “Maybe get a lap dance from you too.”

Atsumu snorts, “Yakuza are the last rats I’d be dancin’ for.”

“Hmmm…” Sakusa growls, lips close to Atsumu’s ear but kept away by the mask he is wearing. Atsumu shudders. “Too bad.”

It does unholy things to his stomach, causing heat to ignite inside him that he hates and wants to suppress. Atsumu feels blood rushing to his cheeks and ears, and he wishes he could stop it from tinting his skin into a soft crimson red.

Atsumu doesn't know what Sakusa Kiyoomi really looks like. His skin is constantly hidden in those damn expensive suits or underneath his battle gear. Hands covered with black leather. Half of his face is unknown beneath the black mask. Only dark eyes are visible, embellished with twin moles above his right eyebrow.

Is his whole body this pale? Is his skin graced with even more moles? Is his touch soft? Is his whole face as beautiful as what he already dares to show to those around him?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and shakes the thoughts from his head. He is his enemy, so he shouldn't care. And yet, he would probably grant Sakusa permission to touch him like he didn't allow the asshole before if they weren't at each other's throats.

Or maybe not. Sakusa is still an asshole too.

Atsumu takes a deep breath, but his world is spinning the moment he opens his eyes again. The only thing holding him in place is Sakusa's grip. Atsumu's legs are shaking, his gaze is unable to focus.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, this isn't good at all.

Sakusa drops Atsumu's arm, grabs him by the collar, spins around, and hurls him off the wall onto the floor behind them. Atsumu trips and falls. He tries to catch the impact with his hands, but he can't balance his body. Instead, he falls in front of Sakusa's stupid polished oxford shoes and stares up at him with a glare.

One enemy. Two. Three. Atsumu's gaze betrays him.

Sakusa checks the leather sheath in his hand and gently pulls out the knife. He examines the curved blade from both sides and then turns back to Atsumu.

“It is a beautiful knife. Truly a powerful weapon.”

“And above all, 's not yours.”

“I will return it to its rightful owner, don't you worry, Miya.”

“I am its rightful owner,” Atsumu lies because actually it’s Osamu. Sakusa sneers.

“Don't you think that's a little too much for you to handle? You might hurt yourself.”

“Awww, Omi!! Didn’t know ya were taking so much care of me.” Atsumu smirks and feels the poison kick in.

Sakusa crouches down before him, probably grinning at least as sickly as Atsumu. He holds the knife loosely in his grip, barely dangling the blade above the floor. Sakusa considers Atsumu wordlessly for a moment before abruptly grabbing his chin, pulling Atsumu's face toward him, and placing the blade against his skin.

Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold and Atsumu shudders at the murderous gaze he shoots him. Adrenaline drives Atsumu to focus his gaze, but his eyelids grow heavier, and his heartbeat slackens.

Sakusa traces the tip along Atsumu’s cheekbone and cuts his skin slightly, so a thin line of blood runs down his face. Atsumu hisses at the sharp cut Sakusa causes, but he can't help but grin. Atsumu knows he's not going to die. As screwed up as Sakusa is, he's a man of his word and if Oikawa apparently instructed him not to kill Atsumu, then he wouldn't. At least that's what Atsumu hopes.

“Wanna ruin that pretty face of mine? There’re plenty of different ways to do that, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says smugly, a hint of playfulness lacing his voice. Kiyoomi snorts and pushes Atsumu away by his chin. Atsumu grunts and contorts his face as he slams the back of his head on the floor. Nausea now very prominent again.

Sakusa stands up and Atsumu wants to mirror his move, but his muscles refuse, and his vision grows weaker. His body is limp and tired and all he can think about is how to cut that fucking bastard's throat the next time they see each other and let him bleed.

Sakusa stares down at him and huffs a laugh.

“I bet there are.”

Fuck you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Fuck you, you fucking obnoxious fucker. Fuck you in every single way.

Atsumu has come to a point in his life where he needs a stronger word than ‘fuck’. He curses himself for being naïve enough to enter Sendai without any genuinely dangerous weapons. He curses himself for being careless. For Sakusa taking the only chance Atsumu ever gave him to get himself knocked down.

Atsumu curses himself and Sakusa in every possible way.

“For now,” that bastard says as he walks to the door. He peers over his shoulder and watches Atsumu lying motionless on the floor. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his slacks, and Osamu's knife is back in the leather sheath now attached to Sakusa's belt. The realization that Atsumu has lost the only lead to his brother he has had in months tears a hole in his gut.

Sakusa’s face is indifferent as he continues talking.

“Sweet dreams? Ah, or even better… dream of me, Miya.”

The door falls shut, and Atsumu’s vision turns black.

The light filtering in is too bright when Atsumu's eyes flutter open. He passed out all night and apparently didn't wake up until the earth rotated once almost completely on its axis. The orange-red light seeping into the room indicates a warm sunset, and Atsumu hopes it is indeed just one day he has missed and not more.

A sharp pain creeps from the back of his neck up into his head and spreads like an unstoppable fire, kindled in a forest that has grown too dry. His entire body aches and Atsumu wishes Sakusa had just killed him instead of letting him suffer right now.

He can’t even put his finger on what hurts the most. Probably his neck? His arm is also upfront – damn it, everything hurts. As if not enough, a penetrating feeling of nausea returns along with the headache.

Fuckin’ kill me…

Atsumu groans and rolls onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut and running a hand through his disheveled hair, gripping it tightly. He blinks groggily and gulps in a miserable attempt to get rid of the dryness in his throat but failed. He places his palms on the floor and tries to sit upright, but is quickly, too quickly, caught up by the feeling of nausea.

He lifts his head and notices Sakusa is gone. 

Atsumu scans the deserted room as much as his sore muscles and shitty vision would allow, but there is no sign of the guy. It should put Atsumu's mind at ease that he's alone, but the fact that he didn't even notice Sakusa when he entered this hotel room to shoot the now dead asshole on the bed worries him.

He didn't hear anything and that was unlikely. Not a click of the door, not a sound, not even footsteps fading into the night. 

They got ninjas joining Yakuza in this town or somethin’? Atsumu thinks before nausea kicks in. Fuck—

His mind acts on its own, forcing his body to get up instantly and rush to the bathroom. He rips the toilet lid open, bends over the bowl, and throws up. His legs tremble and he feels his body getting weaker and weaker. Ugh.

Atsumu flushes the toilet, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and slides onto the floor beside it, one arm resting on the toilet seat for support. He feels like trash. His hands are sweaty, his body is freezing, and his mind is still foggy.

He knows for a fact that Sakusa must have injected him with a narcotic, Rohypnol most likely, and he could bet everything he got that Sakusa intentionally set the dose higher than needed just to make Atsumu feel so fucked up right now. Because maybe, just maybe, Atsumu pulled the same move on a job Sakusa did when they both had the same mark and Atsumu wanted to beat him to it.

Atsumu takes a moment to get his body working again and breathes deeply. He closes his eyes as he recalls the infuriating events of last night, and curses softly under his breath as he realizes that Sakusa has taken from him what he could not afford to lose again. Osamu's knife.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” he groans and scrubs a hand over his face.

Atsumu totters on wobbly legs to the sink and rinses his mouth, then washes his hands and face. He checks himself in the mirror in front of him and realizes how worn out he looks, the small cut on his cheek already healed, though. Sendai is starting to get to him. Sakusa starts to push him to his limits.

The blanched light of the bathroom makes his bottle blond hair almost white and ignites the color of his intense eyes in golden fire. His tanned complexion appears paler than usual which could either be due to the light or Atsumu's nausea.

He touches his sturdy chest and feels his necklace beneath the black turtleneck shirt he’s wearing. A necklace that would always remind him of his brother. A piece of jewelry that Atsumu would never take off.

He exhales deeply.

I want the knife back, Atsumu recalls and figures the dead man stole it from one of Oikawa’s Yakuza members. Not Sakusa, though, no. Unfortunately, no one could get to this jerk. But someone else must have been stupid enough to lose the weapon, and Sakusa has been here to ‘return’ it to Oikawa.

Atsumu sighs and props his palms on the sink while staring deeply into the eyes of his reflection. The last thing he wants to do is mess with Yakuza. But what if they have what belongs to him (or rather Osamu)? Well, to hell with all the unspoken and unofficial rules. It's about his brother and Atsumu has vowed to give everything to find him. Come what may.

If Yakuza think they can just take anything away from him, they are wrong. Atsumu doesn't care how strong and mighty they think they are, they would soon face the wrath of Miya Atsumu. God, it was time to take them all down.

Atsumu must know how Oikawa got the knife. This means a short trip to the crappiest Kumichō in the whole wide world is inevitable. Great. Good thing he was alone in Sendai and barely carried any weapons... Atsumu definitely stands a good chance. Yep.

But whatever Oikawa knew would certainly bring Atsumu to his brother. So, he has to figure out how to get to the goon, and here's the thing: Atsumu doesn't exactly plan, he just acts as it strikes. He wouldn't mind blowing up Oikawa's headquarters, but that would get him nowhere. No, this one might actually need some planning.

Atsumu needs to meet what is probably the highest guarded man in entire Miyagi without getting himself killed. And heck, if Osamu was here, or Suna, or anyone from Inarizaki, then maybe the odds wouldn't be so bad. But all alone? In a place where he really had no business being? It's almost like suicide.

Atsumu's grip on the sink tightens but instantly loosens as he realizes that not everyone in Sendai is on Oikawa's side, though. His eyes are wide open as he takes in his reflection one last time. Yeah, Atsumu has an idea. A good one.

He presses his lips together and points his index finger at his reflection, nodding his head and shaking his hand in a sly motion. A smile emerges on his lips.

"Miya Atsumu, yer an unfathomable genius," he praises himself and grins broadly.

He taps his palms once each in quick succession euphorically on the edge of the sink before hopping out of the bathroom. The smile fades instantly, however, when he sees the dead man on the bed. The sheets beneath him are soaked in a dark red. Atsumu’s nausea returns.

He shuts his eyes as he steadies himself in the doorway and takes a deep breath. Nope, he's going to keep whatever wants out of his stomach inside.

Atsumu gulps and opens his eyes. He stares at the man for a moment and frowns. Would he have killed him if he told him that he stole the knife from Oikawa? Probably not. He wasn't relevant to Atsumu.

Now he almost feels a little bad for trapping the man and practically handing him over to Sakusa. To that moron, of all people. Fuck him. Atsumu will kill him sooner or later.

He heads for the door and picks up his knives which he threw at Sakusa. Too bad, they don't have a single drop of blood on their blades. Sakusa must have dodged them pretty well and that thought alone annoys Atsumu to no end.

Next to the door on top of the dresser, Atsumu finds a jar containing various lollipops. He fishes one out, unwraps it, and pops it in his mouth while stuffing the wrapper in the pocket of his burgundy jacket. The taste of cherry and coke displaces the evidence of the things that left his body because of his narcotic overdose and resulting nausea.

Atsumu opens the door and sneaks into the corridor of the hotel. He already feels sorry for whoever would find the dead man in this room. The sight is anything but pretty, but that's not his problem anymore. He has more important things to do.

Atsumu sneaks out over the fire escape to the backyard. He makes sure no one sees him and is relieved when he manages to leave the hotel unnoticed. Atsumu heads for his accommodation where he has been staying for the past few months and pulls his phone out of his pocket as he walks down the street.

In the dusk, the screen illuminates his face from below and Atsumu’s stomach churns at the several unread messages that pop up once he unlocked his screen. He frowns and swallows thickly. Among countless missed calls, it was this one person whose message made him feel so uncomfortable.

Atsumu has already left his what’s close to being a ‘Kumichō’ on read for two weeks, but now it seems like he really couldn't ignore him anymore. He opens the chat and reads the few meaningful lines that Kita has written to him.

Kita-san (10/20/2022, 11:37 pm):

>> Hello Atsumu, how are things in Miyagi? I hope you’re okay.

Kita-san (today, 5:28 pm):

>> Call me immediately.

He sighs and removes the lollipop from his mouth, covers it back in the wrapper, and stuffs it back into his pocket.

Of course, Kita cannot be called a Kumichō. That would be an insult, so to speak. Assassins in Inarizaki have no one to boss them around – they are free in everything they do. But Kita counts as someone who is truly respected by everyone in Inarizaki, heck in all of Hyōgō even. Someone who has prestige, whose opinion certainly matters.

Kita is only five years older than Atsumu and is one of the few who knows the most brutal sides of being an assassin. He has probably seen more shit than anyone else in Inarizaki, but no one would ever dare ask Kita what he has actually been through. There are only a few selected people who know about it. Atsumu is none of them, but he has heard enough.

No one in their right mind would voluntarily mess with Kita.

By now, he worked as an independent contractor. Kita is the go-between for a motley crew of thugs and contract killers (some who work together, some lone wolves like Atsumu) who would carry out some of Yakuza’s dirty work if they’re in the mood to.

Call me immediately.

It could be anything. Maybe Kita had important news for Atsumu. Or maybe Inarizaki is on fire right now and they need his help.

Oh, who is Atsumu kidding? They were better off without him.

The reason Atsumu has avoided Kita for so long is that he fucked up. When he left Inarizaki, he promised him he wouldn't come back until he found his brother. But with every message he exchanges with Kita, he is reminded of how badly he screws up. That he is failing to track down Osamu. That he's a no-good.

It's Atsumu's fault that Osamu has been missing for almost two years already, and that's why it's his job to bring him back. Two years in which so much has happened. Too much.

How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he had a hint about Osamu and then lost it to fucking Yakuza? How is Atsumu supposed to tell Kita that he fails at everything he tries to accomplish here in Sendai? How can Atsumu bring himself to call him when all he will hear is disappointment?

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. His steps slow down until they come to a stop. He looks up at the evening sky and sighs.

Kita is his friend. And yet it feels strange to know that he needs to talk to him.

“Atsumu-san?”

Atsumu whips his head around and meets big observant brown eyes, holding a light that would never fail to make Atsumu smile. In front of him stands a man slightly shorter than him. Atsumu's gaze catches unruly orange hair, which he would recognize even with miles between them. Atsumu tilts his head and smiles genuinely.

“Shōyō-kun.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you that.”

“Ummm...” he points behind him and chuckles. “On the way to work. Night shift is calling.”

“Right. I forgot,” Atsumu’s smile grows wider.

Hinata Shōyō is probably one of the few people Atsumu can actually call his friend. He works as a temporary worker in a small convenience store near Atsumu's accommodation and has helped Atsumu find his way around Sendai when he first came to this city.

Hinata is pretty cool, someone Atsumu likes to hang out with. He is cheerful and energetic and definitely someone with whom it's easy to chat about the most mundane things. Atsumu likes his company and always feels at ease around Hinata. He is one of the few people he gets along with in a city full of assholes that Atsumu would like to kill all together.

Atsumu raises his brow as he notices Hinata frowning at him. He follows his skeptical stare and gasps as it lands on his white sneakers, having caught a few tiny splatters of blood.

“No fuckin’ way!”

There are two things for which Atsumu would set the world on fire. First, Osamu. His brother is sacred to him, even if he would never admit it out loud. Second, his white sneakers. No one has the right to stain them, and blood would be shed on whoever dared to do so.

This time? Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.

Oh, Atsumu would make sure his death will be slow and agonizing.

“A-Atsumu-san, are you okay?” Hinata asks, slightly disturbed.

“Oh, don’t worry! This blood isn’t mine!” Atsumu assures, realizing the moment Hinata’s eyes widen that this doesn’t exactly make things better. “I umm… I mean don’t worry? It’s nothing?”

“Is that a question?!”

“No!”

“Atsumu-san, this is blood—”

“Not mine! Uhhh…” Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut and rubs the back of his neck. He cracks one eye open and peers at Hinata almost apologetically. “I promise, it’s nothing, Shō…”

Hinata gulps and nods. His eyes are wide open as he hands Atsumu a tissue. By the look Atsumu catches from Hinata as he takes it, the assassin immediately realizes Hinata is smart enough not to ask any more questions. Of course, he is. The store he works in is in Oikawa's district. Atsumu doesn't want to know how many times Hinata has had to turn a blind eye because some fucking Kumichō thinks he owns the whole city.

“Are you in trouble?” Hinata murmurs, his gaze averted from Atsumu.

Atsumu's head snaps up, his golden eyes immediately searching for brown ones. Atsumu is about to wipe the blood off his sneakers but halts his movements when Hinata catches him thinking about something Atsumu hasn't contemplated in a long time. Is he currently in trouble? Is he about to get himself into some?

Shit, Atsumu is alone in a city teeming with Yakuza. And if that's not dangerous enough, he's plotting to get his hands on their fucking Kumichō.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Hinata asks worriedly when there is no answer from Atsumu.

Atsumu shakes his head. “No... no, Shō, everything's okay.”

The last thing Atsumu wants is to drag innocent people into his shit. Hinata was a good guy and Atsumu would make sure no one would harm him.

“Okay,” Hinata releases a long almost shaky breath and turns around. “I really have to go now... are you sure everything is alright?”

Atsumu nods. “I'm good Shōyō, thanks.”

He offers him a weak smile, which Hinata returns just as weakly. Atsumu stands up and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The two stare at each other in silence for a moment before Hinata nods goodbye and steps away from him. Just as he is about to leave, however, Atsumu stops him.

“Hey, Shō!” Hinata turns and faces Atsumu questioningly. “By any chance… d’ya know where I can find Oikawa Tōru?”

Atsumu catches Hinata's frown and the way his body tenses doesn't bode well. Shit, he must have hit a nerve here. The assassin immediately regrets his question when he notices how nervously the man in front of him gulps.

“You don’t find him, Atsumu-san…” Hinata starts, keeping his voice loud enough for Atsumu to hear. “Oikawa-san will find you instead.”

Atsumu frowns and nods. He decides not to inquire further, the question must have already caused Hinata enough stress. His reaction was proof that he must have already dealt with Oikawa before, and Atsumu concludes it was far from being pleasurable. He wouldn't have expected anything else either. Yakuza never means anything good.

Atsumu is on his way to his apartment and could swear he feels eyes on him since the conversation with Hinata, watching every move he makes. He observes his surroundings, but spots nothing unusual, deciding to shake the instinct off.

Maybe it's still the uneasy feeling that Sakusa managed to sneak up behind him, leaving a warning to his perceptions to be more careful. Maybe he was overreacting. But maybe he should take that warning to heart and be more cautious. Sendai was full of shit. The last thing Atsumu needed was a knife or a bullet in his back just for being careless for even one second.

And that's exactly what gets him so messed up. Being constantly on guard, not being able to rest for a minute. No idea how long Atsumu would be able to keep this up.

But what immediately restores his peace of mind is the golden retriever that jumps towards him when Atsumu opens the garden gate to the house where his apartment is located. A smile finds his lips and his hands are immediately in the soft and ruffled fur, tousling it until the dog lies down on its back before him and lets him scratch its belly. So much for vulnerability.

“Emi, come back!”

The dog jumps up and speeds with his tongue hanging out to a man with sandy-colored hair that's parted unevenly into two sides. He's stepped out the front door onto the porch and is nuzzling his golden retriever when the dog has obeyed him and rushed back to his side.

Atsumu chuckles as he puts his hands back in his pockets and watches the two in front of him. He slowly saunters toward them, his grin widening as he does so.

“Emi is a traitor, Shirabu.”

“A guard dog who is truly miserable at her job,” Shirabu Kenjirō replies with a smile on his face as he showers his dog Emi with unconditional love. Atsumu scratches Emi's head before pushing past Shirabu.

“Is everything okay, Atsumu?”

“Huh?” Atsumu peers at Shirabu over his shoulder.

“I haven't seen you since the morning before yesterday. Is everything okay?”

Shirabu Kenjirō owns various apartments in a Yakuza independent district in Sendai and is definitely a savior to Atsumu. He rents the apartment directly above his own and, by being at home all the time, ensures that no one can sneak into Atsumu's place.

The fact that Shirabu's fiancé is a high-ranked police officer is a mixed blessing as well. Atsumu truly doesn't have to worry about his safety, but on the other hand, he also has to be damn careful not to let them be suspicious of him. Because all they know, or think they know, is that Atsumu is a reporter investigating a secret case that he's not allowed to share details about.

Atsumu has always been a good actor.

So, it's no wonder why Shirabu is worried when Atsumu disappears for several days without letting him know. And Atsumu appreciates it. Really. There aren't many people he can trust here in Miyagi. Shirabu and his fiancé, however, are among them.

“Everything is fine, don't worry,” Atsumu bares his teeth and sees Shirabu's shoulders relax. Good. “Say, is Semi home already?”

Shirabu nods to his apartment door. “Just got home. He's not really in a good mood though...”

“What happened?”

Shirabu shrugs, “He didn't really want to talk about it, just mumbled something about how much Oikawa and Sawamura piss him off.”

“Oikawa Tōru?”

“I guess so...”

Atsumu whips his head around as the door to Semi and Shirabu's apartment opens. Semi steps out with a rather irritated look on his face, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“Please don't mention this name.”

“I warned you, Atsumu,” Shirabu chuckles as his fiancé joined in their conversation. Semi Eita’s grumpy appearance evaporates when Shirabu kisses him on the cheek and their golden retriever Emi nudges her nose against his leg. Of course, he can't resist his sweethearts.

“I will leave you two alone now. Come in, Emi!”

Semi smiles lovingly at Shirabu and squeezes his arm lightly as he walks past. Whatever this is between the two of them, Atsumu wishes that this kind of bliss would hit him someday too. Unconditional love. Indispensable trust. A dream come true.

“Did you want to talk to me?” Semi asks him with one eyebrow raised. He was in a much better mood now.

“What's going on with Sawamura and Oikawa? Are they in cahoots?”

Semi scoffs and detaches himself from the door frame. “If I had proof, I would have locked those two behind bars long ago. Daichi is hiding something, I'm sure of it.”

“What makes you think that?” Now Atsumu was the one crossing his arms and steadying his stance. He glances questioningly at Semi with a furrowed brow.

Sawamura Daichi is the senior police officer of the Sendai police station and thus Semi's boss. Semi has suspected for several weeks now that Daichi is covering for Oikawa's crimes and therefore he will never be able to catch the Kumichō as long as Daichi is able to get in his way.

“I arrested one of Oikawa's henchmen yesterday. He was carrying a gun and beat a man bloody until we tore him away.” Semi huffs out a laugh, staring at the ground in front of him while frowning. “This man showed no remorse.”

“How do you know it was one of Oikawa's guys?”

“Is this another one of your reporter questions?”

Atsumu grins mischievously, “Maybe.”

Semi sighs and shakes his head with a smile. Atsumu has gained so much trust that Semi would tell him anything. He thinks he can vent to Atsumu and probably hopes that the blonde can actually do something about the mafia in Sendai. Oh, if only Semi knew that Atsumu's charm is always tied to his own advantage.

“When I handcuffed him and explained his rights, he just sneered at me and said that 'Iwaizumi will sort things out'.” Atsumu frowns and Semi continues, answering Atsumu's unspoken question. “Iwaizumi is Oikawa's right-hand man. The man he trusts the most.”

Atsumu's eyes widen. Jackpot. Getting to Iwaizumi shouldn't be that difficult. Then he would lead Atsumu to Oikawa.

“It didn't take long for Sawamura to get a call that was visibly getting on his nerves. But a few hours later, the henchman was walking around freely again, and it all seemed as if nothing had ever happened.”

“Iwaizumi ransomed him?”

“Sawamura called it 'a mix-up' and that this case was a misunderstanding. If you ask me? Yes, Iwaizumi or Oikawa ransomed him.” A pout crept onto Semi's lips; his brow furrowed in frustration. “I don't know how deep Sawamura's in their shit… but if this keeps going on, Oikawa's soon going to have his hands all over Sendai.”

“You wanna stop him.”

“That's my duty.”

“How?”

Semi scoffs, “Can't you ask me something simpler?”

Atsumu knew Semi was after Oikawa. The good thing about this cop is that he detests Oikawa's Yakuza at least as much as Atsumu does. So, if he can help him to get closer to the goon, it would bring Atsumu to his target as well.

“Lemme get that right: all ya need is evidence against Sawamura so ya can operate freely and proceed against Oikawa?”

“All I need? You make it sound like it's a piece of cake.”

Atsumu puckers his mouth into a snort and stifles a mischievous grin. Semi had no idea who he was facing, after all. It is indeed easy for Atsumu to dig up the deepest secrets of a police chief. Knowing that Sawamura is all to get Atsumu to Oikawa makes the search for his brother much easier. Oh, this is very simple.

Atsumu licks his lips, eyes inflamed with hunger and anticipation for the upcoming hunt.

Game’s on.

As Atsumu walks the stairs up to his apartment, the feeling of being watched intensifies. His steps are slow, quiet, and soundless, and his mind is more vigilant than before. Semi may be downstairs, but Atsumu is almost certain that something is wrong here, that somebody is present.

He perceives his surroundings but cannot find anything remarkable. His chest moves up and down in languid controlled patterns, Atsumu makes sure he's been absolutely silent.

He sneaks outside through a window in the hallway and climbs up the facade of the house onto the roof. If someone was in his apartment, it would be suicide to walk in through the door.

On the roof, Atsumu crouches down and pulls out a knife that was attached to his ankle. It was sharper than the other two in his sleeve and larger – hard to dodge. Atsumu scans the area one more time but spots nothing.

What is going on here?

He sneaks to the window of his bathroom and carefully lowers himself from the roof as his feet reach the windowsill. He hugs the wall and breaks open the window without a peep, pushes it up, and climbs into his apartment.

To be honest, Atsumu still feels like shit. He’s nauseous and his mind is still covered in a veil. He would love to just abandon Sendai and leave this dirty city with all its rotten inhabitants behind him. But no, he was currently about to get himself into even deeper shit.

And just when he thinks things can't get any worse, Atsumu catches a tall, slender person with dark brown hair that is swept outwards and eyes of the corresponding color. He is wearing a black suit plaid with delicate white lines and a white turtleneck sweater underneath, tucked into the slacks of his suit and held in place by a black 'Louis Vuitton' belt with the initials gleaming in gold.

Atsumu straightens up from his slouching position as the two make eye contact but tightens his grip around the knife in his hand. There was no need for the man to voice it, Atsumu knew immediately who he was.

Oikawa Tōru.

Oikawa grinned, revealing teeth that were flawless aside from the misfortune of being in this man’s head. He sits crossed-legged on Atsumu's bed and plays with a gun in his lap, staring at Atsumu like some good boy who has been eagerly waiting for him to return home.

“Y’know there’s a police officer downstairs, ready to take ya out and arrest ya?”

Oikawa chuckles, “And you think I came here alone?”

Of course, he didn’t. Atsumu already felt the presence when he chatted with Shōyō. Eyes that watch him. Hands that were ready to pull the trigger. A body that was ready to move. They are here. Very close. He didn't know who it was, but he knew this one was a threat.

Oikawa, on the other hand, seems harmless. But this impression might be deceptive.

“Miya Atsumu,” Oikawa chuckled devilishly. “Sit down.”

“I prefer standin’.”

“That wasn't a question.”

“What? Ya think I’m yer bitch?”

“I could make you be exactly that.”

Atsumu snorts. He knew Oikawa was one of the biggest jerks here, but it still amazed the assassin to seeing him being so full of his shit.

Oikawa draws a silver case and a lighter from his jacket. He pulls out a cigarette, sticks it between his lips, and flips open the lighter. He takes a drag or two until the smoke swirls through his lungs and then holds out the case to Atsumu, offering him one as well.

“What d’ya want?”

Golden fire meets endless gasoline. It's a dangerous game, too easy to get hurt. One that can quickly turn deadly.

Their eyes are locked as Oikawa puts the case, as well as the lighter, back into his jacket and slowly rises from the bed. He leaves the pistol on top of Atsumu's mattress and approaches the assassin with slow, wary steps.

He tilts his head to the side as he stands in front of Atsumu to blow the smoke from his lungs, brown eyes steadily locked with gold ones. Oikawa is taller than him, and yet Atsumu is not one bit intimidated. He is cautious, and observant, keeping an eye on the Kumichō's every move.

“Shiratorizawa? Seriously Atsu-chan? You could have chosen any part of Sendai to stay in, and you chose Shiratorizawa?”

“I heard they don't like you.”

“What a lie,” Oikawa sneers. “Everyone loves me.”

“Sure, darlin’.”

The person who is keeping an eye on Atsumu must be somewhere behind him. If he cuts Oikawa's throat, he is sure to be a dead man as well.

Fucking Yakuza...

Oikawa reaches behind his back and pulls something out from under his jacket. Atsumu's eyes widen in surprise as he hands him a brown leather sheath with a patch sewn on it, showing a sun and a crescent moon. Atsumu's gaze falls to the knife in Oikawa's hand for a split second before sinking back into his big brown eyes. Atsumu frowns.

“It belongs to someone you're looking for, doesn't it?” Oikawa drags on his cigarette and gestures with the item in his hand, “Take it.”

Atsumu swallows thickly and shifts his gaze back to Osamu's knife. He reaches for it hesitantly, hand clasping the soft leather tightly, convinced he will never let it go. Is it a trap? Atsumu has no idea. He knows very well that someone is standing right behind him pointing a gun at him, and yet he trusts Oikawa not to harm him.

Honestly, when did Atsumu become so stupid?

“You’re looking for your brother, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t seem to be any of yer business.”

“Osamu,” Oikawa smirks sickly. “Wasn’t that his name?”

Atsumu’s eyes widen, and the grip on his knives tightens.

How can Oikawa be so many steps ahead of him? How could he know that Atsumu would come looking for him? How could he know that Atsumu would be after this very knife in his hands? How did he know that Atsumu would be here? And most important of all, how could he know about Osamu?

Atsumu's plan to help Semi catch Sawamura is now obsolete. Oikawa stands before him in body and soul, and Atsumu still has no idea how dangerous this current situation actually is. He can't see through Oikawa. He doesn't even understand why he just handed him Osamu's blade when fucking Sakusa Kiyoomi knocked him out hours before and snatched that very knife from him.

Maybe Oikawa has answers to all the questions floating in Atsumu's head. He needs to know about Osamu's disappearance. He needs to know where his brother is and how to rescue him. And above all, Atsumu needs to know if—

“He’s alive, Atsumu.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps up to Oikawa. His body tenses.

What?

“Where did ya get it from?” The words unconsciously leave his lips.

‘Samu is alive…

“Chibi-chan found it and gave it to me a while ago. Some bastard stole it along with some other stuff and thought he could bootleg shit… weapons, drugs, gold… in the middle of Sendai! Do you believe that?! The audacity!”

Oikawa slumps down on Atsumu's bed and flails his arms as he speaks. Atsumu's eyes are still wide open, his body not twitching a bit. Atsumu gulps.

‘Samu…

“The knife isn't all I have, Atsumu.” Oikawa stubs out the cigarette on Atsumu's nightstand and throws the stub on the floor. This bastard has no manners. “Apparently your brother left some more things in Sendai.”

‘Samu, are you here?

“What d’ya want?”

Atsumu repeats, his expression is serious. He has no clue what Oikawa is planning.

“Power. Fortitude… evidence,” Oikawa's eyes are dark, menacing. “Just like you, I need to find Miya Osamu.”

“Why?”

“Because he's the key to me regaining Seijoh from the asshole that expanded in Tokyo,” Oikawa explains with a pissed-off look on his face.

Said asshole from Tokyo is Ushijima Wakatoshi and he is, along with Oikawa, one of the three big Kumichōs that took the largest territories in Japan. Atsumu has never seen his face. However, he has heard a lot about him.

Atsumu doesn't know much about the internal conflicts of the three big Yakuza. When someone orders him to eliminate a certain asshole, he doesn't care which group they belong to, because one less member means one more ease for Japan. However, what he has noticed is that the frontiers between them aren't as peaceful as they used to be a while ago.

There’d been an uptick in violence among the three big Yakuza over the last few months. From all three sides, men were sending up smoke signals to each other in blood and gunpowder. There is a war brewing. A big one. Atsumu knows that.

From what he could gather about Oikawa and his members, he knew that Seijoh was Oikawa's home. Losing that territory to a rival, an enemy, must have been like a slap in the face. So, if Oikawa has to find Osamu in order to obtain evidence to regain his territory, then Atsumu could take advantage of that. He would no longer fight alone.

But it's fucking Yakuza and he truly had no reason to get involved in their disputes.

“Join me, and we’re going to find him.”

Atsumu knows it's wrong. But he is tired, exhausted, and desperate. He has been looking for his brother for almost two years now and the progress he makes on his own is small. Much too small.

He knows it’s a deal with the devil, but Atsumu spent his entire life in hell so what difference would it make? It shouldn't be a problem to abandon them once he has his brother back. Maybe this is his only chance.

So, you're seriously gonna let Yakuza help you?

The voice inside his head is small, but he is sure it belongs to Osamu. He won't be amused to find out what Atsumu is getting himself into just now. No one from Inarizaki will be. But for Atsumu, this is the only chance.

“Tell me what ya know.”

Atsumu extinguishes his inner conflict and surrenders to his heart, which cries out to cling to any opportunity to bring his twin back home. His current option? Oikawa Tōru.

I will save you, ‘Samu.

Chapter Text

Dawn comes quickly after an almost sleepless night. Atsumu lies wide awake in his bed and stares at the ceiling, letting his conversation with Oikawa run through his mind. He fiddles with his necklace and plays with the crescent moon talisman in his fingers.

Atsumu received the piece of jewelry from his deceased mother when he and Osamu were born. The golden charm is the counterpart to the necklace that belongs to Osamu and represents the twins’ bond. Whenever Atsumu craves Osamu’s proximity, he reaches for his necklace. A connection that enables him to feel his brother’s presence by doing so.

Atsumu sighs in frustration. He has a mission and that is to find Osamu.

If he’s honest, Oikawa’s help is exactly what he needs. Left alone, he has reached his limits, and Oikawa offers him opportunities he can only dream of. After all, Atsumu is in Sendai of all places, so wouldn't it be foolish to refuse his help?

Oikawa is sly and Atsumu has absolutely no reason to trust him. But he can't get anywhere on his own, so what can he do? Miyagi is Oikawa's territory. Of course, he has much more possibilities than Atsumu alone, but why would that goon want to help him just like that?

With Yakuza, nothing happens without ulterior motives.

The deal Oikawa proposed is simple. Atsumu helps him out until they find Osamu. In return, Oikawa provides him with all the resources, information, and men he has. A win-win situation, if he was naïve enough.

Oh, Oikawa is a charmer and of course, he buttered Atsumu up. He knows full well Atsumu isn't that dense and wouldn’t fall for his scheming, and yet Atsumu can't find the slightest clue as to what Oikawa's true aim is.

'Inarizaki's assassins are powerful,' he said, and, 'I have no intentions of messing with you. I know what you are capable of, Atsumu.'

So, is it truly just a short-term alliance?

Apparently, Oikawa wants to help him without any ulterior motives and would therefore ensure his safety. All Atsumu must do in return is play a Yakuza member for a certain time and if he’s honest, he has made worse deals before.

'I'll be waiting for you at our headquarters tomorrow at 8 am. My security men have been informed and will let you join us on the top floor,' Oikawa grinned determinedly. 'If you don't show up, I don't know how much longer I can tolerate you here in Sendai, Atsu-chan.'

A threat. A legitimate one.

Atsumu huffs and brushes his hair out of his face. For a while, he lies motionless in his bed, staring at the nothingness above him. His arm is positioned across his forehead while his other hand vigorously squeezes the charm of his necklace.

“Fuck this,” he mutters as he kicks the covers off him and jumps up.

Shirabu and Semi's golden retriever is already waiting excitedly as Atsumu sneaks down the stairs in his neon blue and black tracksuit. It's still way too early in the morning, and he doesn't want to wake up his landlords. Atsumu grabs the leash to go for a walk with Emi, jogging his morning lap as if he was living the life of a normal citizen and not that of an assassin.

Sharp blades are hidden in his sleeve. Just in case.

Atsumu gasps and puffs, giving his body the rest. He barely got a wink of sleep tonight, and the after-effects of the narcotic Sakusa injected are still palpable. Not as bad as they were yesterday, nevertheless he can't exactly say he feels good. Would he even be allowed to feel so if his brother is still missing?

He's alive, Atsumu.

He runs faster than he has ever done before in his life.

Atsumu and Oikawa share a common goal. Osamu.

By the time Atsumu returns, Semi has already left for work, and Shirabu is embroiled in a heated discussion on his phone. He waves to Atsumu, standing at the window inside their house while the blonde enters Shirabu's property with their dog. Atsumu returns the greeting with a sympathetic look. He's happy to take at least some of the work off Shirabu's hands by borrowing their dog for his purposes.

Atsumu ruffles Emi's fur as he unleashes her and gives her a gentle pat on the side of her butt before she runs happily through the garden. For a moment, his lips twist into a gentle smile. Osamu loved dogs; he would certainly adore Emi.

Atsumu jumps up the stairs and enters his apartment. He takes off his sweaty clothes and heads straight for the shower, turning the water so hot that it burns his skin and getting himself cleaned up. He hisses as he turns the shower to ice cold and the sudden change in temperature leaves a pleasant ache on his skin.

As long as he feels something, he is alive.

Atsumu hops out of the shower and gets dressed. He slips on a tight white shirt and drops his golden necklace over it for everyone to see. Attached to his ankle, hidden under his green cargo pants, are three different knives that he is oh-so itching to use. Before sneaking into his burgundy jacket, Atsumu puts on his black leather holster vest, storing more weapons ready to use.

He checks himself in the mirror and fixes his damp wavy hair, then he steps into his bedroom. Atsumu walks to his bed, his gaze falls directly on the brown leather sheath on the mattress. He swallows. Thickly.

With slightly shaky fingers, Atsumu pulls the knife from its sheath and examines the beautifully curved blade. It is a clip-point blade, with the back concaved to make the tip thinner and sharper. Absolutely perfect for piercing and puncturing. Made for Osamu.

As if that wasn't enough, serrations after the clip make using the knife even more painful. It features a very fine inverse belly on the upper side of the spine that has a bevel and adds to the slicing versatility. Even if Atsumu hates to admit it, Sakusa was right.

It is truly a beautiful weapon.

He slips the knife back into its sheath and secures it to his belt. Atsumu’s fingers graze the soft patch sewn onto the leather and skim over the outline of the sun and crescent moon. He takes a deep breath and furrows his brow.

He will save Osamu, no matter what.

Atsumu feels completely out of place as he stands in front of two huge skyscrapers. The windows of the buildings are shaded black and literally scream for Yakuza to linger around. Oikawa doesn't exactly care about keeping his head low.

Entering the lobby, he suddenly finds himself feeling so small. The people walking in and out of the building somehow make him wonder if his outfit actually suits this place he's in and then he shakes his head. That’s not important right now (and besides, Atsumu knows he looks flawless).

The receptionist fires Atsumu a scrutinizing and almost disdainful look as he walks past her to get to the elevator. He decides he won't be unnerved by her and then lets it happen anyway.

Two tall and broad guys standing firmly in front of the elevator make Atsumu's heart drop to his stomach, but don't seem to stop him from warily sneaking into it. He breathes a sigh of relief as the doors close and the elevator starts to take him to the top floor.

Entering the lion's den... What a stupid bunny you are, ‘Tsumu.

After what seems like an eternity, a 'Ping!' snaps Atsumu out of his thoughts, and the elevator doors open. A narrow hallway with black marble floor is revealed before him, illuminated by the faint daylight shining through a set of floor-to-ceiling windows on the right, offering a view over the dreary city of Sendai.

Two black doors dare Atsumu to find out what’s hidden behind them. One is at the end of the hallway, the other a few steps to his left. Atsumu hears voices, distant and muffled, that get louder the closer he walks toward the double door to his left. He tilts his head and listens, trying to pick out what the people behind it are talking about, but he can't figure it out.

His gaze flits from the corner of his eye to the other door and he wonders if he should find out what’s behind it. He pushes the thought aside, though. That's not for now.

As Atsumu opens the door and enters the vast room beyond, the voices die down and several pairs of eyes fix on him. He feels like a lamb thrown to the lions. Hopeless and vulnerable.

He scans the room and measures his chances of eliminating the 20... 30 people around him, everyone wearing guns very prominently. Two goons to his right look like they’re an easy match, the white-haired man in the back though could be a problem and—

Is that Hinata?!

“Atsumu.” Oikawa pushes himself from his desk and walks over to the assassin, a sly smile emerging on his face. “I was expecting you.”

Oikawa throws his arm around Atsumu's shoulder, feigning to be his good old friend and not his foe, utterly convinced the assassin wouldn't kill him. Atsumu's body tenses, his breathing is shallow. Oikawa is playing on his good nature and this bastard knows exactly Atsumu won't kill him as long as...

As long as he is here.

Atsumu swallows thickly the moment he spots Sakusa Kiyoomi standing next to Oikawa's desk. He has no doubt those curls, and half-masked face belong to the very person he'd most like to kill first. He examines Sakusa from top to bottom while Oikawa slowly leads him through the room. Unconsciously, he takes one step after another, his mind too distracted, his gaze transfixed.

Sakusa is slim and ripped, his shoulders broad but his waist so small. Leaning casually against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, he holds his black jacket folded neatly over his forearm, the contours of his muscles standing out thanks to the tight anthracite turtleneck shirt he’s wearing.

His head is tipped to the side, his gaze fixed on the city below. The dull daylight leaves the exposed part of his face even paler but doesn’t quite pick out the color of those intense dark and cold eyes. Or maybe it’s just because Atsumu can’t focus his own enough to tell if they were brown, or black, or whatever. He doesn’t care, he reminds himself.

His slender fingers are hidden in the pockets of his slacks. Merely a section of his suede gloves peeks out from between the silky fabric of his pants and the tight-fitting sleeves of his shirt, ensuring that every inch of his skin is covered. Not even to his colleagues does Sakusa reveal his true appearance. Not even here can Atsumu satisfy the insatiable thirst of his curiosity. What a shame.

Atsumu would sooner or later tear off his idiotic mask to run his blade across his face. Would watch as Sakusa's blood embellished his own body. Would picture him on his knees and lose himself in those dark eyes that would peer up at him glazed over, no longer able to withhold any tears. Eyes as dark as the night. Eyes so intense and captivating. Eyes that should be fixed solely on him.

“—ain't that right, Atsu-chan?”

Atsumu whips his head to the side and only noticed now that he’s seated between Hinata and the white-haired guy he spotted earlier. When the fuck did he sit down? And why the fuck is he even here?! Only now does Atsumu realize that Oikawa has been talking about him (to him?) the whole time. Shit – how much did he actually miss?

“Don't worry, Oikawa-san!” Hinata turns to Atsumu with a broad grin on his face. “We're gonna have some fun!”

“Sure,” Atsumu replies with a faint smile, having no idea what those two were just discussing. He will have to deal with Hinata later, though.

As Oikawa continues talking, his gaze drifts back to Sakusa. He, too, stares at Atsumu with a look of disdain. Atsumu props his elbows on his knees and folds his hands in front of his face. His eyes burn into Sakusa's eternal night, the blades in his sleeves keen to be used any second.

Atsumu honestly doesn't care what the Kumichō is talking about. All his senses warn him about right now is the man in black in front of him, whose desire to kill was at least as strong as his own. He just needs to get close enough to him, then—

“You're dismissed. Kiyoomi, you stay. Oh, and Chibi-chan,” Oikawa crosses his arms in front of his chest and grins slyly. “Make sure Atsu-chan gets the best of us.”

Hinata salutes him, “Will do!”

Then the voices in the room get louder and the crowd gradually leaves Oikawa's office. Atsumu didn't take his eyes off Sakusa for a second, and neither did the latter. So, while Sakusa gracefully slips on his suit jacket, Atsumu walks toward him with tentative steps. Weary and careful, like two big cats about to attack each other any minute. A tiger and a panther, incompatible with each other.

“Miya,” Sakusa says once Atsumu is only a few steps away and slows to a halt. He adjusts his collar before the skin at the corners of his eyes creases into a sick smile and the look he shoots the blonde is nothing but contemptuous. “Already woken up from your beauty sleep?”

“Sure, I've had a thousand different dreams ‘bout how I'm gonna kill ya. Spoiler! Every one of ‘em had a happy ending with you bein’ dead.”

“Awww, so you did dream about me.”

It’s only one quick step forward, pulling out the blade and stab.

“Only the best dreams, Omi-kun.” Atsumu's hooded eyes shift to Sakusa's jugular while his hands slip into the pockets of his pants. The temptation is too great. Atsumu has never been so close to him as he is now, never so close to actually being able to hurt him. To kill him.

He lets the blades of his knives slide down slowly but doesn't let on what he's doing. All he gets from Sakusa, however, is a scornful laugh. He lowers his voice and speaks just loud enough for only Atsumu to hear, “Go on, Miya, show them your knives. I’d be happy to see the others shooting at least 40 bullets through that empty skull of yours.”

Atsumu stops his movements, a sly smirk creeping onto his face.

“Dunno whatcha mean. I came here unarmed, darlin’.” Atsumu flashes a grin as if Osamu's knife isn't visibly attached to his belt.

Sakusa snorts, “Sure.”

Atsumu isn’t a rookie, and this is one of the easiest tricks. The fact that Sakusa saw through him means nothing. He's just lucky Atsumu isn't actually carrying his favorite weapon because Atsumu knows Sakusa has no chance if he would actually get serious.

“Can't wait to work with ya, Omi-kun.”

“You will never work with me, Miya.”

“Never say never,” Atsumu winks. “You’d have a lot of fun with me.”

Sakusa's gaze falls on Atsumu's throat. Atsumu gulps. “Sure,” the asshole says.

“Hey Atsumu-san, let's go!” Hinata rips them out whatever that is between them and waves him over. Ah, so apparently, he's teamed up with the kid.

Atsumu nods, his gaze still locked on Sakusa's dark eyes. “Alright, Shōyō.”

“Break a leg.” Sakusa's face is indifferent.

“Thanks, Omi-Omi.”

“No, I mean it. Break a leg and die.”

Atsumu snorts, “I ain't gonna make it that easy for ya, darlin’.”

He smirks, slowly walking away from him and joining Hinata. Atsumu doesn't care if Sakusa can attack him from behind – he wouldn't do it anyway. Not as long as Oikawa needs him. Before I die, you die, Atsumu muses, following Hinata deep in thought. That is until they arrive at the kid's car.

They get in and Atsumu lifts a brow, turning to Hinata.

“So, Yakuza, huh?”

Hinata chuckles sheepishly as he starts the engine and drives the car.

“I’m sorry Atsumu-san, Oikawa-san told me I can't tell you yet.”

“Sure he did…” Atsumu muttered under his breath.

He stares at Hinata, wondering how someone like him could end up joining Yakuza. The boy doesn't seem at all like someone who handles weapons and fights on a daily basis. He's too docile for that... too innocent.

“And here I thought ya were just’a humble worker intimidated by Oikawa's gang.”

“I'm a good actor, right?!” Hinata announces proudly, his eyes twinkling and his grin stretching from one ear to the other. He gushes with enthusiasm.

“Why, though? You don't seem like the kind of guy who'd mess around.”

Hinata giggles again, “Aren't the ones who seem to be harmless actually the worst?”

Atsumu raises both eyebrows and huffs a laugh, looking at the fellow ginger. Oikawa has been harmless so far. Hinata didn't even strike him as a Yakuza member. Was that a threat? A hint?

“How long?” Atsumu asks.

Hinata lifts a questioning brow in response as he turns to Atsumu for a second, then returns his gaze to the street in front of him. Atsumu decides to elaborate on his question.

“How long have ya been watchin’ me?”

Atsumu isn't stupid. It makes sense why Oikawa sent Hinata after him. The kid is easy to befriend and would be one of the last people Atsumu would suspect of belonging to Oikawa. Hinata was one of the first and only people from Sendai Atsumu allowed to enter his life, and now the assassin wonders how many steps Oikawa is actually ahead of him.

Did all this just happen when Hinata met him? An (un)lucky twist of fate? Or was Oikawa already awaiting him in Sendai and set Hinata on him? That would be the worst-case scenario for Atsumu because it would mean Oikawa knew a lot more than he openly admits. That he knew about things that not even Atsumu could grasp until now.

Hinata stops the car and kills the engine. His gaze is fixed on the firm grip of fingers clutching the steering wheel, and a deep frown has settled on his forehead. Hinata gulps before turning to Atsumu with a now more relaxed expression.

“A while,” he replies. “When I saw you for the very first time, though, I didn't know who you were if that's what you're asking.”

Oh?

Aside from the fact that Atsumu can't see through Oikawa, can't read Sakusa because of his mask, and would never have thought Hinata was a member of the mob, Atsumu is a master at reading people. He knows Hinata is telling the truth.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Huh?” Atsumu’s head snaps up.

“I mean I lied to you… I understand if you’re upset…” Hinata avoids Atsumu’s gaze and frowns. Either this kid is one hell of an actor, or he's genuinely sorry. Atsumu opts for the latter.

“Nahhh, ya didn't lie to me, Shō. You jus’ didn't tell me everything ‘bout yerself. Neither did I, right?” Atsumu smiles and so does Hinata. He nods, “Right.”

“Although I do blame you a little ya didn’t tell me Oikawa was already waitin’ for me when I asked ya ‘bout him. You knew, didn't ya?”

Hinata winces and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“You caught me off guard there. When Sakusa-san stopped by, I wanted to make sure that you were alright. Iwaizumi-san was watching us the whole time, that's why I was so nervous and didn't want to say or do anything wrong.”

Atsumu's eyes widen for a split second. So, Iwaizumi was the one observing him, huh?

“He wasn't at the meeting today, was he?”

“Iwaizumi?”

“Yeah.”

Hinata shakes his head. “He was in Yamagata overnight for a mission. I guess that's why Oikawa kept Sakusa in. Iwaizumi will probably be at the headquarters any minute to report.”

“And they're Oikawa’s watchdogs or what?”

Hinata shrugs his shoulders. “They're by far the best among us. I wouldn't mess with them for no reason.”

As for Iwaizumi, Atsumu can't say much. Sakusa, however, Atsumu has already seen fight. He knows how talented the goon is and Atsumu knows Sakusa is definitely not an easy opponent. Manageable, yes, but not to be taken lightly.

“Oikawa shouldn't be underestimated, Atsumu-san,” Hinata says, getting out of the car. Atsumu follows his lead. The fellow ginger puts his arms on top of the vehicle and leans over. “I wouldn't say they're his guardians. They are just very close to him… He kinda trusts them blindly.”

Atsumu frowns, “And he doesn't do that to the rest of you?”

Hinata chuckles but shakes his head. “No, it's not like that. We're just very... chaotic sometimes.”

Atsumu smiles. Of course. It reminds him too much of himself, Osamu, and their best friend Suna. How many times did they prowl around, getting into some mischief that Kita definitely didn't instruct them to do? There's a reason why Kita doesn't share everything with them, and that's okay.

It's good he has a selected number of close confidants. They all know how much they mean to Kita anyway because it was at least as much the other way around. No one in Inarizaki would ever doubt him, they will all trust him blindly, so it had to be the same with Hinata, his colleagues, and Oikawa.

“I understand,” Atsumu offers him a gentle smile that grows more with each passing second. “I would've been amazed if Omi would ever decide to have some fun with ya guys. That jerk has a stick up his ass.”

“Omi?” Hinata laughed.

“Ah, Sakusa.”

“Haha! That nickname could have been from Bokuto-san!!”

“Bokuto?”

“Yeah, the one with white hair? Owl-ish eyes? He’s fun!!”

Atsumu laughs. He doubts that anyone from Yakuza is fun – well except Hinata maybe. But yes, he remembers him. He was one of the few he spotted right when he entered the conference room. Atsumu ended up sitting between him and Hinata.

“I will introduce you to each other tonight once we are done with this mission here!”

Speaking of…

“Where are we even?” Atsumu checks his surroundings and realizes they are in front of the small convenience store where Hinata works as a 'temporary worker', near Shiratorizawa's district. “What are we gonna do?”

“Oikawa said the most talented person I could learn from was you.” Hinata grins broadly and tosses Atsumu a pair of spyglasses, which he catches without further effort. “Care to show me some of your tricks?”

Atsumu can't help but laugh. “Gotcha.”

Working with Hinata was sheer fun.

Although the two of them spent the whole day just watching various people, it didn't get boring for even one second. After all, Atsumu's first instincts don't fool him. Hinata is genuinely a good person, someone with whom he can easily spend the whole day and night.

Atsumu hasn't talked so profusely and carefree with a person in a long time but with Hinata, it's easy. It's like they've always been friends. As if they've known each other forever. As if Hinata wasn't one of his foes, but rather an actual friend.

Hinata revealed to him that he joined Yakuza because of a long-lost love, but when Atsumu wanted to elaborate, he dodged the topic. It was like untouched land, Atsumu understood that immediately. It's none of his business and he accepts that, after all, Hinata didn't bother to ask him further about the reason he joined Oikawa in the first place.

“Common interests,” was all Atsumu could come up with because telling anyone about Osamu would be too risky. The less they knew, the better. After all, he's still dealing with Yakuza. They would be the last ones he should trust.

So, after a pretty uneventful day, Hinata dragged him to a bar, where apparently more of his colleagues were hanging out. To be honest, Atsumu should feel more uncomfortable than he actually does, but trusting his instincts hasn't been so wrong so far (hopefully).

They reach the counter where a man with white hair – Bokuto (?) – and another man with short spiky brown hair are sitting. His face is unknown to Atsumu, but his aura is not.

“Iwaizumi-san, Bokuto-san!”

Ah, so that's Iwaizumi.

They both turn around as Hinata calls for their names and meet a wide grin from their ginger lad, putting a smile on their lips as well.

“Hey hey hey!! Shōyō!!” the Owl-guy exclaims. Bokuto, Atsumu reminds himself.

“You remember Atsumu?” Hinata points his thumb behind him at said man, who draws one of his hands from his jacket pocket and lifts it to greet the two men. His lips tighten into a thin smile.

“Of course, I do!! Glad to have you with us Atsumu!! Bokuto Kōtarō‘s the name!”

“The pleasure is all mine.” And it wasn't at all but lying was somehow the easier option next to an argument in a bar full of Yakuza members, all of whom Atsumu despised. After all, he shouldn't get on Oikawa's bad side just yet at least.

“Bokuto-san is in charge of crazy missions,” Hinata grins. “I don't think there's anything this guy wouldn't do.”

Bokuto laughs profusely, “Make something explode and I'm your man.”

“If you want everyone to know you're around maybe. That doesn't apply to the vast majority of our missions though, Bo,” the other man interjects before sipping his beer. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

He extends his hand and Atsumu hesitates for a second on whether to shake it or not. In the end, he does but is wary.

“Miya Atsumu.”

“I know,” he grins. “Oikawa couldn't stop talking about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.”

“Absolutely,” Iwaizumi replies as he rolls up his sleeves, revealing snake tattoos on his skin writhing around his arm.

Atsumu's gaze travels up their coils until the art vanishes into the crook of Iwaizumi's arm beneath his sleeve, though that doesn't stop Atsumu from taking a closer look at Iwaizumi's beefy upper arms. If Atsumu was in Oikawa's place, he would probably want to keep Iwaizumi around as well.

“So, you're assigned to Chibi-chan, huh?” Bokuto asks.

“Seems like it,” Atsumu smiles weakly and shrugs his shoulders.

“A veritable master of analysis,” Bokuto explains like a proud mother.

“That's true,” Iwaizumi agrees. “You made a good catch with Hinata.”

Hinata's face blushes slightly, and a wide grin appears on his lips, leaving Atsumu smiling a bit as well. The interaction was nice, kind of familiar, almost like being at home in Inarizaki with Atsumu’s friends. Everyone makes it so easy for him to feel at ease – a trap?

“He may not look like it, but this kid is really something!” Bokuto ruffles Hinata’s hair, both of them are laughing.

“Don’t spoil him too much Bokuto!” A man with light gray hair and a mole under his left hazel-brown eye reaches the three and a half Yakuza members and, flashing a grin, puts his arm around Hinata's shoulders, pulling him into a quarter hug. “He's about to get as cocky as you are!”

“Ha!” Laughs Bokuto, “You're confusing cockiness with confidence, Suga!”

The man chuckles, “Whatever you say, Bo.”

Atsumu watches the guys in front of him and doesn't quite know how to feel. They are nice, seemingly wanting to make a move on him, but honestly, that's the last thing Atsumu wants.

His priority is to save Osamu. The sooner he gets to him, the quicker he'll get rid of fucking Yakuza and won't have to deal with any of this. But then it's situations like this where he realizes how lonely he's been the last two years and how good it is to have at least a few people around with whom he actually gets along.

He counted Shōyō as one of his friends when he didn't know whose side he was actually on. Does any of this really change their situation that much?

“Sugawara Kōshi, but please, call me Suga,” the as-yet-unknown man snatches Atsumu from his thoughts and offers his hand. He stares at it for a while before deciding to shake it.

“Miya—"

“—Atsumu. So, you're the miracle boy Oikawa was raving about, huh?” Atsumu raises both eyebrows, but Sugawara just smiles at him kindly.

“It's nice to finally meet you! Make yourself at home.” Atsumu doubts that will ever be the case, but he thanks him anyway and nods.

“Suga is the bartender and owner of this bar,” Iwaizumi explains and smirks. “And a real pain in the ass who doesn’t know when to shut up,” Oikawa chimes in and drags an arm around Atsumu's shoulders to pull him close. Atsumu’s head snaps up to him, but Oikawa just winks, “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Kawa!” Sugawara laughs as he moves behind the bar to grab a towel. Oikawa can't help but chuckle too, his gaze once again fixed on Atsumu's golden eyes.

“Hope you had a fantastic day, Atsu-chan.” Oikawa flashes him a smile and God, Atsumu hates that goofy grin. Oikawa was definitely not a person he would ever trust and the whole charade of them getting along so well makes Atsumu feel like throwing up.

“Sure, darlin’,” Atsumu replies with a faking smile. Oikawa's arms slide off Atsumu's body and the Kumichō chooses to invade Iwaizumi's personal space instead. He situates himself between his spread legs and puts a hand on his shoulder. With the other, he reaches for Iwaizumi's beer and brings it to his mouth. Atsumu watches every little movement, ever vigilant.

He still can't see through Oikawa at all. Atsumu has no idea if the moment would come when the Kumichō would actually jab a knife into his back, or if he truly just offers him his help without any ulterior motives.

All of this, the kindness, the amicable treatment, and the shady delight of Atsumu joining their gang, just confuses the assassin to no end. Why are they all pretending to like Atsumu? And why does Atsumu actually start to fall for it? Are two years of loneliness in fact causing him to be that desperate?

“Atsumu, don’t let Oikawa mess with you. This guy is a pain in the ass too, you know?” Suga explains with a broad grin stretched on his face while he starts polishing a glass. Oikawa snorts, setting Iwaizumi's beer back down on the counter, “What do you mean, Suga? I am super sweet.”

“Figured,” Atsumu snorts and causes everyone around him to laugh, except for Oikawa. “Hey!” The Kumichō pouts. Atsumu earns a peppy smack on the back from Bokuto who can’t help but laugh wholeheartedly.

“I like this kid!” He shouts, infecting everyone around him with his cheerfulness. Even Atsumu can't help but smile.

It's okay. He can let it happen. He just has to trust his instincts.

“Atsumu knows how to talk back,” Iwaizumi smirks, putting a cigarette between his lips. “Do you know what you've gotten yourself into, Kawa?”

“Oh, shut up,” the Kumichō hisses and snaps the cigarette out of Iwaizumi’s mouth to put it between his lips and lights it. Iwaizumi scowls at him. “You're all traitors,” Oikawa whines after taking two deep drags and blowing the smoke to the side. Iwaizumi raises his brow in irritation, Sugawara and Atsumu chuckle lightly. Atsumu wonders if Oikawa is deliberately pissing his right-hand man off like this. Presumably, he is.

“Anyway,” Oikawa starts and turns back to Hinata. “Is there any news from Shiratorizawa?”

Hinata shakes his head. “Atsumu-san and I have been watching all suspects, but there was nothing suspicious. Are you sure Ushijima-san wants to get Shiratorizawa under his control?”

Oikawa nods, taking another deep drag. “It's his home and there are too many people considering him a saint.”

“So, yer gonna do what exactly? Get it under yer belt before he does?” Atsumu asks with spite in his voice. That's exactly what he hates. Assholes who think some unrelated territory belongs to them. As much as Atsumu knows, Shiartorizawa has always been independent and that's how it should stay, no matter what any wannabe bosses might command.

Maybe it's the urge to protect Shirabu and Semi, but Atsumu was wrong in his assessment.

“You misunderstand Oikawa,” Iwaizumi interjects calmly, gently pulling the cigarette out of Oikawa's hand to take a drag himself. Then Bokuto joins in and flashes a smile. “Shiratorizawa is probably the last territory ‘Kawa would want to get his hands on,” he laughs and leaves Atsumu frowning, his gaze snapping to Oikawa. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, then Oikawa parts his lips.

“Things have been getting a little out of hand lately. Since Ushiwaka got Seijoh, we've all agreed to honor a cease-fire.” Oikawa gulps and frowns. “That also includes not being allowed to expand our current territory.”

Atsumu doesn't dare to ask why Oikawa lost Seijoh, but he can see how much the Kumichō is bothered by it. This may be the first time that Atsumu can truly decipher Oikawa. His grief and anger at losing something that was his are still utterly present, that's obvious.

“What happens when he does? Does it really matter whether you Yakuza people follow the rules or not?”

Oikawa laughs mockingly, “It's a done deal. Whoever breaks the contract makes himself vulnerable.” Whoever breaks the contract may be killed without consequences. Atsumu understands.

“So, Ushijima tries it in another way?”

“It is not necessarily against the rules if the people of Shiratorizawa want to join him voluntarily. If they specifically wish to join his territory, then that's okay.”

Atsumu scoffs. Everyone in Yakuza is and always will be lousy rats. So Ushijima 'convinces' them to do that.

“A few of Ushijima’s people started meeting in a high-rise building. Atsumu-san and I will keep an eye on them,” Hinata explains.

“Okay,” Oikawa nods and exhales. “Be careful, but strike when you need to. No solo efforts, though, got it? And make sure no one is ever left alone. This one might get tricky.”

“Yessir!” Hinata salutes and Atsumu nods. You can say what you want about Oikawa Tōru, but you have to give him credit for caring so much about his men. It is important to him that none of them are ever put in serious danger.

“By the way… Hinata, have you exchanged numbers with Atsumu yet?” Oikawa asks.

“Oh shoot! No, I haven't gotten to that yet!” Hinata's eyes are wide as he grips his hair with both hands. He fumbles his phone out of his jacket pocket and then holds out his palm to Atsumu. Hinata grins, “Care to share?”

Ugh – Atsumu really shouldn't. Really. He should have gotten a fake phone and a fake number because it's clear he wouldn't get around this. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but still.

Atsumu narrows his eyes as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. How could he ever turn down this sunshine in front of him? Fuck Hinata Shōyō. And fuck Oikawa for knowing exactly how to charm Atsumu.

“Uhhh, I think you should call 'Sunarin' back?” Hinata says, looking at Atsumu's screen in confusion and wanting to return the phone. But Atsumu scoffs and waves him off. “Nah, it's not that important.”

“'Tsumu, if you don't answer your fucking phone soon, I'll make sure Kita-'” Hinata can't even finish reading the sentence aloud before Atsumu snatched the phone out of his hand, panicking. Atsumu's eyes are wide open, his pulse is skyrocketing, and his heart is racing. Fuck.

Kita.

Kita-san (today, 10:23 am):

>> Atsumu what's going on?

Kita-san (today, 01:18 pm):

>> I am worried. Do you want me to send Suna?

Kita-san (today, 8:51 pm):

>> I will send Suna.

Atsumu's eyes scan the multiple messages, and he scolds himself for not just calling Kita back the moment he received his first one. Honestly, it just made everything much worse now. The guilt eating him up is best to swallow him from the earth forever. Atsumu writes back with slightly shaky fingers and sweaty palms.

Kita-san (today, 9:14 pm):

>> Sorry Kita can't talk right now. I'm on to something that can lead me to Samu.

>> DON'T send Rin.

After sending Suna a simple 'can't talk now', he hands Hinata his phone and exhales deeply. Since Atsumu started looking for Osamu, he's only been back to Inarizaki once, and that was exactly a year ago. It doesn't feel like home. Not when Osamu isn't there.

“Tsumu, huh?” Bokuto grins broadly. Atsumu stares at him in confusion, then has to chuckle a little too.

“It's a nickname my friends from Hyogo gave me.” A nickname my brother gave me, he almost said, but no one was supposed to know he even had any siblings. He trusts Oikawa didn't tell them. At least no one has confronted him about his real reasons for joining Yakuza.

“You people from Hyogo are really funny with your nicknames,” Hinata laughs into Atsumu's phone. “Bokuto-san, you should hear what Atsumu-san calls Sakusa-san! Omi!”

Bokuto bursts out laughing, and Iwaizumi, Oikawa, and Sugawara can't help cracking a smile as well. Probably more so because they're laughing at Bokuto. That guy is fun. Atsumu has to admit he, too, thinks this crazy guy is pretty amusing.

“Omi-Omi loves it when I call ‘im like that,” Atsumu chuckles. Bokuto is already crying. “Tsum-Tsum and Omi-Omi. Now those are scary names for people like us!” And Atsumu must admit Bokuto has a point. He laughs.

“Here,” Hinata beams and returns Atsumu’s phone. “I've saved all our numbers for you, plus Omi-san.”

Atsumu likes him. Really. Hinata is such a good boy.

“But you'd better call him only in case of emergency,” Iwaizumi explains. “And don’t text him at all. Unless you wanna get killed,” Oikawa adds. Atsumu stares at him, a provocative grin looming on his lips, and Oikawa can't help but be infected. “I told him not to, but I can only do so much.”

“Noted,” Atsumu smirks and mentally puts it on the list to make Sakusa's life insufferable. “Anything else I should avoid?” Atsumu peers up and smiles sheepishly, hands and phone tucked back into his pockets.

“Ah— yes. You shouldn’t touch him,” Bokuto says with a stern face.

“Unless you want a bullet through your head,” Oikawa chimed in, throwing his arms around Atsumu’s and Bokuto’s shoulders. Atsumu chuckles and turns around. “What? Is Mister Perfect afraid of getting hurt?”

“Sakusa just really hates to be touched. So better keep an arm-length distance, then you’re safe,” Iwaizumi explains and finishes his drink.

“Is he highly sensitive or somethin’?”

“Kinda?” Sugawara explains, continuing to polish the glass. “Let's just say he isn't all that covered up because he's ugly.”

The flame burning within Atsumu's stomach out of his curiosity has found new fuel, and at the same time, the assassin is somewhat envious of being the only one present who has yet to see Sakusa's true appearance. If that ever happens at all.

“Yeah, Omi-san is kinda a neat freak! He gets like uhhh—really really upset if something’s dirty or dusty and it’s in the same room as he is! Or if he touches anything he is not familiar with! Then you shouldn't be offended if he disinfects it first.”

“Sometimes he still washes his hands ten times afterward,” laughs Bokuto.

Mysophobia. Atsumu doesn't say it out loud. He wouldn't be so sure if he hadn't already witnessed this disease.

Sounds familiar, doesn't it, ma’?

The agonizing expression of having to get too close to his victim, the gloves, the mask, the talent of not having a single drop of blood on him... no wonder Sakusa is so damn good at what he does. He needs to be. And now Atsumu wonders how the hell Sakusa ever joined Yakuza in the first place.

And then he remembers what an asshole he is and doesn't wonder anymore.

“But enough of that,” Sugawara decides and puts a glass of the finest whiskey on top of the counter for Atsumu and Hinata each. “You've been here far too long with nothing to drink in your hands.”

Sugawara smiles. Atsumu does too. Atsumu decides he likes Sugawara as well.

“Come on Suga, where's the tequila!” Atsumu's eyes sparkle while Bokuto is already hanging over the counter, fishing for the bottle. “I'll get the lemons!” Hinata shouts and hops to Sugawara behind the bar. Atsumu laughs. He never doubted he liked Hinata, and Bokuto seems to be pretty cool, too.

“It's on me,” Iwaizumi smirks. “After all, we have to give our rookie a proper welcome, don’t we?”

Oikawa chuckles. “Ready for the real fun, Atsu-chan?”

Atsumu smirks. Maybe Iwaizumi and Oikawa are okay, too.

Maybe.

Three weeks into Yakuza shit and Atsumu is starting to get pissed. Like, really pissed.

Hinata was an angel. Really. Atsumu couldn't have asked for a better partner and they vibed outrageously! Every damn mission was so much fun for Atsumu… but he loses sight of his real goal. His real objective, the reason why he's here in the first place. The reason why Atsumu didn't lose his final straw to live. Osamu.

And it annoys Atsumu. It bugs him so incredibly, because yes, by now he's pretty much allowed to do anything in Sendai, and fuck, he has so many opportunities he could never have dreamed of, and still, he doesn't get a fucking step further.

Oikawa keeps baiting him with single pieces of information, some of which actually lead to something and that's probably the only reason why Atsumu hasn't blown up the entire headquarters yet, but the assassin was hoping for more. Much more. Because this is just not enough.

The weeks he spent with Hinata and partly with Bokuto were fantastic. Really. They make Atsumu feel good. Like they’re close friends. So much so that Atsumu forgets that in truth they aren't. Even Oikawa has somehow grown close to Atsumu? And he would like to beat himself up for that notion. A fucking Kumichō? What the hell is wrong with him? Someone like that could never be a good friend of his.

Yeah, the last three weeks have kind of thrown Atsumu off emotionally. He likes the people he works with. Hinata is incredibly talented, which made every mission all the better. Bokuto has such an enjoyable and heartwarming manner that he instantly started to grow on Atsumu. The evenings they spent at Sugawara's bar after each mission were balm for his soul. And fuck, even Oikawa was someone Atsumu could somehow just let go with? It bugs him. Deep down, Atsumu doesn't want any of that.

Or does he?

Three weeks into Yakuza shit and Atsumu is getting impatient, maybe even desperate. It's another crappy day in late December and Hinata and Atsumu are on a really damn important and tricky mission.

After following and observing Ushijima's people for the past few weeks, they've gotten close to their hideout and are gathering the final information to actually proceed against them without incurring any consequences for Oikawa's crew.

While Hinata sneaks into the building, Atsumu remains in the stolen car and observes the situation from the outside, letting Hinata know as soon as he spots any conspicuities. That's how it's been most of the time lately, simply for the fact that Hinata knows more about Yakuza crap and Atsumu would otherwise just blow up the entire building because he honestly doesn't give a shit about all this stuff with mutual truces or rules.

He's an assassin after all, not a Yakuza member.

So, elbow pressed beneath the slightly opened window, he rests his head on his hand and drums the steering wheel with his fingers. This is the boring part. Waiting. There are only so many times he can play out his plans in his mind before he wants to fucking go.

Around two in the morning, right on schedule, some drunk henchmen come stumbling out of the hideout and stagger to where they’ve parked. Noted. This is normal. Atsumu and Hinata have been keeping an eye on those goons for weeks and know their daily routine inside out. Two just left? That means five more men are still inside. Hinata must already be hiding near them.

“Hey Shō,” Atsumu speaks through a small microphone attached to his collar. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” Hinata whispers back, “I'm on it.” His voice is quiet in the headset in Atsumu's ear.

“Cool,” replies Atsumu, still drumming the steering wheel and observing his surroundings. “Cool, cool, cooooool...” he says and puckers his lips. Then, he frowns.

“Hey Atsumu-san,” Hinata laughs, “Let's grab a beer later?”

“Sure,” he answers absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the reflection in the side mirror. He watches himself, then his gaze falls on his necklace. Atsumu clenches his jaw.

“Cool. Hey, you'll let me know if anyone shows up, right? I'm heading in further now.”

“Of course, Shō. I’ve got yer back.”

“Nice.” Atsumu practically hears Hinata beaming before he is surrounded by silence again. About good 15 minutes pass in which Atsumu just waits and watches and waits and waits and waits. He seriously wonders how this is going to get him to Osamu.

Fuck, Atsumu needs something or he's going insane. Of course, it's fun with Hinata, there's no question about that, but that's not what he's here for. Osamu is waiting for him somewhere for 2 fucking years and all his brother is doing is helping some Yakuza guys? Atsumu has no idea what Osamu's situation is, how desperate he might be, he doesn't have the slightest clue where he could be, how he is, if he's actually still alive—

“—ya Osamu. Apparently, Inarizaki’s infamous Miya twins really do exist. Isn’t that…”

The voice was muffled as soon as the two men talking walked past Atsumu. He whipped his head around at lightning speed because what the fuck were those two pedestrians just talking about? Osamu? Is he here?

Atsumu frowns and watches the two men in his side mirror. They walk away from him down the street and disappear into the darkness of the night.

Whatever they were talking about involved Osamu, his brother, and Atsumu would be a damn fool not to follow them right now. Atsumu reminds himself why he's here: for his twin, not for Yakuza.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, and when he's sure no one would hear him, he opens the car door and gets out. Shit, he knows he shouldn't leave Hinata alone but he has to follow them. Maybe this is the lead to Osamu's location, and he cannot afford not to go after it.

So, he looks around one last time and checks his surroundings. The coast is clear. Hinata is not in danger, so following them shouldn’t be a problem, right? Atsumu sneaks up behind the two men and tries to catch more of their conversation.

“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of them!”

“For how long did you say they vanish into thin air? Two years? Then how would I even know them if I just got into this shit last year.”

“Everybody knows them! Apparently, they’re going separate ways ‘cause they’ve been fighting.”

Atsumu swallows thickly. He had never regretted an argument as much as the last one he had with Osamu. Whoever that was in front of him talking about his brother knows more than he should and Atsumu is sure he can lead him to his twin.

“And Osamu is supposed to be in Sendai?”

He might be confusing him with Atsumu. The assassin carries only a spark of hope.

“They’re both supposed to be here! Creepy, isn’t it? What are they doing here?”

Atsumu gulps again. What? His eyes are wide open, a lump forms in his throat, and his senses go numb. Osamu is here? In Sendai?!

And now his thoughts start to spin.

For how long? How long had Atsumu been so close to his brother and yet so far away? How long did they keep missing each other? Was Osamu in truth perhaps looking for him all this time? Can Osamu forgive him? Shit, can Atsumu even find him? Atsumu has to find him.

‘Samu…

It was then that Atsumu tried to face the two men but was interrupted before he even had the chance to. It was then that both the two men and Atsumu turned around in utter shock. It was then that Atsumu knew he really, really fucked up.

The crossfire coming from the building Hinata is in was anything but planned. The following explosion only made things worse. No, Atsumu is actually quite sure that the only weapon Hinata was carrying was his goddamn pistol.

“No,” Atsumu whispers horrified. All he can do is watch the building burn, giant flames reflecting in his golden eyes, wide open. His heart slips into the pit of his stomach and his trembling hands find their way to his microphone. He turns it on, and his stomach drops.

“Hey, Shōyō?” Atsumu wants to throw up. “Hey, this isn’t funny, okay? C’mon, Shō…” His pulse races, his heart flutters. “Shōyō.” He gulps.

There are two things in Miya Atsumu’s life that he has vowed never to do again. One is to ever lose consciousness again – which he already failed miserably. Two is to abandon his friends.

The fact that Atsumu isn’t good at keeping the things he has vowed to do is a tender point. That he would be that bad at it, however, surprised even himself. When bullets start ringing out from the direction of the explosion, Atsumu knows he has once again screwed up. “Fuck,” he mutters and starts to run off.

He pulls out Osamu’s knife and sprints for dear life. By the time Atsumu reaches the building, his senses are sharpened and his body’s already working on autopilot. “Hey—” someone calls out but falls silent just as Atsumu slits his throat. The man clutches the injury and gasps for air, immediately dropping to the ground.

One out.

It's the most painless way. A quick slit on the jugular and his victim bleeds out, goes unconscious within seconds, and is dead within minutes.

Smoke, dust, and crumbling walls make it difficult for him to see. It’s even hotter on the higher floors, single flames blocking his way. This sucks, Atsumu thinks and fights his way to wherever Hinata is. Reaching the third floor, he stumbles upon two more men already waiting for him with wicked smirks on their faces.

“Miya Atsumu,” one of them says. “What took you so long?”

“If ya were expecting me so eagerly, you could’ve just approached me. That would’ve saved us both some time before I kill you.”

“Kill us, he says!” Laughs the same bastard mockingly, his buddy already flashing a blade from his sleeve, which of course doesn't go unnoticed by Atsumu. They fight with knives? Oh, that's mere child's play. “You can ask your little friend how well that worked out for him.”

“Where is he?” Atsumu snarls.

“Dead for sure.” Atsumu's grip on Osamu's knife tightens. “I'd be surprised if he survived that, considering all the C4 we used.”

“Cool,” replies Atsumu. “That means yer useless to me then?”

The men look at him in confusion. Before they can realize what's happening, Atsumu throws a blade hidden in his sleeve at the asshole, who was also about to pull out a knife and cuts his hand. He cries out in pain and grabs his wrist, staring in panic at the blade stuck neatly in the middle of his hand.

Before the bastard who was talking to Atsumu can pull his gun out of his pants from behind, Atsumu kicks him in the knee causing him to slump to the floor and then kicks him in his face. He ends up on his stomach so Atsumu jumps on his back and rams the blade of Osamu's knife into his kidney, pushing the serrations in so deep that they inflict maximum damage. This bastard will bleed into his stomach, quickly and without any mess.

As his screams choke to a whimper of pain, Atsumu returns his attention to the other, kicking him in his lower back and sending him stumbling against the wall. Trying to brace himself with his uninjured hand, Atsumu snatches it and drags his arm behind his back, grabbing the handle of the knife stuck in his other hand and ramming it into the wall, trapping the asshole. Osamu's blade finds the goon's neck.

“Listen,” Atsumu begins. “I'mma reeeeeeally impatient person. But I'm also very very merciful, so 'm gonna give ya two options: either ya tell me right now where my little ginger friend is and yer death will be quick and painless, or,” Atsumu presses the blade harder against his neck causing some blood to trickle down. “Or this is about to get very, very uncomfortable for you. You decide.”

“Go to hell, shithead.”

“Errr!” Atsumu makes the sound of a wrong buzzer. “Wrong answer, buddy!”

He jabs Osamu's knife into his back and drags the blade along his spine. The goon cries out in pain while blood rushes down his body and his legs start to go limp. Before Atsumu lets go of him, he wipes the blade clean on the idiot's clothes and puts it back in the sheath.

“What a waste,” Atsumu grumbles and takes a step back.

“You're not getting out of here alive,” gasps the first one Atsumu knocked down. Atsumu crouches in front of him, making the man hiss as he pulls him up by his hair to get a look at his face. Then Atsumu's eyes darken as bloodlust and revenge swirl in them.

“More people are heading this way, you don't stand a chance.”

“The more the merrier, right?” Atsumu smirks sickly and tosses the goon's head to the side, making him groan in pain. The assassin stands up and lets the man before him bleed. He steps over his motionless body and makes his way to the next floor.

Two more down.

Reaching the top, he spots another bastard dragging Hinata by the legs across the floor. Atsumu sneaks up behind him and rams the back of Osamu's knife into his neck. The impact is hard enough to cause him to pass out instantaneously.

As Atsumu’s gaze flickers from the goon before him through the messy room to check if there are any more enemies, he finds more bodies littered on the floor and frowns, wondering if all of this was Hinata's doing. Most likely, it was.

Once Atsumu has made sure they are alone, he rushes to his partner and checks on his condition. Only when he bends down to him does he realize that his friend is conscious. Well, sort of. Hinata's chest heaves with exertion, his body is covered in ash, dirt, and scattered wounds, and Atsumu is pretty sure the way Hinata's right arm is twisted that it's broken. Atsumu is also sure there are more injuries on his body.

“Fuck,” he hisses, hands tentatively moving to Hinata's head to check if he's bleeding from there as well, and yup, he is.

“—sumu?” Hinata slurs, his eyes slowly opening and falling shut, and his gaze is anything but focused. Hinata may be awake, but he's certainly no longer conscious.

“Shōyō, hey,” Atsumu coos. “I'm here, okay? Let's get out of here.”

“...mi. Call... mi”

“Who? Who do ya want me to call?”

“O...” Hinata contorts his face in pain and hisses.

“Hey, easy. I'll get ya out of here.”

“Omi...” Hinata tries again and Atsumu's blood runs cold. He swallows while staring at his face and knitting his eyebrows together. Why the hell should he call Sakusa?

“It's okay Shōyō, we can handle this on our own, okay? “

“N-No...” he interrupts Atsumu. “Call... nghh..—”

Atsumu swallows thickly and runs a hand through his hair while watching Hinata writhe in pain. “Fuck, shit, okay. Hang in there, will ya? We're gonna get out of here.” He realizes that Shōyō wouldn't let up, and Atsumu is the last person who will deny him his request.

Of course, Hinata must also think they can never be real friends, so all he asks for is a reliable colleague. After all, if Atsumu was in Hinata's place, he wouldn't trust himself either. So Atsumu has no choice but to call the bastard he loathes the most. Sakusa.

If Bokuto wasn't in Nagoya and Oikawa wasn't in Kobe and Atsumu wasn't so damn terrified of Iwaizumi he definitely would have called one of them instead, but no, it had to be Sakusa fucking Kiyoomi.

“Fuck my life,” the assassin mumbles, pressing the phone against his ear. Atsumu stays alert and continues to capture his surroundings while waiting for Sakusa to finally answer his fucking phone. After swatting him away twice, the idiot decides to answer the call on the third try.

“What do you want, Miya?”

“Locate my phone and get over here right now. Shōyō got hit by an explosion and fuck—” Atsumu looks at his pal and swallows thickly. “I have no idea if he's gonna make it.”

There's about half an eternity of silence before Sakusa inhales sharply. “I'm there in five minutes,” and the click indicates he's already hung up.

Atsumu stuffs his phone back into his pants pocket and gently lifts Hinata to give him a piggyback ride. Hinata groans in pain with every little movement and shit, Atsumu feels sick to his stomach watching his friend in such misery.

It's your fault, he reminds himself. You put him in this situation. Just like you did with Osamu.

Atsumu shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He shakes his head and pushes the thought aside. No, there's no time for that right now.

The flames in the building grow bigger and Atsumu tries to hurry to get himself and Hinata out of the dangerous place as fast as he can. The more smoke they breathe in, the worse their chances are. Hinata is not allowed to fall asleep under any circumstances because that could mean his death.

When Atsumu notices more people sneaking into the building from downstairs, he hides in a corridor next door. Fuck, now he understands why Hinata asked for help. Atsumu can't do much with him on his back.

“Hey Shō,” he whispers, his senses sharpened. “You have to be quiet now, okay? Or we're really gonna have a fucking problem.”

Hinata groans softly as Atsumu urges them both into the darkness, and just at that wrong moment, they draw attention to themselves.

“They're over there!” He hears a man shout and the next thing that follows is a dull sound and the thud of a body hitting the ground. Fuck, Atsumu exhales shakily and guides his fingertips to the handle of Osamu's knife. His body tenses and his heart goes crazy with adrenaline. Atsumu clutches the handle tightly. He sets Hinata down carefully to be ready to fight, trying not to hurt him further.

By the time someone approaches him, Atsumu gets ready to attack. It's dark, all he can rely on are his ears. Hearing the rubbing of pebbles against the ground, Atsumu lunges and prepares to stab his enemy, but his wrist is caught in the motion and his arm is twisted in such a way that Atsumu immediately drops Osamu's knife in the pain the stranger inflicts on him. He feels gloves around his skin.

"Omi," he spits out.

“Put your fucking knife away, Miya, and let's get out of here.” He pushes Atsumu away from him. “Now!” He demands explicitly, already making his way back downstairs. Atsumu frowns and blinks once or twice. Of course, Sakusa wouldn't carry Hinata, dirty and covered in blood like that. No, Atsumu has the honor.

He grabs the kid and follows Sakusa, hot on his tail. On the way down, they step over countless dead bodies of which Atsumu is sure he didn't kill them all. He ignores the fact that only one particular man in here could have done it and God, Atsumu can't even express how annoyed he is by this idiot's presence. After all, calling him is what Hinata wanted.

After killing a few more men on their way out, they hurry to Sakusa's car. Atsumu whistles when he spots the impeccable black Audi R8 and wonders if Sakusa is even capable of driving such a sports car.

“Put him in the passenger seat,” the jerk orders as he hurries to the driver's seat. Atsumu rolls his eyes, it's not like he wasn't going to put Hinata in there anyway, bastard.

Atsumu laughs as he opens the door and gets an infuriated glare from Sakusa. The passenger seat is covered with foil, presumably, so Hinata doesn't bleed all over it.

Just as Atsumu was about to make a stupid mocking comment, Hinata coughs up blood. Fuck. Atsumu's eyes widen as the kid gets paler and paler. For a moment, he forgot how serious the situation really is. For a moment, Sakusa has once again drawn all his attention to him.

“Shit... Shit, Hinata hang in there.”

Atsumu buckles him in and turns to Sakusa, who was looking at Hinata with a deeply disgusted frown. “You're going to clean this,” he says ominously, and if Atsumu wasn't so fucking worried about Hinata right now, he would have snapped back. But right now it's about saving a life. The life of a friend.

“If ya don't get ‘im to the hospital in one piece, I will kill you, Omi.”

“Whose fault is this in the first place?” Sakusa bites back. Their gazes hold nothing but the mere desire to kill each other.

“Drive!” Atsumu spits out and slams the door shut. It doesn't even take a second for Sakusa to buzz off. Atsumu runs his hands through his hair and watches the fucking sports car disappear into the darkness. The only thing he can do now is hope.

Hope that Hinata survives.

It’s in the middle of the night when Atsumu ends up in Sugawara’s bar, waiting for any sign about Hinata and considering drinking himself to death while doing so. There is only the blonde left and a few scattered deadbeats, whose lives Atsumu couldn't care less about.

Almost two hours passed since the incident and the assassin is already well buzzed. Over and over again, he relives the nightmare from earlier in his mind. What if he had paid better attention? Would Hinata still have been unharmed? What if he hadn't followed the two who were talking about Osamu? Could Atsumu have prevented everything then? Would Hinata's life even be in danger now?

Fuck.

They're both supposed to be here. In the bar. Safe.

How would Osamu react if he found out that Atsumu had once again abandoned someone important to him? How would Osamu react if he found out that Atsumu was temporarily allied with Yakuza? Would Osamu even listen to him? Forgive him?

Atsumu releases a deep sigh and clasps his hands to stop them from shaking. This is fucking hell.

He is frustrated with the whole damn thing, so he needed a strong drink – or more than just one. Settled on a stool, elbow on top of the counter, Atsumu swirls the last bit of whiskey in his glass and tries not to let the feelings of guilt he has for letting Hinata down consume him. Instead, he has had the glorious idea of drowning his sorrows in alcohol.

He's on his fourth whiskey and it’s still not enough. Suga leaves him with a refilled glass and gives him a look but what does Atsumu even care? He knocks it back just as quickly as he had the other three. It’s a good one, he knows he’ll owe Suga tons for it but right now he's just thankful he's staying silent and not bugging Atsumu with any questions.

The liquid burns only slightly as it’s going down his throat and the numb feeling lingers long after Atsumu has swallowed it. He lifts his head in a silent request for another glass of whiskey and Sugawara just stares at him when he doesn't refuse. He might be Atsumu’s savior.

Fifth one.

Down.

Sixth one.

Gone.

Seventh—

“Hey mister self-pity, enough is enough.” Sugawara snatches the glass away from Atsumu but the latter frowns and looks at his bartender, half angry, half confused. Atsumu blames himself. He blames himself that Hinata has to fight for his life because of him. That Osamu disappeared because of him. Guilt eats him up, hence Atsumu needs more alcohol to forget about all of this. Refusal is not an option.

He detaches the brown leather sheath from his belt and places Osamu's knife on top of the counter. Atsumu's hand lingers on it when he takes a deep breath. He tilts his head up and he meets Sugawara's concerned gaze. He may be well on his way to drunk but he’s still seeing clearly.

“Suga, yer cool ‘n all, ‘kay?” He slurs. “But if ya don’t pour me some more fuckin’ whiskey I won’t hesitate to stab this pretty knife in yer throat and get it myself.”

His look is probably meant to be threatening, but Sugawara doesn't pull a face. Instead, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Atsumu a reproachful look. “And we have rules in here, Atsumu. You get violent, you get kicked out.”

“And who's gonna stop me?” Atsumu huffs. “You?”

“I will.” Iwaizumi steps next to the assassin and peers down at him, his expression stern.

Sugawara's bar is like a sacred place. There is always someone from Oikawa's mob prowling around to protect the bartender and his place. In return, they are allowed to do whatever they want – except use their weapons or get violent. After all, the bar is not supposed to attract any cops.

Iwaizumi having to show up tonight was just what Atsumu needed. After all, he can match anyone, but the bulky guy wasn't exactly someone Atsumu would want to mess with. And actually, he isn't even supposed to be here, but Atsumu knows why he is anyway. He huffs. “Oh, lemme guess. Omi-Omi called ya!”

“Shut up, Miya,” the asshole in question answers. Atsumu turns around and spots a ridiculously handsome man in black slacks, shirt, and mask, covering most parts of his skin. Atsumu shakes his head and laughs. “What a shit show,” he mumbles as he faces his empty glass again. Sakusa's bullshit presence is the last thing he needs on this fucked up day.

“Excuse me?” Sakusa arched his eyebrows and settles on a barstool at the other end. Iwaizumi remains standing between them and accepts a beer that he never ordered but received anyway.

“Piss off,” Atsumu growls, low and threatening.

“How is Hinata?” Sugawara asks worriedly as he serves Sakusa a whiskey.

Seriously?

“He is still undergoing surgery. Akaashi's colleague sent us away and said he would contact us. It will probably take some time, his injuries were severe.”

“Shit...” Sugawara frowns.

A lump gets stuck in Atsumu's throat, tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and his cheeks flush. If Hinata dies because of him, he will never forgive himself. If he dies, it will be his fault. Entirely his own.

Atsumu gulps. How much does he wish to undo what happened? How much does he wish he had taken better care of Hinata? Fuck, why did he let him out of his sight?

Atsumu clutches his empty glass to suppress the shaking of his hands and scrunches his eyes shut. His leg is nervously bobbing up and down, his head completely dazed.

I know what you're capable of.

Did Oikawa assign him to Hinata so he could watch him? Of course, he did. And Atsumu has failed again. He's a good-for-nothing. A failure who can't even find his brother. How is he supposed to take care of Hinata, the sunshine who has made his whole life so much better in the last three weeks?

“Does Oikawa know?” Sugawara's voice is quiet. Iwaizumi nods. “Yes,” he breathes and runs his hand through his hair. “He's on his way.” Atsumu opens his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Iwaizumi.” His voice is soft.

Iwaizumi rests his hand on Atsumu's shoulder and glances at him sympathetically. Atsumu's eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn't dare to shed a single tear. Not as long as Hinata lives. Not as long as he fights.

“It's okay, Atsumu. He'll make it, Shōyō is strong.”

Atsumu doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to be forgiven. He doesn't deserve pity. He doesn't deserve these kind-hearted people around here. What is this? Why doesn't anyone blame him?

Sakusa scoffs.

“You've got a lot of nerve asking for forgiveness after the shit you pulled, Miya.”

Six pairs of eyes land on Sakusa, one of them holding a small blazing fire so eager to get out of control. Atsumu blinks, takes a second to understand what's happening, then frowns. Seems like not all of them are as kind-hearted as he thought.

“The shit I pulled?” Atsumu stands up and walks toward Sakusa. “If you had answered yer fucking phone earlier, Hinata might have had an even better chance.”

Sakusa laughs mockingly and turns to Atsumu, his elbow still resting on the counter, the whiskey glass firmly in his grip. “Whose fault is it in the first place that it's come to this? Shouldn't you have been keeping an eye on him?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw, his fists were balled up in the pockets of his jacket, pulsing and pumping like he is barely containing life in them. They want to make a connection with Sakusa’s face, he hits Atsumu where it hurts. But the assassin can't exactly say it feels bad.

He's sick of hypocrisy because yes, he screwed the fuck up, and no, no one should forgive him just because he's a fucking assassin from Inarizaki who claims to have so much up his sleeve. Yet the truth is quite different.

“If Hinata dies, it's your fault.”

It hurts. But it's true.

“Only you are fucking responsible so don't start putting any blame on me.”

Fuck, Hinata... I didn't mean to.

Atsumu rams his nails into the flesh of his palm to suppress the shaking. When is he going to stop ruining everything? When will he stop putting the people around him in danger? When can he finally be trusted?

“I don't understand why Oikawa thinks so highly of you. Everything I see from you is pathetic,” Sakusa says with venom in his voice and gets a glare from Iwaizumi. “Kiyo, that's enough.”

Atsumu holds Sakusa's gaze.

If he can't even take care of Hinata on such a puny mission, how will he ever be able to take care of Osamu? Atsumu stares at the floor.

How will he ever be able to find Osamu?

“If all assassins from Inarizaki are as miserable as you are, I'm not even surprised why your partner went missing.”

Atsumu's head snaps up.

“What?”

“I said, your partner probably deserved to get lost.”

There are many things in life that Atsumu endures. Someone insulting his brother is none of them.

Atsumu lunges at Sakusa grabs him by the collar and snarls in his face, “You don't know anything about me or the people from my hometown so shut the fuck up.”

Sakusa knits his brows together, his eyes are perilously cold. “Hands off. Now.”

Atsumu grips even tighter and pulls the taller man down from the chair toward him. A sick smile etches onto his face. “Or what?”

Seeing Sakusa tense up like this is a dream come true.

His gloved fingers seize Atsumu's wrist so tightly it cuts off his blood circulation. Atsumu grins at the pain.

“Let. Go.”

Perhaps Atsumu should never have gone to the bar tonight. Maybe Atsumu should never have joined Yakuza in general. He is not ready for what he provokes, his body is tired and exhausted. But he's sick of all this and pushing Sakusa's boundaries is just what he needs right now.

Atsumu's fingers don't even have a chance to find Sakusa's neck. One solid knee to the gut and Atsumu is stumbling backward, tearing tables and chairs with him as he falls, spitting up some blood.

Hugging his arms over his middle, gasping for air, he slides his hand beneath the leg of his pants and pulls out a knife. Not the right choice, in the grand scheme, but the only one he can see if he wants Sakusa to bleed as well.

“That all you got?” He gasps, scrambling to his feet around the searing pain in his stomach. Sakusa is staring at him with wild eyes. Atsumu can’t help but smirk, he is getting some much-needed aggression out, some latent self-destructive tendency had completely taken control and he likes it, loves it even.

But he can fight oh so well with his stomach boiling and the taste of blood in his mouth. As his vision starts to blur, because of the alcohol or because of the punch, Atsumu's grip tightens around the knife in his palm and his eyes drop to Sakusa's throat.

He licks his lips and lunges, but before he has a chance to do any serious damage, Sakusa grabs his wrist and twists the metal out of his hand. A minor loss for what Atsumu had actually planned.

In the motion, Atsumu sneaks his fingers around the grip of Sakusa's pistol but it takes only a heartbeat before Atsumu gets an elbow smashed into his ribs, another heartbeat, and gloved fingers wrap around his throat and press him against the wall.

Atsumu laughs seeing Sakusa boiling with rage, and he wonders what would have happened if he actually had been serious. The grip on Atsumu’s throat tightens, constricting the air in his lungs, and leaving a burning sensation crawling up his chest. Sakusa presses him against the wall, gun pointing at his head.  

“Touch me and you’ll burn.” His eyes are as cold as ice and as dark as the night. Sakusa Kiyoomi is nobody who bears any feelings whatsoever. He presses the muzzle against Atsumu’s forehead, finger hooked in the trigger, only barely hesitating to pull it. But Atsumu's eyes hold no fear, no. Instead, he smirks impishly and presses himself deeper into Sakusa's grip.

Shoot, he silently dares, and Sakusa would be foolish not to see it in Atsumu's eyes.

Before Sugawara has a chance to say anything, Iwaizumi steps in between and puts his hand on the barrel of Sakusa's pistol. “Enough,” he says, keeping firm eye contact with the bastard.

“I'll honestly kick you all out, you idiots,” Sugawara complains. “Daichi’s already covering up a shit ton for you, he can't do much with dead bodies.”

Sakusa narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on Atsumu's throat, but all the latter does is smirk, as if enjoying it.

“Kiyoomi.” Iwaizumi's voice is threatening.

Oikawa needs him, otherwise, Atsumu would be dead already. He knows that much.

“Assassins are all the same,” Kiyoomi huffs and releases his grip, his hand holding the pistol slowly lowering. “Only ever thinking of their own interests.”

He puts the pistol back into the holster and turns around. He doesn't seem to care that Atsumu could stab him from behind. Perhaps he suspects he wouldn't. Instead, Sakusa downs his whiskey in one go and heads toward the bar's exit. Before he leaves, he halts and turns to Atsumu.

“Miya.” His dark eyes pierce into Atsumu's soul. “When the time comes, I'll be the one to shoot you.”

And then, without another word, he leaves the bar.

A dare.

Game's on, Omi.

Chapter Text

It is 5 pm or whatever as Atsumu enters one of the black high-rise buildings. He has been holed up in his apartment all day, trying to somehow sleep off and repress the intoxication of last night.

To be honest, Atsumu had a hangover and the fucking guilt towards Hinata plagued him to no end. He didn't care if Oikawa scheduled a meeting as early as 3 pm. At this point, out of spite and most definitely on purpose, Atsumu didn't show up until two hours later. After all, he is a free assassin, Yakuza means nothing to him.

Well, at least that's what he keeps telling himself.

If Yakuza meant nothing to him, then Hinata wouldn't mean anything to him either. If Yakuza meant nothing to him, he wouldn't be here right now. If he didn't care about Yakuza, he wouldn't have provoked Sakusa yesterday in Suga's bar.

Why did he do it anyway? He doesn't know.

Or does he?

Atsumu reaches the massive double door on the top floor and pushes it open. The office is crowded with several of Oikawa’s top men. Near the desk, said Kumichō and his right-hand man Iwaizumi hovered, speaking in hushed tones. The air is tense. Atsumu knows exactly why.

To his dismay, Atsumu finds a person, dressed in black suit pants and a black turtleneck, leaning against the window wall in the same spot as he first saw him weeks ago. Cold eyes collide with eternal heat. Atsumu glares at him but remains silent. The desire to kill Sakusa Kiyoomi is still very prominent.

Oikawa lifts his gaze and looks right at Atsumu. Then he stands, waving a hand. “Iwa, Kiyo, Atsumu, I want you to stay. Everyone else – out.”

Immediately, everyone heads for the door and within seconds, they are alone. With only the four of them remaining, Oikawa sits back in his enormous leather chair and lights a cigarette. “You’re late, Atsumu.” He doesn’t pay him a glance.

“Must’ve lost track of time,” Atsumu answers unbothered, shoving his fists in the pockets of his pants and holding Sakusa’s gaze. He hopes Hinata has bled all over his car.

Oikawa frowns, his arms are placed on his desk. His analyzing gaze flits back and forth between Sakusa and Atsumu, then he snorts. It's been a long time since he's had two morons on his team who loathed each other so awfully. If anyone knows how to handle the issue, it's him.

Oikawa leans back in his big leather chair, cradling a brandy glass between his fingers while his expression turns serious again. “We need to discuss what happened last night.” Atsumu’s stomach drops, his gaze flicks to the Kumichō. “Why did you leave Hinata on his own?”

“Because he's not my priority.” Osamu is, and Oikawa knows that.

Sakusa snorts disdainfully, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and looks at Atsumu condescendingly. Atsumu's blood boils at the slightest sound Sakusa makes. He shouldn't have held back yesterday and just killed that bastard. Maybe he would feel a little bit better today.

“You're fucking hypocritical, Miya,” he says, his look couldn't have been more contemptuous.

“Excuse me?”

“Asking for an apology yesterday while not being sorry one bit.”

“That's not true—”

“It's not?!” Sakusa raises his voice and scowls at Atsumu. “Then what do you mean he's not your priority? He should be. If you're on a dangerous mission, he damn well should be, because it was your job to watch—”

“It’s not like Shōyō doesn’t mean anyth—”

“Shut up!” Oikawa interrupts. “Both of you.” Both men fall silent.

Oikawa chugs his brandy down and stands up. He shakes his head, pulling his pistol out of the back of his pants and placing it on his desk. “We're not getting anywhere like this.”

Atsumu stares at the gun in front of him and clenches his jaw. He is still angry. At himself, at what happened yesterday, and at Sakusa. The goon has no right to judge him when he doesn't know him one bit. And he certainly doesn't have the right to comment on Osamu when he has no clue what he's talking about.

I said, your partner probably deserved to get lost.

Atsumu digs his nails into his palms, his knuckles turn white.

“How is he?” He grits through his teeth, preventing himself from linking his hands with Sakusa's face. The latter huffs and turns away, shaking his head dismissively. Atsumu decides to ignore it for the time being for Oikawa's sake – or everyone’s sake.

“He’s hanging in there,” Oikawa answers with a strained look. Atsumu nods. He’s alive, that’s all that matters. “Good,” Atsumu breathes and earns another scoff from Sakusa.

“What do you even care?” He asks irritably. Atsumu's head snaps towards him, his gaze meeting the bastard's scowl.

“What is yer fucking problem?” Atsumu snarls and takes a step toward Sakusa. Oikawa and Iwaizumi exchange uneasy glances.

“You, obviously,” he crosses his arms in front of his chest and towers in front of Atsumu as the latter moves closer and closer to him. “But apparently it must be a skill to notice when someone is unwanted.”

“And ya think I want this? Huh?! D’ya really think I wanna get involved with scum like you?” Atsumu's fists itch. God, he really hates Yakuza in general, but Sakusa Kiyoomi truly beats them all.

“Then why do you do it anyway?” Atsumu's eyes widen. “If you hate us so much, why do you even accept our help in the first place?!”

Because I need to find my brother. Because I have failed on my own. Because I can't ask for help at home—

Atsumu clenches his jaw. “Shut up.”

“You say you hate us, yet you pretend to care about Hinata? Do you realize how hypocritical that is?”

Hinata is Atsumu's friend, of course, he is worried about him. In truth, it never mattered to Atsumu who the boy belonged to. He knew that Hinata was one of the good guys, that he could trust him. After all, Hinata accepted Atsumu for who he is and vice versa.

It is not at all hypocritical for Atsumu to feel guilt. What Sakusa doesn't know is that Atsumu has his reasons for despising Yakuza so deeply. That Atsumu has his reasons why Osamu is always going to be his priority. That Atsumu has begun to doubt whether Oikawa's men are seriously people he also disdains.

When in truth they treat him like a friend.

Except for one.

Atsumu's gaze is firmly locked with Sakusa's, his expression darkens. “Shut. Up.” He warns.

“You think you can fool us, but you assassins are all the same,” Sakusa snorts and frowns, scowling down at Atsumu. “I wouldn't be surprised if you intentionally put your partner in his current position.”

Ya need to take fuckin’ care of yerself, ‘Tsumu!

Just as Atsumu was about to grasp Osamu's knife to seriously shut Sakusa up, a loud gunshot erupts behind them, sending plaster crumbling from the ceiling. Atsumu flinches, Sakusa doesn’t.

“I said, that's enough,” Oikawa warns and glares at the two of them. He slams the gun back down on the table and rests his palm on top, massaging his temples with his left thumb and middle finger. “You two are giving me a fucking headache.”

Atsumu's eternal heat keeps engulfing Sakusa's endless cold, neither daring to break the other's gaze.

“You should’ve watched him,” Oikawa explains calmly, addressing Atsumu. His golden eyes are wavering. “But you are no one to judge, Kiyo.” Oikawa turns to Sakusa; however, he fails to attract his attention. Sakusa's eyes are solely on Atsumu. “Or do I have to remind you that everyone makes mistakes?”

It's a mistake that can cost someone’s life. Atsumu knows the words are sitting on the tip of his tongue, but Sakusa doesn’t voice them. Instead, he notices how his look changes. How something occupies him in a way he doesn't want at all.

Strange, Atsumu thinks.

“Leave me and Atsumu alone for a minute.” Oikawa sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I have a few things to discuss with him in private.”

If looks could kill, Atsumu would be dead by now. The fact that Sakusa Kiyoomi dislikes him is no news. After all, Atsumu never liked him either. The bastard has always been a thorn in his side.

But seeing Sakusa so irritated is a rarity and Atsumu isn't sure if he should be terrified or push his boundaries even further. His mind tells him the former but his instincts itch for the latter.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi says and steps between the disputants. He tilts his head toward the door and focuses his gaze on Sakusa. “Let's go, Kiyo.”

When the time comes, Atsumu recalls, I’ll be the one to shoot you.

So, he wonders, when will it be, Omi?

Oikawa steps up to the window wall and stares down at Sendai. Dusk has long since fallen, and the city is covered with bright flickering lights. The Kumichō tilts his head and smiles.

“Akaashi gave it his all and it seems like Hinata did too. Ah—” he turns to Atsumu, standing next to him by now. “Akaashi is our personal doctor, but you most likely know that already? Bokuto has probably mentioned him before.”

“Hardly,” Atsumu smiles lightly. Mentioned 'Akaashi' is always a subject of discussion whenever he talks to Bokuto. This guy is smitten.

Atsumu's smile doesn't last long, though. His thoughts immediately drift back to Hinata. He's relieved the kid made it, really, but for fuck's sake, he must apologize to him properly for leaving him alone in such a tricky situation. This should never have happened in the first place.

“Chibi-chan is tough, nothing will kill him that easily,” Oikawa reassures Atsumu, reading his thoughts as if he was an open book. A faint smile finds Atsumu's gaze. The assassin releases a relieved sigh, relaxing his body as well. “Yeah, I guess,” he mutters.

Oikawa takes another drag and exhales the smoke to the side. “I like you, Atsumu. And the way my people treat you, it's not hard to tell that they like you as much as I do.”

Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn't flattered. Nevertheless, he frowns.

“I understand your brother will always be your priority.” Oikawa returns his attention to the city in front of him and smiles faintly. “When it comes to my men, I wouldn't act any differently.”

“I care about Hinata's life too.”

“I know.” Oikawa assures him, looking at him sympathetically. “I know. And Chibi-chan knows that too.”

Atsumu snorts, “He really is the last person who should forgive me.”

Oikawa laughs, “He will be rather proud that you trusted him enough to deal with the situation on his own.”

“He really shouldn't.”

“He's a sunshine, Atsu-chan,” Oikawa turns to him and grins. “He sees only the best in everyone. Especially in those he likes.”

A stitch. Atsumu was nobody Hinata should be too fond of. Assassins and Yakuza? That has never worked out before.

“What did they lure you away with?”

Atsumu frowns. He hesitates, unsure whether he can - should - really trust Oikawa. But after all, he holds the power over Sendai. If Osamu is truly here, then Oikawa must know about it.

Or he hides it from Atsumu.

He decides to trust his instincts.

“He is supposed to be here. In Sendai.” Atsumu turns to Oikawa, eyebrows drawn together. “Do you think it's true?”

Oikawa's brow is furrowed, his gaze fixed on the illuminated city below them. If he had known, he would have reacted differently. As for that, Atsumu is sure.

“This wouldn't have passed unnoticed,” he says eventually. “Unless he's staying in Shiratorizawa. Apart from Seijoh, it’s the only district I don't control.”

Atsumu looks him in the eyes and nods. It's a chance. Maybe they're closer to Osamu than they think.

Oikawa snorts as he strolls over to his desk and stubs out his cigarette. He runs his hand through his hair and slumps down on the big leather chair. Atsumu can practically see the gears in Oikawa's head running at full speed. In his mind, the Kumichō is already ten steps ahead. Maybe he does know more than he pretends.

“This is going to be fun,” he mumbles, making Atsumu frown. He tilts his head and looks at Oikawa in confusion, earning a mere smirk.

What the hell are you up to, Oikawa?

He moves his phone to his ear and doesn't break eye contact with Atsumu. It doesn't take long for someone to pick up, causing Oikawa's smirk to grow even nastier. “Come back in,” he says and hangs up. Atsumu frowns.

“Do you believe in coincidences, Atsu-chan?” The Kumichō asks, and Atsumu doesn't understand what he's trying to imply at all. “Not really,” he answers nonchalantly.

Oikawa scoffs, “Neither do I. But this is pretty fucked up. What do you say if we just play along? Until we find your brother?”

Atsumu honestly doesn't understand what Oikawa is talking about. So, all that's left for him to do is look at him in confusion and deepen his frown.

Just as Atsumu is about to voice one of his thousand questions aloud, the double door opens and Iwaizumi and Sakusa enter the office. Oikawa claps his hands together and stands up. He delicately strides to the other side of his desk and leans against it, grinning at all three men with a mischievous smile.

“What awaits us in the next few weeks will be unbelievable fun!” Oikawa confuses all three men, and Atsumu is sure the Kumichō has lost it at this point. Oikawa turns to Atsumu and stares deeply into his eyes, his smile shrinking into a faint smirk.

“My priority is Seijoh and my men,” just as yours is your brother. Atsumu nods. Just as you use us for your purposes, we use you for ours. He understands. Then Oikawa turns to Sakusa.

“And to protect those we love, we need Atsumu.”

Atsumu peers at Sakusa out of the corner of his eye and notices how tense he is. Notices the hatred and anger in his eyes. How pissed off he is. How much he wants to disagree with Oikawa. But he doesn't.

Strange, Atsumu thinks again.

“So here is where the fun begins.” The smirk is back on Oikawa's lips. “Looks like a coincidence, or fate, is sending you both to Shiratorizawa.”

Atsumu's stomach drops, his eyes are wide open. His face, as well as Sakusa's, turned pale. Sheer horror is written all over their faces.

“What are you implying here, Oikawa?” Sakusa was the one who spat out that question, and both of them feared already what the answer would be.

“You can't be fucking serious,” Atsumu mutters.

Oikawa chuckles, “You're the only one who's tolerated in Shiratorizawa, Kiyo-chan, and as luck would have it, the common goal of Atsu-chan and me is right there.”

“Oikawa—”

“Consider yourselves lucky! Two of the strongest men here in Sendai will work together. What incredible fun!”

Sakusa's gaze snaps to Atsumu and Atsumu's eyes catch Sakusa's. They both frown, looking at each other utterly irritated before turning back to the Kumichō in sheer dismay. Then, in unison, they whine.

“What the actual fuck?!”

As the first rays of sunlight chase away the night's darkness, Atsumu kicks the blanket off his feet and hops into the shower. He hums contentedly, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed. Osamu's knife hooks onto his belt, hidden under his burgundy jacket so that neither Semi nor Shirabu gets suspicious.

Atsumu clasps the crescent moon charm on his necklace and clenches his fist around it, bringing it to his lips. He can’t be far; Atsumu is confident they will find Osamu soon.

Omi-kun (today, 07:47 am):

>> You better be down in five minutes.

>> Wear a suit.

Atsumu snorts and tucks his phone back into the pocket of his cargo pants – definitely not very suit-like. He takes one last look in the mirror to check that his appearance doesn’t instantly expose him as an assassin, runs a hand through his wavy hair, and leaves his apartment. Just as he jumps down the stairs, Semi catches him, already waiting in the doorway.

“Atsumu.”

“Semi! What’s up?”

Semi crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans against the door frame. He frowns and looks at the front door for a split second, then back at Atsumu. “Since when have you been involved with Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

Oh?

“You know him?” Atsumu asks instead of answering. Semi frowns, his gaze shifting back outside in Sakusa’s direction. “Barely,” he answers, and something about it tells Atsumu he’s lying.

You're the only one who's tolerated in Shiratorizawa, Kiyo-chan…

Hmm, Atsumu hums. This is all so strange.

“Just started dealing with him recently. Why?” Atsumu answers. Semi frowns and stares at the floor.

“That's not good,” he mutters, barely audible to Atsumu. His gaze snaps up into the latter's golden eyes, Semi's expression stern. “You should be… careful with him. He isn’t necessarily good company.”

“’Cause he works for Oikawa?” Semi’s eyes widen.

“How do you—”

Atsumu rests his hand on Semi’s shoulder and taps his temple twice with the other. “You rent yer apartment to an excellent reporter,” he lies. Atsumu smiles charmingly but can’t quite infect Semi. The latter just frowns and stares at him with concern rising in his eyes.

“Atsumu—”

“Don’t fret,” he says matter-of-factly. “I've dealt with Sakusa before. He's harmless.”

“That doesn't change the fact that he's working for Yakuza. You shouldn't put yourself in that kind of danger. No story in this world is it worth getting yourself killed over.”

Atsumu takes a deep breath. He knows Semi is just worried about him, but if he knew Atsumu was in truth a dreaded assassin and not a helpless reporter, he wouldn't be having this unnecessary conversation right now. But then again, he would probably be dead by now – or behind bars, Atsumu can't quite gauge Semi's sense of justice yet.

“Say Semi,” Atsumu wonders and removes his hand from his shoulder. “If you know Sakusa and yer aware he’s workin’ for Oikawa... can't ya just use him to achieve somethin’? Regarding yer problem with Sawamura?”

Semi snorts and shakes his head, “It's not that simple, Atsumu.”

“Why?”

He’s tolerated.

“It’s complicated,” Semi cuts him off, not exactly eager to elaborate.

Interesting…

“What kind of case is this, Atsumu?” Semi frowns again, trying to understand what Atsumu is up to anyway. “Why do you have to get involved with Yakuza for this?”

Atsumu frowns. “Can't tell ya, Semi.” Just like you can't tell me what's so special about Sakusa.

Semi nods. “Okay,” he whispers, averting his gaze from Atsumu. These are secrets of their work that they both can't share. Semi has figured out that as long as he won't reveal his connection to Sakusa, he won't hear a thing about Atsumu's job. Seems like Sakusa is worth it to actually shut up.

Semi is fumbling in his pants pocket, and Atsumu is wary in case the cop pulls out his gun at any moment to shoot him for figuring out that he’s in truth an assassin. Dead or imprisoned, somehow Atsumu is tending towards the former.

But what Semi pulls out instead of a gun and hands to Atsumu stuns him to no end. Atsumu stares at the item in Semi’s hand and blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“I mean it, Atsumu. Please be careful. You may not seem like someone who needs it, but no one stands a chance against a gun.”

Pepper spray. Semi hands him fucking pepper spray.

“Uhhhh...” Atsumu stammers, completely caught off guard. “Thanks?” He brings himself to say and ignores that he has several knives hidden under his clothes. An assassin with a goddamn pepper spray? He frowns and bites the inside of his cheek, having to pull himself together only slightly.

Oh my god, now it's getting ridiculous. Don’t laugh ‘Tsumu. Don’t. Fuckin’. Laugh.

“You're welcome,” Semi replies with a nod. His serious expression almost makes Atsumu cry.

“Okay,” Atsumu exhales heavily. “I should go.” Because if he tries to stifle his laughter for another second, he'll probably crack.

“I really don't want you to leave.”

“Semiiii—” at this point Atsumu has to chuckle a little. He hopes Semi thinks it's his charm and not that Atsumu really can't keep it together anymore. “Everything’s fine and dandy. Don't worry ‘bout it.”

Semi pouts.

“See ya tonight, yeah?” Atsumu is halfway out the door before he can stop him any further. “Take care of yourself!” Semi calls after him, and Atsumu raises his hand as he walks off, signaling that he will. He stuffs the pepper spray into his jacket pocket and shakes his head with a slight smile. He didn't expect this outcome of their conversation at all.

Watching the obnoxious black R8, Atsumu can't exactly hold back his laughter anymore. The engine is running, and it is hard to identify the masked person in the driver's seat through the tinted windows. Of course, Atsumu immediately knows who it is (as did Semi) and Sakusa looks anything but amused. Oh, this is truly a good morning.

Atsumu opens the door to the passenger seat with a big grin stretched on his face and rests his arms on top of the sports car and on top of the door. He leans down so he can stare into Sakusa's miserable face and laughs a little while meeting a pissed-off expression. “Now look at this clean seat!”

New plastic is wrapped around the seat and Atsumu doesn't know if he should take it to heart.

“Shut up and get in.”

“Awww, what a warm welcome, Omi-Omi! S’up with that grumpy face of yers? Lost yer ability to create ice and snow?” Atsumu beams, but Sakusa just blinks at him blankly.

“So how do you expect to build your ice palace? It's winter and the streets ain't even white yet. If yer gonna get yer own snowman you should at least keep it species-appropriate, y’know?”

“Miya, what the hell are you talking about?”

“S’okay, princess,” Atsumu wiggles his fingers. “Yer tiny magic secret is safe with me. You'll kill ‘em all with yer coldness, gotcha.” Atsumu beams while Sakusa just glares. “Miya.” He is willing to kill him.

“Alright, alright, Sunshine. Enough chit-chat.” Atsumu hops into the passenger seat and pulls the door shut. He doesn't miss the way Sakusa scrunches up his nose, so another laugh bubbles out of him. “Oikawa was right,” Atsumu chuckles. “This is gonna be lot’sa fun.”

Sakusa releases a deep and exhausted sigh and mumbles as he drives off, “God, I hate everyone.”

“Except me, right?” Atsumu grins.

“Especially you.”

Yeah, this is gonna be fun.

“So, where are we heading to?”

Sakusa drives as if he owns the road. Atsumu wonders why there are even any mirrors in this car as Sakusa speeds up to turn onto the main road.

“To someone who can tell us who lured you away from Hinata,” Sakusa answers as he switches lanes.

Atsumu quirks a brow and thinks back to the fatal night. Right, in the end, he never tracked the two he was eavesdropping on. They did a good job luring him away from the kid. Atsumu's real target then completely slipped out of his sight during the crossfire and explosion.

“I told you to wear a suit.” Sakusa snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Why do ya care?”

“Professionalism. Respect. But I suppose you don't have any of that.”

Atsumu chuckles. “I love it when someone insults me. It means I don’t hafta be nice anymore.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“Yeah yeah, let the storm rage one... the cold never bothered you anyway.” Sakusa looks at him deadpanned.

“Get a life, Miya.”

“Like yours? Nah, pass.”

Atsumu sinks into the seat when Sakusa steps on the gas pedal to accelerate, the foil he's sitting on crinkling and wrinkling beneath him. He thinks of Semi, of how the cop could take action against Sakusa easily but doesn't.

“Why doesn't Oikawa take over Shiratorizawa when yer presence here is obviously so well tolerated?”

“Why don't you just shut up about the things that don't concern you?”

“Must've hit a nail here, huh?”

“I wish more people were fluent in silence.”

“Yeah well, see, no one cares about yer wishes, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa exhales annoyed, the sigh so deep it makes Atsumu chuckle once again. Instead of answering him, Sakusa turns on the radio, turning up the music of his playlist so loud that he can no longer hear Atsumu.

“You're lucky to have Oikawa watching over you,” he mumbles, and Atsumu laughs at that, obviously catching every word he said. Seems like he's a lucky man. Sooner or later, he would test the boundaries.

Atsumu enjoys the ride to wherever the goon is taking them. The music drowns out Sakusa's annoying presence, allowing Atsumu to vibe a bit. After all, he doesn't have bad taste in music, the assassin must admit that much. Even the lyrics of the song match their situation.

'Let me out, You'd hate to be here'

How fitting, Atsumu thinks.

Less than five minutes later, Sakusa abruptly pulls into a parking space at the end of the street. Atsumu wonders how he ever got his driver's license, and then it occurs to him that Sakusa probably doesn't even have one.

When he gets out, however, he is amazed at how precisely the bastard got the car into the narrow parking lot without scratching the black lacquer. “Follow me,” Sakusa pulls Atsumu out of his thoughts and heads for a small tax office. Okay, maybe he does have a driver’s license.

Sakusa pushes open the door, Atsumu is right behind him. They walk toward a man with black hair and a bowl cut, his eyes widening and his face losing color. All he can think to say is a horrified, “Oh Jesus,” knowing exactly he was fucked.

He reaches for the phone on his desk, but Sakusa beats him to it, pulls out his gun, and shatters the phone with a precise hit. The man immediately withdraws both hands and rolls back on his chair, bumping against the wall and raising his arms in surrender.

Atsumu glances at Sakusa, eyebrows up. Shit. He has a bigger spine than Atsumu had thought.

“What do you want?!” The man asks as he hesitantly rises from his chair and creeps around his desk.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going? Sit down,” Sakusa snarls and scowls at him. The man swallows thickly as his gaze flicks down to the pistol in Sakusa’s gloved hand. He slumps down on a couch next to his desk without further protest. His eyes are still wide, fear chiseled into his face. “What do you want?” He repeats, whimpering.

 “We’ve got some questions,” Sakusa says. “And it seems like you know the answers to them.”

“No, no.” The man shakes his head and claws one of the pillows next to him, pulling it in front of him, and using it as a shield. “No, I’m not going to get involved in this.”

“You misunderstand me, Goshiki.” Sakusa steps in front of him and puts his gun back in its holster. He looks down at the man disdainfully and slides his hands back into his pockets, his pistol always prominent for Goshiki to see. The latter gulps. “This isn't a request. This is an order. An order to tell me who is responsible for the operation involving Hinata.”

“I don’t kn–”

“Answer,” Sakusa says in a low growl that makes Atsumu shiver. He has seen the goon fight before and knew how fearsome he could be, but this side of him was new. Exciting in a way.

“I have nothing to say, Sakusa. I swear.”

Sakusa huffs, “You swear?”

Goshiki nods his head while his eyes redden. He's not necessarily on the verge of tears, but he still looks like he wants to cry any second. Atsumu is almost laughing, seeing through Goshiki instantly. It's obvious he knows something, and Atsumu has no doubt Sakusa is aware of it as well.

He watches the latter pulling out his gun and Goshiki's gaze catching it, his lips wobbling. Sakusa dugs the gun into a cushion beside Goshiki and fired. The couch muffles the shot enough to keep the sound quiet but it makes Goshiki flinch anyway while Atsumu didn't twitch a muscle. Instead, he smirks.

Now things are getting interesting.

Sakusa jammed the pistol against Goshiki’s forehead and stares at him indifferently. Goshiki presses his lips together, wisely stifling what was probably a scream.

“Hot, isn’t it?” Sakusa snarled.

“You fucking–”

“Tell us what we want to know, or your balls are next.” He shoves the weapon into Goshiki’s crotch, making him whimper. Then he adds, “Don’t think I won’t shoot one of them off if you keep testing my patience.”

“I told you, I don’t–”

Sakusa pushes it in even further, making Goshiki hiss. “Excuse me? What was that?”

“Alright! Fine!” He gulps. “I’ll talk, I’ll tell you everything you want to know! Just please don't hurt me!”

Sakusa stares at him for a while longer before he’s withdrawing the gun and steps back. He lifts a brow and crosses his arms in front of his chest, expecting Goshiki to spill the tea. And the man doesn't let him wait for any second longer. He knows exactly when he crosses a line with Sakusa.

“Youko is to blame for this.” Sakusa's eyes widen for a split second, then he scowls and mutters softly, “That son of a bitch.”

“He's not acting on Ushijima's behalf, though. Youko is trying to go into business for himself and has been able to convince some subordinate men to join him.”

“Does Ushijima know about this?” Sakusa asks.

Goshiki shakes his head. “No, I don't think so. Or at least he didn't know anything until now. Hinata has been hit, one of Oikawa's protégés. It's hard for me to imagine the news hasn't reached Ushijima yet. He's probably trying to figure out who's responsible for this. After all, there's supposed to be a truce right now.”

Atsumu understands only half of what they are talking about, but he grasps so much that this is just a free pass for Sakusa and him to kill this Youko or whatever he's called without any consequences. If he didn't do it for Ushijima, then he's just a useless man whom they can easily get rid of.

A useless man who knows about him and Osamu.

Apparently, Inarizaki’s infamous Miya twins really do exist.

“How comes he knows about Inarizaki's assassins?” Atsumu wonders. No one knows their true identity.

Goshiki stares at Atsumu with his eyes wide open, then his frightened gaze shifts back to Sakusa. “Holy shit, you have Inarizaki on your side? Is he one of them??”

“Just answer his question,” Sakusa snaps annoyed. Atsumu frowns.

“I umm… I-I don't know about that. But Youko said that he has someone who supports him. An informant maybe? Someone in the background. Someone who wants to provoke war among the three big gangs.”

But what does this have to do with Osamu? Atsumu ponders. None of this makes any sense.

“Where is Youko now?” Sakusa asks.

“There is an auction at the end of the week in the festival hall of Shiratorizawa which he hosts. Youko takes every opportunity to get even more money and power, so he won't let that recognition go to waste. You will definitely find him there.”

“How many guards should we expect?” Sakusa's tone is annoyed. Atsumu can only guess why.

“It's an auction with 500 fucking guests,” Goshiki laughs in exasperation. “What do you think?”

Sakusa and Atsumu exchange uneasy glances. “How many men can you take down?” Sakusa asks him sternly, never taking his eyes off him.

“Twice as many as you,” Atsumu answers smugly.

“Good.”

Sakusa's eyes flash with competitiveness. Atsumu spots the eagerness written on Sakusa's face to prove him wrong for being able to kill more men than him. But Atsumu wouldn't be Atsumu if that didn't spur him on at least as much. He would teach that bastard a lesson. Inarizaki's assassins are feared for a reason.

“He won't show himself to the public, though. Even Youko knows how stupid that would be right after attacking Hinata. So, if you spot any high-ranking officers, policemen, or other Yakuza members, follow them. They will lead you to Youko.” Goshiki stares up at them. “That’s all I know. I don’t know what else I can say.”

“That’s all we needed to know.” Sakusa flips him a piece of paper, which he manages to catch and unfolds with trembling hands. His eyes widen, his face is pale, he gulps. Goshiki fixes his gaze on Sakusa. “This is my sister's address.”

Sakusa's expression is indifferent. “If I have even the faintest reason to believe you’re squealing to anyone about this conversation, or that you haven’t kept your mouth shut about any of this, I will–”

“Yes! I'll shut up!” Goshiki trembles. “Just don’t hurt her.”

“Good. We understand each other.” Sakusa looks at Atsumu and jerks his head towards the door. “Let’s go.”

They make a quick escape, hurrying off to where Sakusa’s car was parked a half mile or so down the road. As Atsumu buckles his seatbelt, he clears his throat. “Would you... would you actually go after his sister?”

“What do you care?”

“She’s innocent.” They stare at each other, Atsumu once again unable to read Sakusa. “No,” the latter says as he takes his eyes off the assassin, casually putting the car in gear. “But as long as he believes I will, he’ll keep his trap shut.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

Atsumu frowns and squints his eyes. He doesn't question Sakusa's actions, instead, he turns to the side and stares out the window. If they find this Youko or whatever, they're probably one step closer to finding Osamu, too.

Atsumu wonders how much Sakusa knows about his motives for joining Yakuza.

“So, I assume we’re going?” He asks instead.

“Do you want revenge for Hinata?” Atsumu cocks his head to the side and meets Sakusa's determined gaze. He should have known his primary interest wasn't seeking Atsumu's motives, but to avenge his valued colleague.

But Atsumu can't deny that this desire doesn't run at least as deep within him. He considers Hinata one of his friends, so luring him away to try to kill the kid was a very lousy move.

Osamu is and will always be his priority. But if it means he can avenge a friend while finding a lead to his brother at the same time? Then God, have mercy because Atsumu won't hold back. He nods.

“Then we go.” Sakusa states.

Before leaving for the auction, Atsumu met Oikawa and Sakusa at the Kumichō’s headquarters in the middle of Sendai. Wear a suit, they both said and well, Atsumu doesn't.

Was he underdressed?

Hell, yeah. But what does he care if they let him in with his burgundy jacket and black cargo pants anyway? The bouncer gave him a quick down-up and his gaze lingered a moment too long on his white sneakers. If he refused to let Atsumu in because of his babies, he probably would have killed him on the spot.

So now Atsumu is caught between posh and prestige, lingering in a far-too-chic setting at a far-too-chic bar. He draws attention, but he can't deny he finds it somewhat amusing.

He entered the auction with a fake entry ticket Oikawa got for him and Sakusa and waits to meet the goon at the location. He orders a Coke, and while he sips it, Atsumu begins to perceive his surroundings and scan the room for any potential dangers and ways out.

He spots some men who are screaming to work for Yakuza and Atsumu is sure they have already spotted him as well. If Youko knows who Osamu is, then he surely knows Atsumu too. He wants Atsumu to be here and that's what should keep the assassin alerted.

Youko may be too sure of himself, or Atsumu may seriously be in danger. The odds are fifty-fifty. It's brinksmanship, but no risk is too great as long as it's involving his brother.

And suddenly, when he downs his glass and turns around, none of that matters anymore.

Leaning back against the counter, Atsumu gawks at the arch that connects the bar lounge to the hall's entrance. He would recognize Sakusa miles away, his appearance was always the same after all: plain black slacks, paired with polished black oxford shoes. Under his black jacket, he wears an anthracite turtleneck sweater, hands covered in velvet suede.

Even miles away, Atsumu would recognize his jet-black hair, one side slicked back, while perfectly messy curls accentuate his stunning face, and holy shit... seeing his gorgeous face tonight, so long hidden beneath his mask, is what blows Atsumu's mind. Never in his life would he have dared to dream of such an attractive, beautiful, man underneath the black fabric. Atsumu swallows. Thickly.

Sakusa strolls inside and stops dead as he spots Atsumu, his scowl now impossible to hide. Fuck.

Atsumu never got to see his true identity, never got a chance to admire this man. The last time Sakusa was close enough for Atsumu to do something, the goon dazed him until he was knocked out, powerless. But looking at him now through clear eyes with a lucid mind… holy shit.

Ignoring a waiter's offer of drinks, Sakusa shakes his head contemptuously as his eyes meet Atsumu's wide ones. Sakusa wrinkles his nose and glares at the blonde, his gaze revealing that he's not necessarily pleased with Atsumu's choice of attire.

He would laugh if he wasn't so stunned. Atsumu would flash him a smug smile, provoke him more than necessary, but he can't because his mind was already ten miles above the sky and suddenly Atsumu wasn't sure why he'd ever hated Sakusa so much in the first place.

If all assassins from Inarizaki are as miserable as you are, I'm not even surprised why your partner went missing.

Ah yes, that's why.

Without touching anyone or anything, Sakusa scampers off, leaving Atsumu alone. While he keeps an eye on the lounge, Sakusa examines the rest of the building, ensuring how they would most effectively handle the situation.

Right, they're here for a mission, for Osamu.

Atsumu closes his eyes for a moment and inhales deeply. He glances at the arch Sakusa had come in through, and his stomach twists. The guy is gone now, and that’s the way it needs to be. Like this, with his mask off, Atsumu needs Sakusa out of here because he piques his interest in a way his kind usually doesn’t.

Sure, he’s attractive. Sakusa Kiyoomi is apparently one of the better-looking Yakuza in this town. Then again, even the ugly ones can wear a suit well enough.

But there is something about him that makes Atsumu look twice. Something that has struck a different chord tonight than the other Yakuza members ever did. Especially now with his face revealed, without the black mask, covering everything except his onyx eyes. With his dark hair flawlessly arranged except for a couple of strands fluttering in the breeze of the air-conditioned room, he was…

Hell, he was hot.

Like, really… really… hot.

Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face. He’s losing his mind, isn’t he? Entertaining any thoughts of a Yakuza member that doesn’t involve any knives up their throats? Stupid.

Atsumu turns back around and slams his glass on the countertop. He scowls at it and clenches his jaw, his brow furrowed, focused on getting rid of every stupid idea he's currently harboring in the deepest part of his brain.

“I didn't think Youko's people would dress so flamboyantly for this event.”

Atsumu cocks his head to the side and meets the scrutinizing gaze of a man who must be around Atsumu's age, if not a little younger. Ocean blue eyes examine Atsumu from head to toe, black hair slicked back, the lines of his muscles pushing through his three-piece suit. Handsome, to say the least.

"I wouldn't necessarily consider myself one of Youko's people. I'm lookin’ for him, though. Can you help me out with that?" Atsumu lifts a brow and peers at the man out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh? How exciting."

He orders himself and Atsumu a brandy, sliding the glass over to him before pulling a lighter and cigarette pack from his jacket to light one of them. Atsumu smirks a little, accepting the drink and lifting the glass just enough.

"And who does me the honor?"

The man blows the smoke to the side and turns to Atsumu. He smirks as well, grabbing Atsumu's hand and gently pressing his soft lips to the back of it. Atsumu blushes faintly.

"Kageyama Tobio," he says nonchalantly, not asking for Atsumu's name in return.

“Well, thanks for the drink, Tobio-kun.”

Kageyama huffs before taking a sip of his own. His eyes are glued to Atsumu, his gaze a mixture of want and defiance. Atsumu can't help grinning, he knows that this Kageyama wants something from him – be it his body or something else, Atsumu won't give it to him. The boy is cute, but not his type.

“This Youko...” Atsumu starts and licks his lips. He turns back to Kageyama and spreads his legs a little wider, leaving hints of his thigh muscles to the people around him. “Is he here?” Oikawa showed him a photo, but so far Atsumu hasn't seen him.

“So they say,” Kageyama puts a hand on Atsumu's thigh. It's warm and the caress of his thumb into Atsumu's muscle is seductive – dangerous. Kageyama isn't just an ordinary man. “Why are you looking for him?”

Atsumu's gaze drops to Kageyama's hand on his thigh, then back up to his blue eyes. He feels the boy putting pressure on his leg to lean forward, toward him. The way he wants to distract Atsumu...

It's naïve of him to think Atsumu is that easy.

“Well,” Atsumu says in hushed tones and meets Kageyama halfway, his palm gripping his shoulder, massaging it gently. Atsumu grins superiorly, leans toward Kageyama's ear, and whispers enticingly, “We just started playin’ a game. I can't let him off the hook just like that.”

I'll avenge Hinata, and I'll find Osamu.

Kageyama tilts his head; his mouth is now close to Atsumu's. His gaze falls on Atsumu's plump lips, and just as the blonde begins to smirk, Atsumu feels long slender fingers sneaking around his throat. He would have been startled and would probably have drawn his knife if this feeling of suede wasn't too familiar.

Light pressure settles on his airway, fingers sliding to his chin, forcing Atsumu to tilt his head back and look up. Atsumu grins, mischievous and amused.

“Omi,” he breathes, the irritated face above him pleasing Atsumu even more. Sakusa doesn't look at him. Instead, his gaze is focused on Kageyama. Delight in seeing him is somewhat held in check.

“You have no business here, Kageyama,” he mutters pissed-off.

“Neither do you, Sakusa.” Kageyama loosens his grip on Atsumu's thigh and sips his brandy blithely. The grin on Atsumu's lips fades as Sakusa withdraws his digits. Instead, confusion creeps into his face, his gaze slowly returning to Kageyama. Another person in Shiratorizawa knowing Sakusa? Well, that’s interesting.

“Youko isn't your problem.” Did Sakusa eavesdrop on them?

Kageyama scoffs, downs his brandy, and stands up. His knees brush Atsumu's as he rises, his gaze steadily fixed on Sakusa. “We both know he is.”

They stare at each other, Sakusa hesitating for a split second before asking. “Ushijima's order?”

Kageyama nods. “Kind of.”

“So, he didn't know about Youko's schemes?”

“No.” Kageyama's face is indifferent. “Our groups have an agreement, after all.” Sakusa nods.

Kageyama stubs out his cigarette and puts his hands in his pockets. He's already turned away from them but halts before actually leaving Atsumu and Sakusa. He peers over his shoulder, his whole body tensed up. Then he asks, “How is Hinata?”

Atsumu's eyes widen, his head snaps to Sakusa.

“What do you care?” Atsumu reads contempt on Sakusa's face as he looks at Kageyama. Kageyama nods, his head hanging low. He mutters, “Give Youko the punishment he deserves, Sakusa.” The latter remains silent.

Just as Kageyama is about to leave them, however, a few words slip through Sakusa's mouth. “Sugawara and Daichi visit him on Monday. They won't stop you if you decide to join them.” Atsumu frowns and watches Sakusa. “He's alive.”

Kageyama nods and mutters a soft, “Thank you.” Atsumu doesn't understand what's going on.

Just before Kageyama disappears, he turns to Sakusa one last time. “Finish this. For Hinata.” Sakusa nods.

They watch Kageyama vanish into the crowd, then Atsumu turns to Sakusa. He doesn't even have a chance to voice his question, as Sakusa interrupts him and urges him toward the lounge's exit.

“Let's move upstairs. We can stay there hidden and wait until we get to Youko's henchman and eventually take him out as well. Once the auction starts, we strike.”

Atsumu frowns and nods, not voicing his question. They head one floor up and walk through an empty corridor. Atsumu can't help but recall the conversation between Sakusa and Kageyama; he has too many unanswered questions he needs to know more about.

“You know him?” He finally asks. “Kageyama?”

Sakusa frowns. “He works for the Schweiden Adlers.” Ah, Oikawa's rival.

“And you let him see Hinata just like that?” Atsumu raises his voice, dumbfounded. “Are you stupid?”

Sakusa spins around and looks at Atsumu, aghast. A mixture of anger and exposure.

“It's none of your business.”

Atsumu huffs. “You just sent Hinata to death.”

“Kageyama won't harm him.”

“Won't harm him? Won't harm him my ass! He will—"

“Not hurt him. He won't.” Sakusa clarifies, withstanding Atsumu's angry stare. What's he so upset about anyway? Hinata belongs to Yakuza, he shouldn't care if they fight each other.

Except he does care. After all, Hinata is his friend.

“I'll let Oikawa know.”

“Miya.” Sakusa is visibly annoyed. “Stay out of this.”

“I won't let Hinata die?!” His phone is already in his hand but Sakusa grabs it before Atsumu has a chance to dial Oikawa's number.

“Hey!” he shouts, but Sakusa grabs his wrist, twists it, and turns Atsumu's body, presses him against the wall. His cheek kisses the rough fibers and anger flares in his eyes. “Fuck you!” Atsumu spits.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is!” The assassin whines, writhing under Sakusa's grip. “He's your fucking enemy. Why wouldn't he hurt Shōyō when you've now given him a free pass to do so?! Shōyō can't fight back!”

“Because he means too much to Kageyama to seriously wound him!” Sakusa spits out in exasperation. Atsumu's movements halt. “What?”

“It's complicated,” Sakusa says calmer, still pissed-off. Rather upset he revealed something he never wanted to be revealed in the first place. “Don't bring it up when you talk to Hinata. If you do, I'll kill you.”

And suddenly Atsumu remembers Hinata telling him about his lost love. A man from the past that never became more than his best friend. Just enough and yet too little. How Hinata said it was impossible to have what they had ever again. Saying the man was alive, yet he could never be with him anymore.

Was it him? Atsumu asks himself.

Sakusa's grip loosens, Atsumu doesn't voice any more questions.

“Let's wrap this up,” Sakusa mutters, exhausted. “For Hinata.”

What do you think, ‘Samu?

Atsumu nods. Suddenly he feels stupid.

It's been an hour since they got here, and the auction is about to start. The guests move to the main hall and gather in front of the stage while Atsumu and Sakusa wait on the second floor, counting the seconds until they can strike.

Neither of them has seen Youko yet, but every obvious suspect has moved upstairs. A sign that Youko might be there. It was their only chance since the guy is nowhere else to be found.

“I hate waitin’,” Atsumu yawns, idly flipping a knife between his fingers.

“Shut up,” Sakusa replies annoyed, gaze locked on the few people around the corner. They are waiting for them to disappear downstairs and clear the way for Sakusa and Atsumu. Sakusa has previously observed some men sneaking upstairs, he just has no idea how many would be waiting for them.

“What made ya decide not to wear yer face mask today?” Atsumu asks while digging in his jacket pocket. Sakusa shoots him a pissed-off look, to say he's annoyed by Atsumu's behavior would be an understatement. Or by Atsumu in general.

“If I had known you intended to make it obvious that we were going to kill somebody, I wouldn't have passed on the mask.”

“Oh, so ya didn't wanna draw attention, huh?”

“I told you to wear a fucking suit.”

“Nothing has happened yet, so what's the problem, buttercup?” Atsumu replies smugly. He frowns as he discovers something in his pocket and pulls it out with a questioning look. Then Atsumu's eyes widen with glee at the sight of a used lollipop in front of his face.

“Oh my god, look, Omi-Omi!!!” Atsumu's grin spreads all over his face. “I totally forgot about that one!!!”

Sakusa's face contorts in revulsion as Atsumu unwraps the pre-opened lollipop again and slides it between his lips. Atsumu laughs seeing Sakusa's expression.

“You're fucking disgusting, Miya.”

Atsumu pulls it out of his mouth with a 'pop' and offers it to Sakusa. “Wanna taste it? Tastes like cherry and coke.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yer missin’ out, Omi-kun,” he winks.

“I really hope you die today.”

Atsumu laughs and then makes the sound of a wrong buzzer. “That's not gonna happen, darlin’.”

As the last guests have made their way to the main event, Sakusa turns around to check the situation. After ensuring they are clear to strike now, he turns back to Atsumu.

“Are you ready?”

“Mmm, sure.”

Sakusa unholsters his gun and creeps toward the stairwell with silent steps. Like a cat, gracefully and without a peep, he moves away and Atsumu is just slightly taken aback.

So far, he has never seen a Yakuza member fight like Sakusa. Quiet, barely noticeable, effective, and not a move too much. It's amazing because he is so incredibly precise in everything he does. It's almost as if Sakusa is one of those he detests so much... one of Atsumu's kind.

But maybe that’s what hard training would do to a guy because it is undeniable how disciplined and talented the goon is. After all, there's a reason why he's one of Oikawa's best. Even though Atsumu hates to admit it, Sakusa would be someone who could keep up with him. A force that is recognizable, unforgettable even.

Two floors up and they encounter the men Sakusa was observing earlier. Both Atsumu and Sakusa peek around the corner into the hallway. Two of them are standing in front of the elevator, holding pistols loosely in their hands, while one is walking toward them, presumably to use the stairs. Atsumu grins.

“Ready for some fun, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa looks at him skeptically. “I hope for your sake you know how to be quiet.”

Atsumu chuckles. “Ya do realize who you're talkin’ to, right?”

Sakusa should have known better.

He doesn't have time to answer because the man who walked towards them has already turned the corner and is one step away from the stairwell. Just as he notices the two, Atsumu rams his elbow into his face, sending him staggering backward until he slams into the wall. The other two men turn alerted in their direction.

The man who was hit by Atsumu is reaching for his gun when Atsumu throws the knife he was playing with minutes before precisely into his thigh, making him cry out and bleed. “Hoo-hoo!” Atsumu leans forward to peek around the corner, waving and grinning at the other two men. “Big summer blowout!”

The first blasts ring out and Atsumu immediately pulls back, flashing a grin at Sakusa, who stares at him deadpanned.

“Half on throat slits, headshots, and whatever your heart desires!” Atsumu shouts in their direction, the grin never left his face. When he turns to Sakusa, he is met with a deadly scowl. Atsumu chuckles. “Sorry Omi-kun, I lowered yer prices right along with mine. But in for a penny, in for a pound, ain’t that right?”

“I can’t believe you’re that stupid.”

“You asked me how many men I'm able to take down, remember?” Atsumu smirks.

“Are you always such an idiot or do you just show off when I’m around?” Sakusa hisses.

“Remember my answer?” Atsumu ignores him and winks. “Twice as many, Omi-Omi. Watch and learn.”

Atsumu sneaks forward into the corridor and pulls his knife from the man's thigh. He cries out and presses his shaking hands on his wound.

Just as more bullets shoot in Atsumu's direction, he flips the injured man's body and uses it as a shield. His body goes limp as one, two, three blasts hit him, enough time for Atsumu to pull out a dagger from his ankle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sakusa sigh and step forward. Atsumu grins. “Don’t run into the fire, Omi-kun, ya might melt.”

“Fuck you.”

Two shots are all Sakusa needs to send the figures crashing to the ground, motionless. Atsumu whistles and drops the man he used as a shield as well. “Not bad,” he coos as he steps over him and crouches in front of the other two. As expected, Atsumu finds accurate headshots instantaneously killing their opponent. Sakusa knew what he was doing.

“We could have had some more fun for a little while longer.” Atsumu focuses his gaze on the bullet marks, then on the elevator that will reach them any minute. “Besides, I wanted to kill these two.”

“What about less talking and more action.” Sakusa steps behind him. Atsumu turns his gaze back to the dead men in front of him. “What about more fun, less stick up your ass?”

“Unlike you, I'm doing my job, Miya.”

“Hey, 'm doin’ my job as well, okay? Unlike you, I'm just havin’ a little fun. Ya should try it once in a while, princess.”

“You really want everyone to know we're here, don't you?”

“Preferably.” Atsumu spins around and grins broadly at Sakusa. “'Cause the more the merrier.”

“As an assassin, aren't you supposed to be... less conspicuous?”

“As an assassin, I'm mainly supposed to enjoy myself.” Atsumu tilts his head and squints at Sakusa. “Stop ruining this for me.”

Sakusa frowns. “Don't worry, you'll do it yourself.”

Atsumu scoffs and turns back to the corpses in front of him. He watches the blood drain from their bodies, slowly spreading to his shoes. “Y’know, I was gonna use this dagger to—"

Atsumu doesn't get to finish the sentence because the next thing he realizes is him stumbling forward, staining his white shoes with deep red marks. Just as the elevator doors open, Sakusa kicks Atsumu’s ass, literally, to dodge the bullets flying in their direction.

Atsumu tumbles on his face, just barely catching the impact with the palms of his hands. He looks back with a scowl and sees Sakusa hiding behind a flowerpot, his weapon ready to be used. Scattered shots pop past the elevator doors, Atsumu's no-longer-white sneakers now falling into his field of vision.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, anger boiling up inside him.

His butt hurts because of the kick and his beloved shoes are, once again, soiled with blood. Blood, of all things, is seriously such a pain to clean up. It's sickening.

Sakusa peeks out from behind the flowerpot and immediately pulls back as a bullet comes flying in his direction. Atsumu picks up the dagger he dropped from his hand in his fall and walks to the doorway of the elevator.

Sakusa looks at him with a furrowed brow and doesn't ask what Atsumu is up to seeing the assassin slide a switchblade out of his sleeve. Oh, no one has the right to ruin Atsumu's shoes. He'll make sure everyone knows that.

He flips it open and takes a deep breath, looking first irritated at his shoes, then at the dead men lying in front of the elevator, then at Sakusa. The latter raises one eyebrow.

“If I can't get these fuckin’ stains off,” Atsumu says only semi-calm, raising his voice slightly. “Then I'll pull yer fuckin’ skin off yer bodies and make myself new shoes out of it.” This time Sakusa has to suppress a chuckle. “Did ya fuckin’ hear me?!” Yeah, at this point he was no longer calm.

Atsumu steps forward and throws the switchblade in the direction of the gunshots. He hadn't even seen his opponent before, and yet Atsumu managed to let the knife graze his cheek. The man howls as the poison on the blade works its way into his system, making his muscles go limp.

The weapon falls from his hand as he slides to the ground, his face contorted in pain, fingers pressing against a bleeding wound. Lifting his head, he encounters white sneakers with red marks that he would wish weren't there.

Atsumu steps in front of him and pulls him up by his hair, forcing his miserable face to look up at him. “Any last words?” The guy scoffs, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “This was just the beginning.”

“Sure honey, whatever.” Bored, he knocks the guy unconscious with the handle of his dagger against his temple. Then he stabs him in the neck and lets him bleed to death.

“Messy,” Sakusa remarks, stepping up behind him. Atsumu watches the blood drip out. “He deserved a messy death for what he did.”

“How vindictive.”

“You don't mess with me, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu flinches as Sakusa shoots past his face and shoots another man in the head. He falls to the ground, his gun slithering across the floor. Atsumu's eyes are wide open, he didn't catch that one.

Instead, he turns to Sakusa and looks at him, aghast. “Upstairs,” the goon orders. “They're all coming from that direction.”

Atsumu nods, only slightly startled. “Yeah…” he breathes, then gulps. “Sure.”

They make their way up, always wary of any potential threats that may lie in wait. When they reach the third floor, they hear chatter emanating from a room. The voices are muffled, involving at least five different men.

“There could be four or five,” Atsumu ponders aloud.

“Or more.”

“Could Youko be in there?” he turns to Sakusa and raises his brow.

“Let's find out,” Sakusa replies before kicking the door open.

“So much for being quiet,” Atsumu chuckles, earning merely a “Shut up” from Sakusa.

The chatter dies down and Atsumu quickly counts at least eight heads turning in his direction. Among them, however, is not their actual target.

"Twelve," they say in unison and Atsumu's gaze shifts to Sakusa. "Are you aware I've currently killed more people than you?" Sakusa smirks. Atsumu scoffs.

"Please, don't get cocky now Omi-kun. D’ya wanna see me turn the tables in a blink?"

"Is that a bet?"

Atsumu grins. "The winner makes a wish."

"Don't worry. I won't kill you, Miya."

Atsumu laughs, "Good thing we both think I'm winning. Go!"

It happens too fast for the men in the room to realize it. Not ten seconds have passed and Atsumu has already killed three of them, motionless bodies dropping to the floor. With fine needles between his knuckles, he turns to Sakusa and earns only a sneer as the light reflects and flashes on the thin metal. Atsumu grins.

Poison needles. Maybe not his best choice, but very effective.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sakusa pulling out his gun and Atsumu doesn't hesitate to ram a knife into the chest of the next man trying to attack him. Not just any knife. Osamu's knife.

"Oopsie! Oh no—" Atsumu yanks it out and the man slumps to his knees, gasping for air. "Ew. Messy. Lemme be a little less cruel, ‘kay?" Not waiting for his answer, he slits his throat.

Four, Atsumu thinks. Plus two, that makes six. Gotcha, Omi-kun. Atsumu smirks.

His senses are sharpened, he observes his surroundings as keenly as a human can do – or even better. Atsumu is one of the best for a reason and he has waited long enough to show it off to those who doubt him.

This time he wants to finish the job quickly and God, he wants to see Sakusa's miserable face when he finally proved to him how skilled he truly is.

He fights two men hand-to-hand, each blow of theirs a piece of cake to dodge because Atsumu is a master at reading his opponents. Every move, every strike is predictable. Atsumu's years of training more than pay off. He chuckles.

“This is all so easy!”

Now if he would only carry his proper weapon with him, he would definitely be unbeatable. But too bad, it's still in Inarizaki.

Atsumu overpowers both men with two solid hits to their faces and precise kicks to their stomachs. Once they have dropped to their knees on either side of him, he pulls a knife from each sleeve and jabs the backs of them hard enough against their skulls to knock them out.

Using the same knives, he kills two more men who come running at him and are about to grab their pistols. But Atsumu doesn't let it get that far, no. He has them on the floor before their fingertips even have a chance to graze the guns in their holsters.

Four more and we're at ten.

Atsumu glances at Sakusa, leaning casually against the wall with his arms folded, watching the spectacle before him. The upturn of his mouth is evident on his face as body after body collapses to the ground with dull thuds. He doesn't pay the slightest attention to the man who is about to attack him while he kills him with a pristine headshot, his eyes, his focus solely on Atsumu.

Atsumu shudders.

This time it's Sakusa holding back. Atsumu wonders why.

“Like what’cha see, Omi-kun?”

“I must admit I expected less. I'm still waiting for the highlight, though.”

“That is?”

Sakusa smirks. “Watching you ending up on your knees.”

Atsumu can't help but be infected, grin stretching across his face. “In yer dreams, maybe, Omi-kun. ‘Cause here, I'm done.”

“Not quite.”

The two remaining men lunge at Atsumu, but it's not surprising in any way. Atsumu has heard them by the time they have sucked in their breath to set their bodies in motion. He doesn't even have to look to draw Osamu's knife accurately and quickly through their jugular. The men bleed and pass out within seconds. Atsumu laughs.

“It's kinda borin’ when ya let me win. D’ya want me ta make a wish so badly?”

“I already told you I'm not going to kill you.”

“Nah, nuh-uh. That's not my wish, Omi-kun.”

“Oh, believe me,” Sakusa is smirking. “It will be.”

Atsumu huffs and can't stifle the shiver crawling up his spine that indicates Sakusa didn't necessarily mean his life, but rather... something else.

Atsumu's cheeks blush softly, he shakes his head. There is really no time for such thoughts right now.

Too preoccupied with each other, neither he nor Sakusa noticed another goon sneaking in to fight them. Atsumu's eyes widen once it's already too late and the man lands a strong sidekick on Sakusa, sending him tumbling to the ground. His weapon slips out of its holster and slithers across the floor to the other end of the room. “Fuck,” Sakusa mutters and glares at the man, his face somewhat contorted in pain.

"I'm going to finish you off!" The guy shouts as he pounces on Atsumu, surprisingly more difficult to handle than his colleagues before. Atsumu manages to fend off two or three hits but also falters when he receives a too-forceful jab to the pit of his stomach that sends him staggering backward.

Atsumu's vision blurs. Shit, that punch really hit home.

"Youko's not here," the man laughs. "You really couldn't have been more subtle. The moment you arrogantly announced you were here, he bolted."

Sakusa scowls at Atsumu, who simply rolls his eyes. He doesn't feel like getting reprimanded because yes, Atsumu may have announced them both a little too pretentiously. But hey, all he wanted was a little fun, no one could blame him.

Well, except for Sakusa, and Oikawa, and Osamu if he was here...

Ah fuck. Osamu. Yeah, maybe Atsumu regrets it a bit now.

"Then where is he?" Atsumu asks as he tries to pick himself up.

The man points his gun at Sakusa to keep him in place while he walks with slow steps toward Atsumu. He grins morbidly and looms in front of him. What a son of a bitch.

"Suck my dick and I might tell you, sweetheart."

Atsumu laughs humorlessly. "Oh, you have one? I doubt it, asshole."

Somehow, everything happens way too fast. Neither Atsumu nor Sakusa manages to get a hold of this man. He really took full advantage of their careless moment.

The fight ends with Sakusa taking another blow to his spleen and face, sending him staggering against the wall, lip bloody and cheek scratched open. When Atsumu tried to attack the man, he immediately noticed his body losing strength.

So what results is Osamu's knife being twisted out of Atsumu's hand, sending the assassin toppling to the floor next to Sakusa's gun with another hard kick. Atsumu's gaze drops to it, Sakusa catching the situation.

"Shoot!" The bastard shouts, and it should be an honor for Atsumu to be allowed to use his weapon. But Atsumu is a fucking assassin and that's not how he fucking fights. A pistol made anyone, however slim and slight, physically capable of killing. Handling a knife, however, is pure art.

Yeah but shit, Atsumu doesn't have any knives on him anymore, so what's left for him to do?

The pepper spray.

Atsumu rummages in his jacket pocket and just as the man points his gun at him, he pulls out Semi's small gift and sprays the pepper solution into the man's eyes. He yells and drops the gun to the ground, immediately wiping his eyes to get rid of the burning liquid.

"Fuck!!!" He shouts. "What the actual fu—"

His voice dies down just as Sakusa sneaks up behind him and slices his throat with Osamu's knife. Quickly and effectively. Neat and precise.

Huh?

Atsumu blinks. Once, twice, thrice.

How the fuck…?

They both gasp, their last opponent has challenged them more than they ever expected. Atsumu’s eyes dart toward Sakusa’s gun on the floor. He bends down and picks it up.

With slow steps, Atsumu saunters to him, has a grip on the pistol's barrel, and frowns. He stops in front of Sakusa, Atsumu's whole body radiating with discomfort and anger. He hesitates a moment to hand Sakusa the gun, his eyes fixed with that familiar dark coldness.

“What?” Sakusa spits but Atsumu remains silent. He needs answers, must know how…

How you moved that fast for one thing. How you managed to be that fucking quiet while doing so. How you were able to slit his throat so precisely.

But he asks none of these.

“All that blood looks good on you, Omi-kun. It really brings out your eyes.”

Sakusa’s hair is disheveled, single curls falling into his face, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and those icy, unflinching eyes. Atsumu gives the man a quick down-up. This is the first chance he’s had to actually look at the guy.

Surprisingly, the goon isn’t one of the greasy, weathered assholes he is used to seeing. Even with the blood and the bruises, he has a much prettier face than most of his kind. Atsumu's gaze moves from Sakusa’s lips to his neck, tracing the single beauty marks that linger on his pale skin. How many of them are hiding beneath his shirt?

Atsumu shakes himself.

“Look at the great Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he taunts. “Defeated by an irrelevant henchman.”

“Fuck you, Miya.”

“No, fuck you, Sakusa.” Atsumu shoves the gun back into his hand and sticks out his open palm. Sakusa returns Osamu's knife. “Don't ever touch it again.” Atsumu scowls.

“It never would have happened if you had just shot.”

Atsumu scoffs. “There's no fucking way I'm gonna use your fucking gun.”

“You wanted to try it before,” Sakusa huffs. “And now when you have the chance, you chicken out?”

“I'm an assassin, not a goddamn Yakuza member.”

“You're incapable of wielding a gun,” Sakusa states. Atsumu's blood boils.

“I don't need a gun.”

“You expect knives to protect you from bullets? You can’t be that naïve.”

“Say that again after you've looked around. The oh-so-naïve assassin did a pretty good job – without any guns.”

“You're ridiculous, Miya.”

Atsumu laughs (a little exasperated) and shakes his head. He doesn't feel like arguing with Sakusa right now. Not today. Atsumu is exhausted and is a bit frustrated that they haven't found Youko, and thus are no closer to Osamu for now. This is fucking bullshit.

“Yeah, whatever…” he replies somewhat softer, his head hanging low, and his body averted from Sakusa. “I know there was a compliment somewhere in there and I’ll take it.”

“You piece of shit.”

“Ah! There it is!”

“I hate you.”

“Why? I’m lovely,” he counters with a grin, remembering that it's more fun to tease Sakusa than to get upset with him.

They end up staring at each other, neither daring to unlock their gaze. And suddenly Atsumu thinks of Sakusa's hands gripping his chin. How he tilted Atsumu's face up to meet his golden eyes. How his fingertips crept around his neck. How single beautiful moles paint Sakusa's pale skin so enigmatical, wondering how many more are hiding where Atsumu shall never see.

Atsumu shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. Okay, what the hell? When it comes to Yakuza-connected bastards, Atsumu doesn't have a sympathetic bone in his body. He shouldn't care about this goon any more than he cares about anyone else. Harboring some moronic fantasies is the last thing he needs right now.

But when he opens his eyes and catches Sakusa's gaze lingering on his lips for a split second, he is quite stunned and at a loss for words.

“Youko is not here. Let's get out of here.” Sakusa moves past Atsumu towards the door, not paying him any further attention. With his hand on the handle, he peeks over his shoulder just as Atsumu stops him. It's stupid to voice what's on his mind, so instead, he mumbles, “You owe me.” They stand back-to-back.

Sakusa frowns, holding his breath for a moment. Atsumu turns around and shoves his hands into his pockets, their eyes meeting once more. “I killed twice as many people as you. I got a wish.”

Sakusa huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yes,” Atsumu says firmly, his inner flame long since kindled. Sakusa nods.

“Okay,” he shrugs. Even without his mask, he doesn't let Atsumu see through him. “Then choose wisely.”

Atsumu's eyes flare. “I will, Omi-kun.” He tilts his head and glares dismissively at Sakusa.

I will.

Chapter Text

Find Youko, then find Osamu.

Hot water cascades down Atsumu's naked body, droplets pattering on the nape of his neck as he looks down at the ground. The tiles are getting wet.

Just a few weeks ago, Atsumu was streaking through Sendai all by himself, picking up every lead to his twin and progressing only in micro-steps. Today, with Oikawa’s help, Atsumu is close to finding him. So close, that he's pretty sure he'll finally see Osamu's dopey face very soon.

Oikawa leaves no stone unturned, pulls out all the stops, and does everything he can to track Osamu down. The reason for all of this? That's something Atsumu has yet to figure out. Oikawa being so selfless and not having any ulterior motives is something Atsumu somehow doubts.

But he gratefully accepts everything the Kumichō offers. And even though the mere thought of it causes a terrible sickness within Atsumu, he must admit that Sakusa Kiyoomi is in fact a huge help in his search for his brother.

He is precise, his mind is sharp, he is impossibly good at what he’s doing, and God does Atsumu hate Oikawa for pairing him up with Sakusa. In the end, though, the goon turns out to be a blessing. Without him, Atsumu wouldn't be where he is right now. Close to finding his brother. Close to finding his twin.

You're the only one who's tolerated in Shiratorizawa, Kiyo-chan...

Oikawa’s words were consolidated by Semi's concern and Goshiki's fear of Sakusa. Even though Shiratorizawa is not Oikawa's territory and the people living in that district are doing everything possible to oppose him, their actions stop as soon as Sakusa is involved. Atsumu lifts his head and closes his eyes, letting the hot water splash on his face.

It is strange.

You're lucky to have Oikawa watching over you.

If Atsumu didn't know better, he would say Sakusa didn’t seem like much more than a pawn. But Atsumu knows better. Sakusa is not afraid to talk back to his Kumichō. He is not afraid to defy his orders, and he is not afraid to do things his way.

And yet he obeys Oikawa, lets him team him up with the guy he loathes so much. Miya Atsumu.

Two of the strongest men here in Sendai will work together.

Why?

I really hope you die today.

Atsumu could have died – or at least he could have been badly injured. If Sakusa hadn't kicked him, the bullet would have hit him, and he would now be the one bleeding out instead of all those he had watched doing so.

If Sakusa hadn't slit the guy's throat at the end of their mission, Atsumu would probably have been the one to drop to the ground, motionless, dead.

Sakusa hates it at least as much as Atsumu does having to work together, so why the hell did he interfere? Why didn't he just leave Atsumu to his fate? In the end, it would have been Atsumu's fault. After all, he wasn't paying attention.

Atsumu huffs and lathers himself, rubbing his skin clean and easing his muscles with the hot water. He rinses the soap off and frowns, then remains in the shower for a while longer, the water still running. What does Oikawa have on Sakusa to make him obey?

Sakusa...

Atsumu groaned.

Holy shit, no one warned him Sakusa Kiyoomi was this hot. Of course, he's an eye-catcher. Dressed in his shit-expensive suits and then his ridiculously defined body... the goon must cut a fine figure. And his face? Fuck, his face was gorgeous. Beautiful, to say the least.

It's no secret how Sakusa's dark eyes captivate Atsumu. Long dark thick and curved lashes, two moles above his flawless eyebrow kissing his delicate pale skin – who wouldn't look twice?

And shit, those lips. Those sinfully perfect soft lips, always puckered into a slight pout. Atsumu wonders what he’d look like if they were pursed. How he’d look when they wrap around his co—?

Atsumu turns the water ice cold.

“Shit...” He curses, the temperature change doesn't really help his growing problem at first. But he lets the water pour over his head, over his body for several minutes until he starts to shake. Goosebumps spread everywhere; his blood no longer has a chance to pool below his belly.

“Oh my god... yer pent up, ‘Tsumu.” He scrubs a hand over his face, turns the water off, and steps out of the shower.

It's been what? How long since he was last intimate with someone? It must have been some time before Osamu disappeared.

Atsumu doesn't have time to fool around, he needs to find his brother. Besides, he's had to be damn careful ever since he left Hyōgo – after all, he didn't want a bullet or knife in his back before he climaxed. What a cruel way to die.

But somehow, though, Atsumu can't stop thinking about the long slender fingers that have been settled around his neck. The light pressure that was given to his airway. The hungry look that lingered on his lips for a split second too long.

Sakusa keeps creeping into the back of Atsumu’s mind and it does things to Atsumu, unholy things, that he really doesn't have time for right now. His skin prickles beneath his now-changed clothes, but he forbids the shiver from making it up his spine.

The only thing he wants from jerks in this town is blood, no matter how attractive they are. Attractive, and decent, and—

Atsumu shakes himself. He does want a piece of Sakusa, but for the same reason he wants pieces of some of the other hot goons – to be able to eliminate them, strike when they are most vulnerable. But if he killed Sakusa now, he would ruin any chance of finding Osamu again... Oikawa would ensure that.

So no, Atsumu will have to pull himself together, push his thoughts aside and focus on his actual mission. His brother. Osamu. He shouldn't care about Sakusa. Nothing about Sakusa should matter to him.

But that's something his mind disagrees with. So, Atsumu can't hide the fact that he's annoyed. Rattled in a way he can't quite describe.

Atsumu can't see Sakusa's knuckles underneath his gloves, but from the way he's clutching the steering wheel, he's sure they must be white. He snorts lightly, seeing the veins on Sakusa's forehead popping out; they must be throbbing to death with boiling blood and abysmal irritation.

Ever since Atsumu got into Sakusa's car, he hasn't kept his mouth shut. He has decided his new mission in life is to annoy the Yakuza bastard to the max because talking seems to be much better than keeping quiet right now.

Talking means (at least in Atsumu's case) not thinking, and every thought he doesn't waste on some fantasies about the jerk next to him is blessed. Talking means tricking his mind and Atsumu is willing to take anything to avoid a recurrence of the little situation in his morning shower by any means necessary.

So now he's sitting here with the asshole who’s about to snap at the next snarky comment Atsumu is going to make. But instead of babbling, Atsumu sighs with theatrical boredom.

“What now?” Sakusa snaps anyway.

“‘m dying of boredom. Entertain me.”

“Good. Die then.”

“Omiiiiiiiiii, we really need ta work on yer empathy! The right answer would be: Oh no ‘Tsumu! What can I do for ya?!”

“Don't call me that,” Sakusa grits out. Atsumu ignores him.

“Y’know I was thinkin’—”

“You are capable of that? I could have sworn you didn't possess such a thing as a brain.” Sakusa cuts him off and Atsumu laughs. He can't help but be amused by Sakusa's surly manner.

“Okay, first: rude?! And second,” Atsumu taps his temple, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. “Never underestimate my mastermind.”

“Mastermind?” Sakusa laughs humorlessly. “I doubt that highly.”

Atsumu snorts and smiles smugly. If he didn't belong to Oikawa, Atsumu would have killed Sakusa by now. For the way he treats Atsumu. The way he talks to him. How disrespectful he is to assassins. For being so obscenely handsome and obnoxiously well-built, always hiding it beneath his—

Atsumu shuts his eyes and swallows, his arrogant smile long gone. His thoughts are once again drifting off in a direction where they had no business to be. So, he decides to go back to what helped him keep them away.

“When d’ya get that stick outta yer ass?”

“The moment you start to shut up.” Sakusa might lose his temper soon.

It’s colder these days, so cold that Sendai is practically covered in frozen dew that slowly turns to ice with each passing day. Normally, winter in Miyagi's capital tends to be mild. This time, however, it was anything but that.

December is just the beginning of the winter season, but the month has already been much colder than in the last few years before. What's still missing is precipitation, sending little white flakes trickling from the sky.

Strong cold winds make working outside quite inconvenient and Atsumu can't deny that he is glad to be sitting in Sakusa's warm car. Still, Atsumu misses snow as it is back home in Hyōgo. He misses the time when he had silly snowball fights with Osamu. He misses the time when everything was still okay.

Fuck, he misses Osamu.

He starts to spiral. He needs to distract himself.

“Omi, if yer made of ice, and yer walking on ice... isn’t that kinda weird?”

“Please... Please be quiet, I can’t even hear myself losing the will to live.”

“Oh? Look who’s begging now.” Atsumu wriggles his brows. “Suits ya, Omi-kun. ‘Could get used to that.”

“Miya.” Kiyoomi sighs so deeply, Atsumu can practically hear every oxygen molecule escaping from his lungs. “You are, without a doubt, the most annoying person I’ve ever crossed paths with. And don’t get me even started with the sound of your fucking voice—”

Atsumu fakes a yawn. “Yeah, no… please keep talkin’, sugar. I only yawn when I’m super fascinated.”

Sakusa frowns. “You’re a dick, Miya.”

“Hmm…” Atsumu hums, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He winks.

“If ignorance is bliss, you must be the happiest person on the planet.”

“You said something? Sorry, I was too busy not giving any fucks.”

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you.”

Atsumu snorts. “Guess that makes two of us.”

The rest of the ride wasn't much different. Atsumu continued to chatter until Sakusa turned the music up loud enough to tune out the assassin. It's amusing to see Sakusa getting so irritated. Atsumu feels like these are the only moments he gets any reaction from the usually stoic man.

Atsumu stops bugging him when he felt Sakusa might draw his gun any second and pump a bullet through his head. And no, he didn't flinch when the goon abruptly moved his hand to the radio switch just to turn up the volume (miles away from his pistol by the way). Honestly, Atsumu is sure Sakusa was about to unholster his gun...

So Atsumu just vibes along with the songs that are playing, because after all, the masked bastard still had good taste in music, and it was a good distraction too. That is until Sakusa slows down until the car comes to a stop in front of a secluded bar in the middle of nowhere in Shiratorizawa. Atsumu lifts a brow.

“What are we doing here?”

Sakusa wouldn't kill him, would he? He can't—Oikawa told him not to, right? On the other hand, he doesn't give a shit. Oh crap, is he seriously going to kill Atsumu right now?

“Youko's henchmen,” he starts, “Are in there. If they're dead, he won't have anyone to do the dirty work for him. So, he'll have to show himself sooner or later.”

“You wanna kill 'em?”

Sakusa stares at Atsumu indifferently. “If they don't give us the information we need, then yes.”

He takes his eyes off Atsumu and gets out, the cold wind sweeping through his curls. Atsumu's eyes widen, he can't manage to get more than a barely audible “What?” past his lips. “Now?!” He asks louder, dumbfounded, as he gets out too, slamming the door shut.

“What, are you backing out, Miya?”

Atsumu snorts. “You wish.”

They are unprepared. Another thing Atsumu would never have expected from Sakusa. But that makes the whole thing even more thrilling.

Fighting means clearing his head, focusing on the things that are happening right here and now. Fighting is good, it keeps Atsumu's thoughts in check.

They walk towards the bar, which looks anything but inviting. The shutters are down, only slits let the light from outside shine into the room. There's a 'Closed' sign hanging on the door, but Sakusa doesn't look like he cares. He opens the button of his jacket while turning to Atsumu, his expression stern.

“Are you still confident you can handle a fight without a gun?”

Atsumu frowns but nods. “Positive.”

“Good.” Sakusa unholsters his gun and mutters just before they enter the bar, “If you die anyway, I'll kill you myself.”

Before Atsumu gets a chance to reply, Sakusa has already slammed the door to the bar open, causing a loud crack as it bounces off the wall. He bursts in and fires three accurate shots at the weapons of the men reaching out to kill them. Sakusa was so fast Atsumu didn't even get to realize how many goons they will face in the bar. There are eight, just in case anyone else is interested.

Shit, Sakusa is seriously no one to mess with.

“Did’ya bring us here to fucking die?!” Atsumu hisses, hand on Osamu’s knife, not unsheathing it yet, though. Not having a plan and rushing in like that is never a good idea, to say the least. If anyone knows, it's Atsumu.

“Obviously,” Sakusa replies bluntly. Atsumu watches him in horror.

“Omi, I seriously cannot tell if yer bein’ sarcastic or not.”

“The fuck do you want here?!” Interrupts one of the men, whom Sakusa has just shot the pistol out of his hand. Sakusa grimaces in disgust.

“You work for Youko, right? Tell me where he is, and I might consider leaving you alone.”

Sakusa would kill them either way. Atsumu can see that in his murderous gaze. He could have done it the moment the door swung open. This is just to buy Atsumu some time to check his surroundings. Even Atsumu would probably have been caught a little off guard instead.

Looking around, Atsumu realizes why Sakusa is making such a disgusted face. The bar is filthy, objects lie broken on the floor, tables and chairs sprawl around chaotically. It's just plain messy, disgusting.

Atsumu examines the men in front of them. They are all wearing different collections of Armani, none of them looking remotely attractive in it.

Atsumu chuckles slightly as he observes the man who first raised his voice. Next to him are two guys looking confusingly like Hunter x Hunter's Chrollo and Disney's villain Hades (from Hercules). And the guy himself?

Well, he was a bad copy of the fucking Joker.

“What the fuck do you care!” He yells and Atsumu sees Sakusa roll his eyes. Oh god, he's going to make them all suffer. Atsumu can’t help but smirk.

“Oh, so you know where he is?” Sakusa tilts his head and slips a hand into the pocket of his slacks. In his other hand, he plays with his pistol, skilled fingers twirling it as if it's weightless. Sakusa knows how to handle a gun. In Atsumu's eyes, he is probably the best shooter he has ever met.

However, he would never tell him that.

“Get out of here or it will get ugly...” Another bastard slowly approaches the two.

“Hey!” Sakusa shouts vigorously. “Take another step and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“I said, get out.” The man takes another step toward Sakusa and Atsumu, but Sakusa just sighs in annoyance. “And I said stay. Back.”

He doesn't listen, so Sakusa shoots, making everyone in the room except himself and Atsumu flinch.

Youko's henchman drops dead to the ground and the game is on.

Sakusa takes two of the remaining seven and Atsumu arches his brow, watching Joker's eyes dart to Osamu's knife on his belt. Atsumu laughs as a blade flash in Joker's palm.

“Don't even think about it, bastard.”

Atsumu dodges the upcoming slash of Joker’s shiv, grabs his wrist in the movement, and kicks him in the gut, hard. Joker’s knife clatters to the ground, his body drops to the floor and the hiss of his pain is echoing in the room. Atsumu can’t help but smirk. This is going to be more fun than it should be.

“What are y’all waiting for?” Joker bellows at his men. Then utter chaos erupts.

Several arms reach for Atsumu, almost close enough to tear at his clothes. Darts of shadows spring from his left and right; everyone tries to reach for a piece of him. Like vultures pecking at a carcass. But Atsumu is still very much alive and he’s only just getting started.

He spins around, thrusting his elbow into Chrollo’s face. The guy should have polished his reaction time before going into a fight against someone like Atsumu because he didn’t see the punch coming in the slightest.

With another spin, Atsumu clips Hades’ ankles so that the goon is tumbling down, his knees crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. Atsumu peers over at Sakusa and huffs as he notices the bastard is killing one man after another with ease.

He doesn't even try hard and still looks so shamelessly good. Sakusa stands with his back to him so that Atsumu can observe the way his suit hugs his divine body. How it displays his muscles in all the right places, emphasizes his round ass and—

Atsumu snaps his eyes shut.

Focus, ‘Tsumu…

Joker is back on his feet, the dropped knife firmly in his grip. Atsumu smiles insolently, running a hand through his hair before unsheathing Osamu's knife.

“You think you intimidate me?”

“I'll have you on your knees soon enough.”

“Ha!” Atsumu snorts. “A wish that will never be granted.”

Atsumu kicks the shiv out of Joker’s hand, lands another one to his gut, followed it with a jab to the jaw. Atsumu hears the crackle, teeth rattling. He runs the curved side of Osamu's blade across Joker's throat, making him bleed silently. Joker grabs his neck to stop the flow but slumps to the ground, eyes wide open, staring pleadingly at Atsumu as life slowly drains from him.

Placing the tip of Osamu's knife under Joker's chin, he tilts his head up so that his glazed eyes meet Atsumu's fiery ones. Atsumu leans down a little, then speaks cockily, “Who's down on his knees for whom now, hm?”

“You for me!” A voice erupts from Atsumu’s blindside, pistol pointed at him, ready to shoot. Chrollo is back in the game, willing to put the assassin down. He doesn't get to pull the trigger, though, as a bullet hits his head before he has the chance to shoot. Quick and precise from behind, catching him by surprise with a deadly shot that makes his body collapse instantaneously.

Atsumu whips his head and for a split second, time stands still. He examines the crease between Sakusa's eyebrows, his dark gaze a mix of concern and annoyance. Atsumu considers whether his lips are pressed into a line beneath that mask... honestly, he just wants to rip it off and be able to look at him properly.

The indent at the upper side and a pointed tip to the lower end... the perfect heart shape for a man who has no business being so perfect. Atsumu has probably never met a man whose lips were so alluring.

“Watch out!” Sakusa shouts with widened eyes and rips him out of his trance. Atsumu flinches as Hades is about to stab him in the hand. He pulls it back just in time but catches a long cut over his palm causing Atsumu to hiss in pain. Before Hades can tumble any further toward him, Sakusa ends the situation with another accurate headshot.

Atsumu gulps, seeing the corpse slump to the ground while blood drips from his hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sakusa grumbles as he holsters his gun. He squints his eyes and Atsumu mirrors his fed-up expression.

“I would’ve killed ‘em eventually, okay!” He rips a piece of suit from one of the goons and wraps his hand to stop the bleeding.

“You were at their fucking mercy!”

“I had everything under control!”

“Under control?!” Sakusa frowns irritated. “You would be dead right now if I hadn't shot them.”

Well, he is right. And the worst part is that it's not the first time.

Sakusa has already saved his ass the last time they went looking for Youko. If he hadn't kicked him into the elevator just in time, Atsumu would be checking out the grass from underneath by now. But this time was different.

Atsumu’s blood boils.

“I have already seen you fight, Miya.” Sakusa wrinkles his nose. “But this one sucked.”

“Fuck you.”

“You can do better than that.”

I know. Atsumu's mouth snaps shut. For the first time in his life, he doesn't voice his thoughts, doesn't elaborate on what Sakusa is saying because he knows he is right. Atsumu is one of the best assassins in Hyōgo, probably in all of Japan, and yet he fights like a fucking rookie, downright ignoring his most important rule:

Mind off.

No thoughts, and certainly no doubts, should ever be allowed in a fight. He needs to focus… to concentrate. And Atsumu fucking knows it. Shit, isn't that ridiculous? Entertaining lustful fantasies about some Yakuza bastard he'd like nothing more than to run his knife down his throat. How can that throw him off track like that?

“Let's go,” Sakusa mutters annoyed. “This place makes me want to throw up.”

Atsumu looks around and observes the dead bodies. Sakusa has taken out most of them. In fact, he's killed almost all of them. Shit, what's wrong with Atsumu?

“Don't you dare bleed into my car.” Sakusa warns and Atsumu sighs deeply. “Whatever.”

Once they're inside the vehicle, Sakusa revs up the engine, and Atsumu stares out the window, bouncing his knee. With his hand pressed against his mouth, he remains silent, his elbow resting casually beneath the window.

“You’re quiet.” Sakusa remarks. Atsumu grunts. “Missing my voice already, darlin’?”

Sakusa scowls at him, then at the street in front of them.

“What was wrong with you? I know you suck, but this was a disaster.”

I thirst over you. I fantasize about crushing you with my thighs. I want your hands all over my body. I want to fuck you.

Atsumu sighs deeply, annoyed. He needs to get laid. Doesn’t care by whom, but he needs to fuck it out of his system.

“I'm pent up, okay?! It's been fucking forever since—” Atsumu flails his hands around. “You know...”

Sakusa stares at him, deadpanned. “You can't be fucking serious...”

“I am! Watch the fucking road…” Atsumu doesn't even know why he tells Sakusa about it. Honestly, he doesn't.

“Then do something about it!” Sakusa suggests as if it was that simple, ignoring that he almost crashed into someone and pulls the car abruptly to the left. Horns blare behind them, but they both couldn't care less.

“'s not that easy, okay?!” Atsumu growls. “Being in unknown territory with Yakuza at your back ain’t exactly a place to hook up with someone. Anyone here might wanna kill me.”

“Many people want you dead, Miya. Add me to the list.”

“Oh, I’d kill ya too, y’know?” He truly would. The oh-so-perfect, obnoxious Sakusa Kiyoomi is a goddamn pain in the ass. Then Atsumu mutters. “But I can’t take the risk to mess with Oikawa.”

“Likewise.”

And again, Atsumu wonders why. Oikawa has Sakusa in the palm of his hand and it seems the asshole can't do anything about it. What does Oikawa have on the bastard? That remains a mystery to Atsumu. He could ask him, but Sakusa wouldn't tell him anyway.

He wouldn't be that stupid.

“Yeah, sucks to be you, Omi-kun.”

Which doesn't change the fact that Atsumu needs to get rid of his problem. He cannot risk his life as long as he is still looking for Osamu.

Sakusa huffs. “I wish I could shoot you already.”

“I'd draw the knife through yer throat before you could pull out yer gun.”

“You wouldn't stand a chance,” Sakusa laughs bitterly, shifts up a gear, and accelerates so that Atsumu is pressed into the seat. “I'd have you on your knees before you even got near me.”

Atsumu laughs genuinely at this comment. Sakusa underestimates him. Excessively. “If yer lucky, I'll kill ya before you even know it.”

“Shut up,” he bites, fingers clenched around the steering wheel.

“Make me,” Atsumu taunts, riling Sakusa even more and regretting it as he mercilessly slams on the brake bringing the car to an abrupt halt. Furious honking erupts left and right as the surrounding cars pass them by, but Atsumu's widened eyes focused only on Sakusa.

Fuck, his heart beat ten feet higher.

“I want to choke you, Miya. Until you're on your knees crying and whimpering in front of me. I want to watch blood flow over your body. I want—” Atsumu's eyes dart down to watch the way Sakusa's muscles clench and relax at his throat. “I want to fucking break you.”

Sakusa tears his gaze from Atsumu and falls back into the seat. He pulls off a glove and runs that hand through his hair, fingers remaining tangled in his curls. Sakusa curses as he leans back as if he's pissed at himself.

And Atsumu would tease him, would say… something if it wasn't all so damn hot and tantalizing. Instead, he's left awestruck, letting his fantasies run wild, and is done with his life once and for all, because what Atsumu is about to pull now beats anything he's ever done.

“Break me,” he says, just above a whisper.

Sakusa stares at him confused. “What?” He exhales shakily.

Atsumu must have gone insane, right? He overshot the mark. He just babbled something. He couldn't be serious. What the fuck was he thinking? Is he stupid?

“Break me,” Atsumu repeats, then gulps. He is stupid. “You can't kill me... but you can break me. And I—” Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face before turning desperately to Sakusa. “I need to get this out of my system, okay? I need to…” He stops himself before he says something stupid.

It's not like he hasn't done that already.

I need to get you out of my system.

Sakusa scoffs and shakes his head. He averts his gaze from Atsumu and stares out the window beside him. For a moment too long, torturous silence ensues. The air between them is tense, seemingly able to be cut with ease. Sakusa does just that as he starts to mutter somewhat softer, calmer.

“You’re worked up.” He considers it, Atsumu's eyes light up with curiosity.

“I fuckin’ am.”

“You want me to help you out.”

It’s his only goddamn chance.

“I’d be more focused.”

Sakusa puts his glove back on and turns to Atsumu. He hooks a finger beneath his mask and slides it under his chin. Shit, Atsumu can feel heat sprouting in his cheeks. His beauty would always drive him insane—if it hasn't already.

“Why me?” Sakusa asks.

Watch it, ‘Tsumu…

“We both can't mess with Oikawa, so you’re kinda the only one I’m safe with.” And I want yer lips around my dick. I wanna know what you feel like and shit—I just really wanna fuck you.

Atsumu blushes slightly and adds, “It’s yer only chance to see me fall apart… yer only chance to break me. I can’t risk bein’ killed and you can’t risk that I’m getting killed. Oikawa still needs me.”

Sakusa leans his arm on the steering wheel as he faces Atsumu. He examines the boy, his gaze shifting from his eyes to his cheeks to his jaw until it lingers on his lips. Sakusa frowns, then his gaze snaps back up to Atsumu's golden eyes, and all Atsumu wants to do is scream.

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

It's valid. Sakusa has the right to say no. It was a stupid idea, to begin with. Atsumu could only embarrass himself by even asking such a question. So, all he can do is nod defeatedly, head hanging low, and hope that he would never bring it up again.

“Fucking is a reward, Miya, but you haven’t been good.”

Atsumu's ears perk up.

“What?” He eyes Sakusa in confusion and blinks several times as if it would help him improve his hearing.

“I won’t fuck you,” Sakusa repeats and elaborates. “I told you, touch me—”

“And I’ll burn. Yeah yeah, got’cha, Omi. But what does that mean?”

“It means you have to keep your hands off me.”

Atsumu blinks. He must be shitting him.

“You do what I tell you to do.”

No fucking way. He can't be serious.

“And if anyone finds out about this, I will make you bleed until the last drop escapes from your body and force you to stay awake and feel the pain until it tears you to shreds.”

Shit, he does mean it.

Atsumu is left dumbstruck as Sakusa turns away, pulls his mask back up, and sets the vehicle in motion.

“So, what do you say?” Sakusa lifts a brow, and Atsumu has genuinely no fucking clue what to say. He has just been offered to fuck his enemy. Well, not fuck fuck. But whatever Sakusa has in mind to make him come.

“Deal?” Sakusa peers over at him and Atsumu gulps, nods.

“Deal.”

Atsumu must have lost it.

They agreed to meet at a hotel of Sakusa's choice, the goon shot him a message with the address and time. Sakusa told him he got a room and put it under the name Hayashi, so Atsumu picks up the key from the dainty receptionist before allowing his sanity a chance to return.

She doesn’t ask for an ID and doesn’t so much as raise an eyebrow over the false name Atsumu gave her. Still, she seems a little nervous and Atsumu wonders why. Maybe it's her first day and she doesn't want to mess up. He doesn't care any further as he takes the key from her hand and offers her a weak smile.

The room is on the tenth floor and what baffles Atsumu is that he cannot spot a single surveillance camera when he steps out of the elevator. It's odd for such a high-end hotel, and he can't imagine they'd be hidden so well. He frowns but doesn't dwell on it either as he pulls the card through the slot in the hotel door, so it unlocks.

His mind knows of at least a thousand reasons why this is a bad idea, but his body is too intrigued. The only thing Atsumu should want from Sakusa is to see him bleeding out, and yet he's too curious about what he's planning to do with him.

Immediately, Atsumu is aware of Sakusa as he steps into the room. The guy approaches him with silent steps, almost like a predator on the hunt for prey. He wears his black mask, dark slacks, the holster containing his gun just within reach, and the characteristic anthracite turtleneck that conceals the pallor of his skin. His curls fall perfectly into his face and emphasize his oh-so-dark eyes.

Atsumu looks him up and down, sizing him up. Sakusa is a few inches taller and much wider in the shoulders. If Atsumu didn’t know a fuckton of ways to kill men twice his size without breaking a sweat, he’d have backed away.

Being so close to him, however, is anything but intimidating. Atsumu knows they won't jump down each other's throats. They could have done that long ago. No, instead, they have a silent agreement against their will to keep an eye on each other, all for the sake of the Kumichō Oikawa.

Sakusa lets him into the room, examines Atsumu at least as thoroughly as the blonde had seconds before, and then asks with a furrowed brow, “Did you shower?”

With his hands in his pockets, Atsumu steps past him and turns his head to the side, glances at Sakusa over his shoulder. “Scrubbed my skin almost raw. Don’t cha worry, Omi-kun, I'm squeaky clean. But if it calms ya down, I can jump into the shower again, I don’t mind.” Atsumu's hair is even still a little bit damp.

Sakusa steps up beside Atsumu once he's closed the door and shakes his head, frown still settled on his face, his gaze kind of piercing. “No, it’s—” he hesitates. “It's fine.”

Atsumu can't read him with that damn mask on, but something tells him it's not really fine. He shrugs it off, though. He shouldn't care. Instead, Atsumu pauses to do a quick sweep, taking in every detail of his surroundings.

There is one bed, queen size. Atsumu notices a cabinet and a small dresser, a flat-screen TV hanging above it. There is a couch, a table, and two armchairs on the other side of the bed, Atsumu spots Sakusa’s jacket draped meticulously over the back of one of them.

A towel is neatly tucked over the couch, covering most of the velvety fabric. Atsumu gulps thinking Sakusa must have set it out. So, whatever he has in mind for Atsumu would be messy, and if that doesn't send a jolt of pleasure down Atsumu's spine...

His gaze roams across the table and stops at a paperback novel lying facedown on the table, next to two bottles of some prissy-ass brand water, one of them half empty. Beside the paperback is an unopened bottle of lube. What's missing, however, are condoms.

Atsumu frowns as he realizes Sakusa actually meant it when he said he wouldn't fuck him.

“Sit down,” Sakusa yanks him out of his thoughts and gestures to the couch while he sits down on one of the armchairs opposite. Atsumu gulps and follows his instructions wordlessly before running his mouth again. “I'm a bit surprised ya picked a hotel, of all places, for… well… y’know.”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow, so Atsumu explains his thought.

“'m aware ya have a thing for order and tidiness,” I’m aware that this thing is anything but normal. “And don't get me wrong—” Atsumu slumps down on the couch and looks around wide-eyed. “This room must be costin’ you a fortune… but somehow I can't shake the feeling ya cleaned it again before callin’ me over and at the same time I can't imagine ya’d put in that much effort just for me.”

“That's right. Don't flatter yourself.”

Atsumu huffs. “So, why the hotel room?”

Sakusa stares at him for a moment before answering bluntly. “Believe it or not, the cleaning staff here does a flawless job especially because it's me who books a room.”

Atsumu grins nastily. “What? Did ya threaten ‘em?”

“I can be convincing.”

Anyone with a fucking gun is 'convincing'. Atsumu wonders if that's why the young receptionist was so nervous. Did Sakusa threaten her too?

“And why the fake name? Doesn't everyone here know you anyway?” Atsumu asks. He sees by the creases at the corners of Sakusa’s eyes how the bastard hides a filthy smirk beneath his mask. “I don't know if you deserve an answer to that.”

“’Course I do.”

“I’ll consider it if you behave.”

Now Atsumu is the one lifting an eyebrow. He stares at Sakusa, watching him reclining in the chair and crossing his legs, his gloved hands lingering on the armrests. He doesn't wear suede gloves, but black and sleek ones made of nitrile. Atsumu's throat runs dry; the excitement of why he is actually here has returned in full force.

“Sure, darlin’.” Atsumu winks and tries to voice it as casually as possible. “I can behave real good for ya.”

“Kind of hard to believe.”

Atsumu laughs. “Ye of little faith, Omi-kun! I can be the best you've ever had.”

“You're full of yourself, Miya.”

“Say that again once yer satisfied.”

“If that ever happens.”

“Try me.”

Atsumu's eyes are wide open, his pupils so vast that only a narrow ring of melting gold glows around them, absorbing every reaction he can elicit from Sakusa. He doesn't stop the grin that unfolds on his face when he spots the gleam in Sakusa's eyes. Too curious to see what else can happen if he just pushes his right buttons.

“Okay, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu leans forward, hands clasped together, and stares at him lewdly. “What have ya planned? What d’ya wanna do ta break me?”

Atsumu is intrigued and aroused; he has never experienced such a thing as with Sakusa before. The latter breathes deeply, eyes boring into Atsumu’s golden ones. “Undress yourself,” he says confidently, his gaze unflinching.

Atsumu's grin spreads into a sick smile, thinking he's gaining the upper hand. “Curious what's underneath, Omi-kun? Don't complain if ya can't resist me later. I warn ya.”

Sakusa huffs and crosses his arms in front of his chest, giving Atsumu a pointed look. “Go on then. Put on a show for me.” He watches Atsumu take off his burgundy jacket and lay it neatly aside, their gazes steadily locked. “Let's see how much of your arrogance will be left in you once we’re done.”

Oh?

“This a challenge, Omi-kun? Cause all you can do is lose.” Atsumu slips out of his sneakers and puts them aside too, socks stuffed into one shoe each.

“I doubt it.”

“If ya just sit there and watch?” Atsumu quirks a brow, smirk still plastered onto his face. “Easy. You will.”

“Your shirt.” Sakusa ignores him, the playfulness gone from his gaze, his eyes now menacingly dark again. “Next.”

Atsumu chuckles lightly. “As you wish, honey.”

He stands up and brings his palms to his chest, stroking them, kneading them once before gently running his fingers over his nipples and giving them an experimental pinch, always holding Sakusa's gaze. Atsumu sighs, can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Good. Maybe it will rattle the bastard a little. Atsumu knows he looks hot when he's aroused.

His hands slide slowly and enticingly crossed over his stomach to the hem of his white shirt, fingers hooking between fabric and his skin. Atsumu hears Sakusa sucking in a sharp breath as Atsumu is about to bare his upper body. So, he stops still, smug smile glued to his lips.

“Won’t cha join me, Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks teasingly. “Yer missin’ out.” His voice is raspier than he expected. Shit, he’s literally giving Sakusa Kiyoomi a fucking striptease to rile him up and yet Atsumu is the one who is so damn affected.

“No,” Sakusa answers bluntly.

“Why not? Don’t cha wanna get a taste of this?” Atsumu’s fingers trail down his muscles to emphasize his point but Sakusa seems to be unbothered. He spreads his legs slightly and shifts in his seat. “I’m satisfied to see you fall apart. If I’m not allowed to kill you, I will take this chance and watch you crumble.”

It shouldn’t turn Atsumu on, but it did. Hell, it did in so many ways.

“Mmm,” Atsumu hums. “Kinky.”

Sakusa just glared. “Shirt.” He returns the focus and Atsumu can't help but grin.

“Yessir.”

Atsumu peels the tight shirt from his skin, revealing inch after inch of his defined body. He pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside, flexing his muscles as he stands bare-chested before Sakusa.

Atsumu knows he looks good and what effect he has on other people. His body is well-toned, his teeth gleaming white, his platinum wavy blond hair, and even in winter his skin is crisply tanned. Atsumu is someone everyone desires.

It seems, everyone but Sakusa.

Sakusa's gaze roams over the blonde's nearly flawless body and settles on Atsumu's side, just above his V-line. He frowns, giving him a nod. “What happened there?”

Atsumu looks down at himself and notices Sakusa is referring to the scar Atsumu caught two years ago. “Oh,” he says. “It's nothing.”

“A graze?” He lifts a brow.

Atsumu waves it off. “Told ya no gun could stop me, right?”

Sakusa huffs and squints his eyes, observing Atsumu’s scar from afar. He presses his back further into the chair yet doesn’t take his eyes off Atsumu. “Pants,” he says as a matter of course, and Atsumu’s signature smirk is back.

He hums a little, enjoying the show he's putting on for Sakusa. For anyone else this might be somewhat awkward, exposing, but not for Atsumu, no. He enjoys Sakusa's eyes on him, enjoys the whole attention that is solely on him, and shit if that doesn't turn him on...

Atsumu runs a hand through his hair while the other spreads down his chest, fingers pacing the lines of his carved abs and smoothing over the waistband of his pants. He has immense control of his body, he knows that, and Sakusa probably knows that too. It's too captivating to look away.

Sakusa pours water from the half-empty bottle into a glass and brings it to his lips. He sips it like he’s drinking top-of-the-line brandy from a highball, watching Atsumu over the rim with unreadable eyes. It shouldn't be this hot, but it fucking is. Atsumu knows he’s blushing hard.

Watch me, Omi-kun. Have a good look at what yer missing out on.

Sakusa doesn't choke on it (as Atsumu had hoped) when the assassin feigns a moan, biting his bottom lip while his hips swivel. He brings his hand up from his waistband to his nipple, rubbing it gently with the tips of his fingers while pushing his other hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled.

For a split second, Atsumu genuinely questions Sakusa’s sexuality. Countless times has he turned the straightest of men into pathetic whiny gays. Could he do the same with Sakusa, though?

What does Sakusa want from him anyway? Does he just want to see Atsumu being vulnerable? Does he want to break him like this so he can then make fun of him? Does he not want to fuck him because he's seriously not into men?

After all, Atsumu is practically the jackpot...

For a moment, Atsumu considers if Sakusa is straight as an arrow but then he sees him shifting, spreading his legs a little wider, revealing a very prominent rising tent and a deep, deep red blush spreading high on his cheeks, and damn, ain’t that something.

“Like what’cha see, Omi-kun?” Atsumu smirks, gasping a little.

“Could be worse, Miya—”

“Atsumu.” He cuts him off, his voice soft. “Please, call me Atsumu when we’re like… this.”

The last thing he wants is to think about his brother when he's about to have sex. He needs to clear his head and not be reminded of him all the time. After all, that's what he needs a break from. Sakusa gives him a firm nod.

Atsumu turns around as his hands sneak back to his waistband, rolling his hips just right. He peeks at Sakusa over his shoulder, a nasty grin settling onto his face as he unbuckles his belt and shimmies out of his pants. He notices the way Sakusa's eyes widen for a split second and he takes it as a great triumph.

Sakusa takes him in. Every inch of his goddamn body.

His gaze drifts from Atsumu's calves up to his thick thighs, lingering there for a suspiciously long time until it finally arrives at his ass. Atsumu knows it's a nice one, he's heard it countless times before.

This time, however, he only wants to hear it from one.

The last thing to go are Atsumu’s dark grey briefs. Sakusa’s eyes are wide open when Atsumu turns around to face him again, onyx eyes darting to the very prominent bulge in his underwear. Atsumu is not yet completely hard, but the outline of his dick is clearly visible, the fabric still dry.

It may have been two years in which Atsumu neither pleasured himself nor got laid by anyone else, but he still has enough patience not to appear like a pathetic teenager touching himself for the first time.

When he drops his briefs on top of his other clothes, Sakusa’s eyes look equal parts mesmerized and hesitant. And then he just stares at Atsumu, as if taking him in, absorbing everything Atsumu is offering and shit – when did Atsumu start having such a hard time breathing?

Atsumu isn't a man to be fazed by anything. And yet Sakusa's gaze does just that. These dark eyes will never leave his body for a second. That piercing gaze will forever remain unreadable.

After a moment, Sakusa drains his glass and sets it aside. Then he stands and finds his way to Atsumu, his steps are slow and measured. Atsumu fights the urge to gulp nervously. He isn’t going to show any uncertainty. Not to this guy.

But he’s nervous. Holy shit, he is very much so. He feels his heart hammering in his throat as Sakusa approaches him. That’s a position he’s never been in before – completely naked, hard, vulnerable, in front of a fully-dressed and well-armed Yakuza bastard.

Atsumu must have lost it.

“I can touch you all I want.”

Please do. Touch me. Want me. Need me.

Sakusa tenses a little. “But—”

“But I won’t touch ya.” Atsumu licks his lips. “Don’t cha worry, Omi-kun.”

Most men would have gone straight for Atsumu’s cock or done some clumsy groping. Sakusa, though, is apparently not most men. He takes his time, eyes still roaming over Atsumu’s nude body, one hand remaining in the pocket of his slacks.

The first thing Sakusa does is run the backs of his gloved fingers down the center of Atsumu’s chest, cold nitrile meets burning skin. Creases form between Sakusa’s eyebrows as he watches his hand drift down Atsumu’s abs, and when the vaguely ticklish touch makes Atsumu’s muscles contract, Sakusa pushes out a ragged breath.

“Sit down,” he instructs and Atsumu can’t help but be compliant.

“Okay,” Atsumu exhales, then sweeps his tongue across his lips.

Every touch of Sakusa's, every sound he makes is so captivating it makes Atsumu forget what a narcissistic jerk he actually is. It makes Atsumu forget that he is in fact his enemy. It makes him forget that he shouldn't enjoy any of this.

It makes him forget.

Isn't that all Atsumu wanted?

When Atsumu sat down, Sakusa had already stepped behind the couch. He brings his fingers around Atsumu's throat and for a split second, Atsumu’s defenses surge up. Sakusa brings no pressure to his airway, though, before his hand glides to Atsumu's chin, forcing him to tilt his head back to look up. It's a déjà vu. This time, however, Sakusa stares at him, making Atsumu shudder.

It should be embarrassing how Sakusa's gaze makes Atsumu harder, but the assassin has no shame. He'd smirk, he'd gloat, but he can't. Not with Sakusa looking at him like that.

Atsumu has the ridiculous urge to touch him.

Sakusa's hand spreads across Atsumu's jaw. The grip on it is firm as he leans down to Atsumu, crouching behind the couch. He turns Atsumu's head to the side as he moves so that they maintain eye contact, digits squishing the soft skin of his face, his full lips pressed against Sakusa's index finger.

“The fake name…” Sakusa starts, his face too close. “It’s my mother's name,” he reveals softly, just above a whisper. Atsumu frowns, not understanding what Sakusa is getting at.

“You behaved,” Sakusa explains, the corners of his eyes creasing. “It's your reward.” Atsumu blushes.

That was one part Atsumu didn't understand. What remains is the question of why he even uses a fake name when Sakusa is so well-known. “Isn't that unnecessary?” Atsumu asks, then. “The fake name.”

Sakusa chuckles lightly. “I don't use the name to lay low.”

“But?” Atsumu lifts a brow and notices Sakusa's grin widening underneath the mask. He tilts his head and lets go of Atsumu's chin, crossing his arms on the back of the couch and looking at Atsumu in a dreamy way. “What do you think?”

Atsumu squints his eyes and frowns, pondering. He tears his eyes wide open and stares at Sakusa in shock as the realization hits him like a slap in the face.

The nervous receptionist, no surveillance cameras, the oh-so flawless cleaning staff... How could Atsumu ignore every hint? Was he so blinded? Controlled by his desire?

“You are pent up,” Sakusa remarks, laughs, a mocking tone lacing his voice as he catches Atsumu's reaction. His smile is still hidden but oh is it nasty.

“Yer killin’ yer targets in here.” It's not a question, but rather a statement.

“Seems like you do own a brain.” Sakusa stands up, walks around, and slumps back down in the armchair. Atsumu's wide eyes follow him.

His pulse skyrockets, Atsumu remembers he's naked, hard, vulnerable in front of a fully-dressed and well-armed Yakuza bastard, and shit — how could he be so stupid? Is Sakusa going to kill him after all? Is he quick enough to reach Osamu's knife? Can he—

“Scared, Atsumu?”

Atsumu huffs nervously, his throat dry. If all his blood hadn't rushed to his dick, he might have thought this through and didn't end up in this situation in the first place. But something about it makes him get even harder. Something about it piques his interest.

“Nah,” he replies nonchalantly, a little out of breath. “Not really.” He spreads his legs wider and drapes his arms over the back of the couch. Sakusa chuckles, his gaze on Atsumu's cock, then back into his eyes. “You're a masochist.”

“Seems like you're loving it.” Atsumu gives a nod to the obvious bulge in Sakusa's pants. The latter huffs.

Upon closer inspection, Atsumu notices the walls are soundproofed. His dick twitches and he can’t help but smirk a little, anticipation tears through him at top speed. Sakusa won't kill him, that’s clear, but then, what is he going to do with him?

“I want you to edge yourself,” Sakusa commands as if he’s reading Atsumu's mind. His voice is deep and determined, his gaze threatening. Atsumu shudders. “I want you to tell me when you’re close and I want you to stop before you even consider coming.”

“Shit.”

“You do what I tell you to do, and you stop when I tell you to stop. Do you understand?”

Atsumu bites his bottom lip. “You gonna talk me through this? Shit, that's hot Omi.”

“Miya.”

“Yeah, yeah, got’cha, got’cha.”

Sakusa looks at him as if he doesn't quite believe him, but then sighs and mutters, “Good.”

It shouldn't be too hard, right? Atsumu has enough control over his body, so it will be a piece of cake to control his sexual desires as well. However, Atsumu forgets what brought him here in the first place.

“What happens if I come?” He blurts out, eyes trained on the man before him.

“I don't know,” Kiyoomi unholsters his gun and puts it on the table, lifting a brow. “I might kill you.”

“Shit,” Atsumu repeats, squeezing his eyes shut to try to regulate his breathing.

His dick stands proud by now, head slightly flushed and the first bead of precum forming at its tip. It's embarrassing how much this turns him on and fuck, Atsumu has no idea how he's supposed to last.

Sakusa wouldn't really kill him, though, would he?

Atsumu opens his eyes slowly and meets the latter's murderous gaze. He is leaning forward, elbows propped on his legs, hands folded in front of his face, and the gun just within reach. Atsumu gulps. Okay, maybe he was wrong. Sakusa would kill him… shit.

“Let's get started, shall we?” Sakusa asks considerately and Atsumu nods. “Sure.”

As long as Sakusa just sits there and watches him, none of this should be a problem. Atsumu touches himself, right? Good. That means he has power over his own body.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“Take some lube, warm it and get yourself wet all over,” Sakusa says with a pointed look toward the bottle.

Atsumu flashes him a mischievous grin, reaches for the lube, and uncaps it. “As you wish, darlin’,” he says, pouring some into his hand and warming it up. How obliging, Atsumu thinks, before giving himself a measured stroke.

Atsumu sighs deeply, thighs first tensing and then relaxing at the satisfying feeling of finally having a hand around his cock – even if it's just his own. He closes his eyes, spreads the lube from base to tip, and jerks off in a steady but slow rhythm. Just enough to make him feel good, not too much to make him come.

Fuck, this feels good. It’s been too long since he’s last touched himself. He presses his lips together and hums low, letting his chords vibrate in his throat as he sinks deeper into the couch.

“Don't start shutting your mouth now.” Atsumu pops one eye open. “I want to hear you, Atsumu.” Fuck, and something about the way Sakusa utters his name sends shivers down his spine.

Atsumu releases a groan from deep within his lungs and needs to slow down. Maybe he's enjoying this a little too much.

“That's it,” Sakusa says contentedly, and fuck, Atsumu realizes he's a weak man. “Just like that.”

“Fuck—” he breathes through pursed lips, his knees tipping outward, his back arching, and his hips thrusting into his hand. Atsumu has his eyes closed again, biting down on his lip and building up the telltale pressure all the way down to his gut.

Oh shit, his hand needs to slow down even more.

“Don’t stop,” Sakusa growls, fucking growls, and Atsumu knows now at the latest that he's a dead man. Be it the bullet that will hit his head or the up-building delayed orgasm that will strike him, Atsumu will not survive this.

“Omiii—hnnghhh…” He whines and to avoid being killed instantly, he picks up speed again.

Atsumu's face is red, the first beads of sweat appear on his skin, and his mind is about to drift off somewhere into delirium. It's a struggle not to give in to his pleasure, and Atsumu isn't sure he can walk out of here as a winner.

His head lolls to the side and he bites his lip hard, circling his finger around the head until the pad of his thumb finds his slit and smears the never-ending stream of precum just over his length. Atsumu is dripping when he rubs small circles at the base of his cock, touching his balls ever so lightly.

Atsumu releases another throaty groan, feeling his cock throb in his hands while his back arches again, his head tipping back, brow furrowed in utter need to come.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa warns with a deep voice and pulls him out of his almost high. “Hands off.”

Without giving it a second thought, Atsumu immediately removes the digits from his cock and makes his body twitch under the loss of touch. A groan rips from his throat once it reached his mind that he was about to tip over, followed by guilt that he kept his mouth shut.

His face is flushed as he opens his eyes to glance at Sakusa, sucking in a shaky breath. “Shit… ‘m sorry Omi, I—” He grits out and brushes some damp strands from his face, shutting his eyes to collect himself. Atsumu takes a deep breath, then turns his gaze back to Sakusa with determination. “Sorry.”

“It's okay,” Sakusa answers surprisingly politely? He pushes his hips forward as he leans back in the chair. His elbows are propped up on each side, while his gloved fingertips stick together in front of his face like magnets. “I know you can do better than that. Show me.”

And if that wasn't some encouragement Atsumu was longing for...

“Touch yourself.” It's a command Atsumu is willing to accept.

His hips jerk a little when his hand is back wrapped around his cock and it kind of makes him laugh. Kiyoomi joins him and smirks behind the black mask as well.

“How do you feel, Atsumu?”

“Fucking great,” he replies as he presses his spine back into the couch and lets his fingertips play with his slick head.

“Good,” Sakusa murmurs, watching him with mindful eyes. “Now build up some pressure again.”

Atsumu gives him a nod and turns his gaze back to his cock. With his hand he forms a circle, pulling it from the tip to his base and back up again to spread the precum and earn a better slide. He repeats the process two or three times before Sakusa praises him. Fucking praises him!!!

“Look at you,” Sakusa's deep voice shoots straight into Atsumu's cock. “Doing so fucking good. Now touch yourself where you’re most sensitive, will you?”

It rips another moan from his lungs, deep, deep down.

Atsumu rubs the pad of his thumb over the underside of his head, toes curling into the carpet, and goosebumps break out across his skin. He circles the spot for a while, a low groan catches in his throat and his eyes flutter shut.

“Oh, fuuuckk—mmmmfff…”

Atsumu's entire body tenses up, thighs spasming and his free hand fisting into his wavy hair. He arches his back, chasing his pleasure.

Then he feels heat pooling in his gut, feels his cock in his hand twitch and pulse, feels the shift in his breathing, feels the building pressure getting higher and higher…

“Close—” Atsumu warns and Sakusa eyes light up.

“Squeeze your head firmly until that feeling goes away,” Sakusa commands. “Don’t stop.”

Atsumu does just that.

He grips the end of his dick just where his head begins and presses his thumb and index finger down on each side. He squeezes just as Sakusa instructed, hard enough to cut off the building climax and extinguish the feeling of tumbling over.

Atsumu squeezes his eyes shut, muscles tense, nearly trembling as a strangled sound erupts from his lungs and leaves his lips. Then he breathes harshly as the sensation passes and allows his body to calm down.

“Mmmm, you're a natural, Atsumu. Just look at yourself.”

Atsumu’s head is spinning.

It's so obscene it would drive him even harder if that was possible. Atsumu’s cock is so swollen, thick, and hard that it's probably about to burst. His sensitive skin is so vibrantly red and glistening from all the precum he's released.

It should be embarrassing how exposed and compliant he is to this bastard, but Atsumu can't think of anything right now, his mind already lost in pleasure. The only thing that still works is Atsumu's will, and it's primed to do anything to get his well-deserved climax.

“Alright, come on. Keep going.”

Atsumu huffs. “Geez, give a man a second t’ breathe, Omi.“

“This isn't a negotiation, Atsumu.” Sakusa’s voice now threatening. “Go. On.”

Atsumu scoffs but wraps his hand back around his cock, his grip only feather-lightly. He is now more sensitive than he has ever been before, and he believes the slightest pressure could be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Atsumu has to slow down, or he'll come right then and there. Sakusa, however, throws a wrench in his plans.

“Are you giving up already?” Atsumu remembers he hates him. “I want to see your hand move.”

“Ahhh—hnnnggh fuck you…” He grits out as his hand closes around his length again, slowly stroking up and down. His other hand grips his chest, holding on for dear life.

“Play with your nipples while you’re at it.”

Atsumu frowns and lolls his head to the side, hooded eyes catch a pleased gaze, crinkles by the corner of his dark eyes and Atsumu wants to throw tables. Sakusa dares to fucking smirk.

You want a battle, Omi-kun? Atsumu thinks. I’ll give you war.

Atsumu skims his hand over his body, reaching his nipple, and rubbing it slowly. Another moan rolls over Atsumu’s lips as they perk up, pulling and plucking now lightly at them. This time he keeps eye contact with Sakusa, wanting to watch him while the bastard sees Atsumu surrender to pleasure.

He rubs tight quick circles around his bud that leave his mouth hanging, eliciting moan after moan with each exhale. His face is flushed, his expression so fucked out… Sakusa fidgets in the chair and his prominent erection presses against the front of his expensive slacks.

Atsumu got him.

“Like what’cha see?” He smirks, the power now back in Atsumu’s palm.

“No one told you to speak.” Sakusa frowns. “Concentrate.”

“Y’know you can—ahhh…” He rubs his thumb back over his slit, then to the underside of his head, stroking softly down and back up.

“Ya can jack off too. I don’t mind—mmmmfff….” Atsumu is repeating the motion, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. “Ahhh… Omiiiiii—“

“Hands off,” Sakusa bites and Atsumu releases every grip he’s had on his body, a groan ripping from his throat as his hips twitch, flush high on his cheeks.

Not for a second did he take his eyes off Sakusa, and he's a little proud to be able to withstand his own body like this. Because watching Sakusa watch him only turns him on even more. Control shouldn't really exist at this point.

But what does it all matter when Sakusa suddenly stands up and sneaks up on him like a panther about to tear his prey apart, his gaze locked with Atsumu's molten golden eyes?

“If this should work,” Sakusa slots a knee between Atsumu's legs, grasping his dick and causing Atsumu to suck in a sharp breath. “You should shut your trap, Miya.”

“Can’t…” Atsumu rasps, Sakusa's hand is so damn big. “Might come too early if—” he’s cut off when Sakusa’s fingertips circle the head of his cock in a teasingly motion. Atsumu is panting heavily, curses when his head lolls back against the towel-covered cushions.

It doesn't matter if Sakusa is wearing gloves and it doesn't matter if he didn't use lube again before beginning to stroke Atsumu, because Atsumu's dick is so wet with precum leaking and leaking, he can easily fall into a relentlessly sweet rhythm to jerk him off.

“Fuck Omi—Fuck yer killin’ me…” Atsumu slurs.

“Wishing now I wouldn’t?” Sakusa chuckles devilishly.

Atsumu huffs, dopey smile now back on his lips. “Fuck you. Ain’t gonna use my wish for tha—ahhhhh…”

He gasps when Sakusa’s thumb grazes his slit to press and rub over it at a torturous pace.

“Focus,” he smirks and Atsumu wants to kill him.

Atsumu bucks his hips up into Sakusa’s fist, desperate for more friction, and holy shit, it’s so hot looking up at his indifferent expression, to see how Sakusa tries to control himself.

Because Atsumu is not stupid, and his gaze doesn’t betray him as he catches the slight blush sitting on Sakusa's cheeks as well and notices the barely there heaving of his chest due to his shallow breathing.

Atsumu curses, then, “Omi... Omi, Omi—shit...”

Sakusa lets go of him instantly before his back has the chance to arch and Atsumu's muscles can tense even further. He grins as Atsumu's eyes fall shut, watching his body chase the relief he never gets. Atsumu moans, strangled, deep, loud.

“You know what edging does to you?” Sakusa asks and Atsumu nods, still trying to catch his breath. “Speak up.”

Atsumu can’t. He’s too far gone. Lost in the chase of his pleasure. Desperate in need of some friction.

“Atsumu.”

“Mmmm…” He hums and lolls his head back toward Sakusa, wet eyes fluttering open, trying to take a look at that ridiculous beautiful man. “Delay my org’sms,” Atsumu slurs, completely out of it. Sakusa cups his cheek, wipes a tear from his flushed and heated face.

“And make it more intense. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

Atsumu frowns, doesn’t know an answer to that and Sakusa just chuckles, devilishly and superior. It fucking hurts and Atsumu thinks he might die but he also wants to come.

“It doesn’t matter, right?” Sakusa then starts. “It doesn’t matter what you think because you’re not in charge.”

Sakusa draws light patterns over his swollen balls and Atsumu tightens every inch of his body. He moans because he feels too exhausted and all he wants is to seek some relief. Atsumu can't even answer Sakusa anymore, can't grasp a clear thought, can’t open his eyes.

Sakusa is right; Atsumu is not in charge.

“Because I am,” he speaks in a low voice before his hand grips Atsumu's length again and strokes him in earnest. Atsumu’s body jolts under the touch, followed by a deep, drawn-out moan. It’s almost too much.

His tanned skin flushes with excitement into an even more vibrant red, his muscle tense up again, his heartbeat accelerates and the rest of the blood remaining in his circulation rushes down to his dick. Everything is more intense this time.

Atsumu feels himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, much faster this time, and he gets ready to stop the stimulation but then—

“It’s okay, Atsumu.” Sakusa grips his chin and forces his mouth open, letting him breathe. “Be good and come. For me, Atsumu, will you?”

At that moment, two things happen.

The first thing is that Atsumu’s whole body jerks violently under Sakusa’s touch before he throws his head back and feels his cock throbbing in Sakusa's palm. And then he comes. So hard, that stars pop behind his closed eyelids and a string of come makes it all the way up to his chin. So hard, that for a moment, Atsumu forgets himself.

His eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed, and his lips puckered in a silent cry as Sakusa strokes him through his high, making him come and come and come.

“Breathe,” Sakusa says and it’s then that Atsumu’s voice returns and his moan grows loud and deep.

The second thing that happens is that Atsumu just barely managed to restrain himself from touching Sakusa with all his strength, because at that moment that was all he wanted.

He wanted to fist his hand into his collar and pull him down. He wanted to tangle his hand in his hair and yank his annoying curls back. He wanted to bite Sakusa's throat, mark him while pleasure took over, and fuck, he just really wanted to kiss him.

Sakusa strokes him until he starts to go soft. Until no more tears run down Atsumu's cheeks. Until his moans turn into soft whimpers. Sakusa strokes him until Atsumu’s hips jolt away from his touch. Until everything gets too much.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says softly and it’s only when the palm of his gloved hand finds Atsumu’s cheek that his eyes flutter open. His eyelashes are clumped, salty tears leave his eyes glazed. Sakusa caresses his cheek, delicate strokes of his thumb leave his skin tingling.

“You look so wrecked,” he holds his breath for a moment, his eyes searching Atsumu’s golden ones, darting back and forth to see if he has broken him. When Atsumu's eyes roll back and his body goes limp, he knows he has.

“You did extremely well, Atsumu.” The praise is music to his ears. “Let me clean you up.”

Atsumu rolls his head to the side and watches Sakusa disappear into the bathroom. He listens to the water flowing from the faucet, catches something getting wet – probably a washcloth.

He smiles lazily as he closes his eyes and thinks of Sakusa hovering over him. As he thinks of what he has triggered in him; Sakusa was aroused because of him. As he thinks of how satisfied he is because of Atsumu. As he thinks of how well he pleased Sakusa…

Atsumu may not be able to have him, but shit. Atsumu wants him.

Chapter Text

It’s raining cats and dogs when Atsumu arrives in front of the two black skyscrapers. Dark clouds hover above Sendai, blocking the rising sun’s light and pouring down incessantly on the capital of Miyagi. Freezing wind whips through the streets, making Atsumu shiver; the weather is shit and it's cold as fuck.

He runs inside to avoid getting even wetter and immediately makes his way into the elevator, this time not fearing the two guards in front of it one bit. Reaching the top, Atsumu walks through the black double doors to the side. Once he enters Oikawa's office, he freezes as all eyes turn to him; the Kumichō was in the middle of a speech, interrupted by Atsumu who’s about 30 minutes late.

“Atsu-chan,” Oikawa smirks. “You are...” he flips his arm around to check his golden Rolex, then raises an eyebrow and stares into the assassin's face. “… almost on time.”

“See, I had a wild dream ‘bout’ya and me and it kept me in bed longer than I wanted,” Atsumu replies as he slumps down next to Bokuto, a smirk unfurling on his face.

Oikawa chuckles. “Must have been a good one then, hm?”

Atsumu’s grin widens. He plays along. “How could it not be?”

Oikawa cracks a smile but doesn't respond further to the latter's high-spirited charm. Atsumu's offhand manner makes the other men in the room snicker as well. Bokuto bumps Atsumu’s shoulder light-heartedly, and some of the other guys whistle. Can Atsumu really still claim to hate Oikawa's Yakuza?

As the Kumichō continues to speak, Atsumu’s gaze shifts to Sakusa. The bastard is already scowling at him, but Atsumu’s smug grin doesn’t falter. There he is – black suit, black mask, black suede gloves. Eyes obsidian, skin pale. Sakusa rolls his eyes and tilts his head to the side, focusing his gaze back on Oikawa.

I can touch you all I want… and boy did he touch Atsumu.

It started with Sakusa's delicate gloved fingers on his chest and ended with Atsumu tripping over the edge. Atsumu was somewhat astonished that Sakusa even touched him. And when he did...

Shit. Turns out Sakusa isn’t only good at his job, but also at jerking Atsumu off. Or at telling Atsumu to jerk off. Or at watching him doing so. Fuck, having Sakusa Kiyoomi watching him jerk off was actually really hot.

Atsumu is kind of proud to make the unfazed bastard get hard because of him. He still thinks of Sakusa’s stupidly attractive face, blush high on his cheeks, gaze swirling with power and want.

It's a shame Sakusa left his mask on. Atsumu would have loved to see his lips part as he watched Sakusa staring down at him. As he kept gazing at Atsumu when he told him to come. Sucking in his breath, trying to control himself…

It's also a shame Atsumu didn't decide to keep his eyes open much earlier to be able to hold Sakusa’s gaze, because damn, what a sight that was. Atsumu won't forget it that easily and will definitely savor it for some more.

You did extremely well, Atsumu.

Where did the bastard even learn how to praise? In Arendelle?

You look so wrecked.

Atsumu doesn't remember much about what happened after that. He was half asleep when Sakusa wiped him down with something warm and damp and then carried him, wrapped in the towel he was sitting on during the whole show, to the queen size bed where he fell fast asleep. After that: Blackout.

The next morning, Atsumu woke up in the same bed, but in an empty room – no sign of Sakusa. To be honest, Atsumu didn't expect him to stay. Maybe he didn't even want him to… at least that's what he thinks.

But at the same time, it bugs Atsumu that the only thing Sakusa wanted from him was to see him being fucked out, wrecked, broken, and nothing else. It bugs Atsumu to think Sakusa didn't want to have some fun too. Rejecting Atsumu so blithely when he was obviously so turned on.

Sakusa Kiyoomi remains a mystery that Atsumu is willing to solve.

“You’re dismissed,” Oikawa announces and tears Atsumu out of his thoughts. He notices he didn't pay him the slightest bit of attention. “Atsu-chan.”

“Mhm?” Atsumu perks up, his lazy gaze settling on the moron.

“You stay,” Oikawa prompts and gives him a pointed look. 

Oh? Seems like he got something just for him. Atsumu nods.

“Hey Tsum-Tsum,” his gaze snaps to Bokuto, currently rising from his seat. Atsumu gives him a questioning look; something about Bokuto is different. “I'm gonna visit Shōyō next week. Do you wanna join me?”

Atsumu frowns. It's his hair. They're not spiky and owlish as usual but he wears them down. It looks good.

“Is he awake?”

“What do you mean?”

Atsumu pauses. “After his surgery. He wasn't out of danger yet.”

Bokuto blinks, Atsumu blinks, Bokuto blinks again a few times in bewilderment, then laughs. “That was for two days! Shōyō has already regained consciousness like... last week? His condition is getting better with each day! Bahahaha Tsum-tsum!!! Didn't Omi-Omi tell you?!”

“No…?” Atsumu's glare shifts from Bokuto to Sakusa but all the obnoxious bastard does is smirk cockily.

Asshole.

Once they are left alone in Oikawa's office, he offers Atsumu a cigarette. Still sitting on the couch, he looks at Oikawa with raised eyebrows and shakes his head. “Ya smoke too much.”

Oikawa snorts, pulls back the pack of cigarettes, and sticks one between his lips. “You sound like Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, the same counts for him, by the way.” Atsumu's tone is reproving. Oikawa chuckles, turns to the side, and lights the cigarette. “Don't take your peevishness out on me.”

“What?” Atsumu scowls at him, Oikawa blows the smoke out of his lungs and snickers again. “Frown a little harder and you'll get wrinkles that make you look old.”

“Which you'll get from smoking.”

“Ouch.” Oikawa laughs. “My skin is flawless.”

With his hand in his pocket, he walks to the window wall and stares down at Sendai, watching his men leave the building one by one. Atsumu observes him, curious as to why the Kumichō  has kept him here.

“Are you joining Bokuto?”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and watches Oikawa questioningly from his seat. He turns and registers Atsumu's confusion. “Ah.” He moves to the ashtray on his desk. “To visit Chibi-chan. Are you planning to join Bokuto?”

Oikawa tilts his head and Atsumu's eyes widen. Of course, he would. First and foremost, he needs to apologize to the kid. It's a huge relief to know that he's conscious again. And most of all, he feels the need to warn him about this Kageyama Tobio. Atsumu nods.

“Good.” Oikawa smiles slightly. “That will make him happy. “

He stubs out his cigarette and leans against his desk, arms folded in front of his chest, his gaze once again fixed on the rainy city of Sendai. Oikawa looks thoughtful, like someone who is considering his next move without going checkmate. Atsumu still wonders what the Kumichō is up to.

His gaze is determined as he turns back to Atsumu. He pushes himself off his desk and walks slowly towards him, pulling out a note from his jacket as he does so. Atsumu stands up, frowns, and takes the piece of paper.

“What’s this?” He asks confused and unfolds it.

“Youko's location.”

Atsumu's stomach drops.

What?!

“He has something that belongs to Osamu. I think you should get it back.” Oikawa elaborates but Atsumu is somewhat shaken up.

“What?” He breathes, his ears are ringing. His eyes are wide open, and his heart is beating way too fast. Blood boils up inside him and all Atsumu can think about is slitting his knife through this asshole's throat right here, right now.

Oikawa maintains eye contact. Atsumu's gaze blazes with vengeance. “If you're smart, you'll make him talk before you kill him.”

Atsumu frowns but understands Oikawa's implications. Youko might know more about Osamu's current location. Not might, actually. From what Atsumu can read of Oikawa's face, Atsumu knows the Kumichō is sure about that.

Atsumu's gaze flits to the note in his hand and notices the address. He raises an eyebrow. “Seijoh?”

It could be a trap. Seijoh doesn't belong to Oikawa anymore, but to Ushijima, as far as Atsumu knows. So, if Oikawa sends him to Ushijima's territory to kill one of his men, he's deliberately putting Atsumu at some risk.

“You'll have to take Sakusa with you,” Oikawa answers him firmly. Atsumu frowns even more. Of course. Sakusa. His secret weapon. None of this makes any sense.

“How do you know Youko will be there? Seijoh doesn't belong to you anymore.”

“That may be.” Now Oikawa is the one frowning. The fact that Seijoh is no longer his territory bothers him more than he wants to let on. “Still, I have my ways, Atsumu. Not everyone there is following Ushijima.”

Certainly not people who are still on Oikawa's side. This information must be safe.

Atsumu's gaze drifts back down to the address on the note. He folds it back up and tucks it into his jacket pocket, glancing back into Oikawa's eyes.

“I don't know why Omi gets a fuckin’ free pass wherever we go, but if word gets out that we're takin’ Youko down in Seijoh then it might cause a war between you and Ushijima.”

Atsumu doesn't have to explain it to him. Oikawa isn't dense. Of course, he knows.

“We may have an ace up our sleeve, Atsu-chan.” And again, Atsumu frowns. He can't figure Oikawa out. “It was stupid of Youko to attack Hinata of all people.”

The Kumichō stalks back to the windows and stares at his city. He ponders. About every single move. Again, Oikawa is ten steps ahead before Atsumu even begins to comprehend the situation.

“‘Cause he's practically turned everyone here against him?”

Hinata is lovely. Everyone wants to avenge him. But Oikawa shakes his head.

“Because in this case, we have Tobio-chan on our side.”

Now, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Kageyama Tobio?” Atsumu asks and Oikawa nods.

Sakusa mentioned something is going on between Kageyama and Hinata. The kid has vaguely referred to a person who could match that guy. Now Oikawa's comment... Atsumu is sure something was going on between the two. Why else would Kageyama be on their side?

“What happened between them?” Atsumu wonders aloud, but Oikawa just scoffs. “That's not for me to tell.”

Atsumu didn't exactly think Hinata liked the Adlers that much. So why would he ever care about any of his enemies? And the same the other way around. Atsumu knows nothing about Kageyama, but from everything he does know about Yakuza, he's pretty sure the Adlers can't stand Oikawa's mob either.

It doesn't make sense.

“Affection builds stronger on hatred, Atsu-chan.”

Atsumu blinks, his gaze snapping to Oikawa. He doesn't bother to look at him, yet he knows exactly what the assassin is racking his brains about. His gaze lingers on Sendai for a moment longer before turning his head to Atsumu, now standing beside him.

“And sometimes we feel the most for the people we least expect it from.” Oikawa continues. Atsumu frowns.

“I don't tell my people whom they should or shouldn't get involved with. But know that I will always be on their side. No matter what.”

Are they still talking about Kageyama and Hinata? Oikawa looks like he knows something but he’s talking in riddles that Atsumu can’t figure out. Is this about him? Atsumu isn’t sure.

“That's what a good Kumichō should do, isn’t it?” He murmurs instead, holding Oikawa’s gaze. Oikawa nods.

“That is what a good Kumichō should do.”

It's ridiculously quiet as Sakusa and Atsumu head off to Seijoh. Resting his head against his fist, Atsumu frowns pensively at the road ahead. With his other hand, he subconsciously, almost nervously, fiddles with the crescent moon charm of his necklace. He tries to gather everything he knows about Youko so far – and it seems like it’s not even that much.

Atsumu knows he is one of Ushijima's men, trying to go into business independently. Apparently, he acted without his Kumichō knowing when he attempted to kill Hinata, which didn't exactly earn him any friends. Now Youko has both Oikawa's group and his colleague Kageyama against himself (who is also acting without Ushijima knowing? Atsumu isn't sure about that).

Youko has someone in the background supporting him and wanting to make the three big Yakuza fight each other. That's his main reason for attacking Hinata in the first place. But what bothers Atsumu the most is that he knows about the identities of Inarizaki's assassins.

Apparently, Inarizaki’s infamous Miya twins really do exist.

Atsumu clicks his tongue in annoyance. He and Sakusa definitely need to find Youko before Kageyama does. He is currently the only person who can provide him with answers about Osamu, and Atsumu will make sure Youko spills everything he knows.

If Kageyama manages to kill him first, Atsumu will have to start from scratch, and he can't afford to do that. Sakusa, too, isn’t allowed to pull out his gun before Atsumu gets Youko to talk because all the bastard wants, is revenge for Hinata. He doesn't care about Atsumu's interests which means Youko is supposed to be Atsumu’s mark and Atsumu’s mark alone.

“Hey,” he grumbles annoyed, his gaze still averted from Sakusa.

“I should have known silence wouldn't last long,” Sakusa mutters under his mask, catching Atsumu's glare. The assassin scowls at him.

“Fuck you, Omi.”

“Uh-huh, how mature.” Sakusa rolls his eyes and pays Atsumu no further attention.

Atsumu scoffs. “Now look who’s talkin’. Why the fuck didn’t ya tell me Shōyō-kun's alright?”

“You didn’t ask,” Sakusa replies bluntly and Atsumu wants to rip his own hair.

“I—” His voice cracks and all he can do is stare stupidly at Sakusa while blinking a billion times. He can't be serious, right? How can someone be such a fucking asshole?

Atsumu huffs as he turns away and slumps back into the foiled seat, cursing under his breath and running a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He shouldn't be surprised anymore, should he? Sakusa has always been an asshole. Nothing has changed about that.

“Oh my God, I really wanna kill ya.”

“You can’t.”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu bites back and stares out of the window to his side, muttering some more curses. “Seriously, Omi. Fuck. You.”

He scowls at the passing trees and clenches his jaw. When he gets the chance, Atsumu will kill him. That's for sure. To be honest, he can hardly wait for this day.

Sakusa regains Atsumu's attention with a light chuckle flitting across his lips but all Atsumu can see, though, are his onyx eyes lighting up and the corners of his eyes creasing, and fuck, does that laugh sound beautiful?

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is seriously nothing he should be thinking about right now. Or… ever.

“When we reach Youko's hideout,” Atsumu grumbles, face somewhat flushed, and once again averted from Sakusa. “I'll be the one to kill him.”

“Are you even able to do that?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow, gaze still focused on the road.

“Want me to try it out on ya? I mean, I’d love to.” Atsumu replies half-pissed, but Sakusa just laughs. “Ah. We’re having this conversation again?”

Atsumu huffs. What happened between them was a one-time thing. Sakusa got to see what he wanted to see and Atsumu got stuff out of his system that had been pent up for far too long. The cherry on top of the cake was having a hot man watch him doing so. The mood was truly mind-blowing. A once in a lifetime thing. It’s supposed to be out of his system by now.

Except it's not out of his system.

Because the hot man became kind of hotter and the spark of curiosity within Atsumu that popped up realizing what he'd triggered in Sakusa didn't exactly subside throughout the whole act. Quite the opposite.

He's on the verge of igniting a flame that would cause an insatiable fire. And that would be something Atsumu wouldn't get rid of so easily. But right now, Atsumu seems to be more focused. Somehow. A little bit. He guesses.

Atsumu pulls up a water bottle from between his legs and uncaps it. He can't help but be at least as smug about their shared night as Sakusa is. After all, he knows what he did to him, and he's too curious if he could evoke any more reactions out of him. Too curious about whether this will rattle the moron or not.

“I wonder what’cha sound like when ya scream, Omi-kun,” Atsumu smirks before taking a sip. “I think ya’d be a pretty crier.”

“Stop dressing like a heathen and you might find out.”

Atsumu almost chokes on his spit.

“I— Wha—” Now that backfired. Obviously, it doesn't throw Sakusa off track but Atsumu. He looks down at himself to check his outfit and then back up at Sakusa, his expression somewhat aghast. “I am properly dressed!”

Sakusa clears his throat. “Debatable.”

“Says the one who’s colorblind.”

“You?”

“Fuck you, Omi.” Atsumu laughs. “Seriously, ya should bring some color into yer life.” Even though black looks damn hot on you. “That would make ya look less... less mortician-like.”

“I prefer classic over ridiculous.” Sakusa quirks a brow but Atsumu just snorts. “And I prefer Yakuza rather dead than alive, now look who’s still very much breathing. At least you'll look pretty in yer coffin when I kill ya, Omi-kun. Now I see the whole point of you walkin’ around like that.”

“It's sweet how your dreams still revolve around me. I'm almost flattered, Miya.”

“Sure thing, because killing ya will remain ‘just a dream’.”

“Remind me the next time you come so hard you lose control over your body again.” This time, Atsumu chokes on the water for real. His jacket is wet. Sakusa chuckles lowly. “You’re too easy, Miya. I thought you were a worthy opponent, but I guess everyone can be wrong.”

Okay, woah, stop. Too many things are going on right now.

First, even though what Sakusa said was kind of an insult it was also a compliment? He openly admitted he considers Atsumu a formidable opponent and Atsumu will surely savor that for a while. Second, Atsumu is anything but easy. If Sakusa thinks he's already figured him out, he's really got it wrong. And third, and most important of all…

Is there going to be a next time?

Although Atsumu promised himself this would remain a one-time thing, it bothers him Sakusa didn't want more than just watching him jack off. He doesn't blame him, no way.

But shit, Sakusa is hot and Atsumu knows he is too, and if Sakusa's instructions alone turned him on like that, if a paltry handjob blows Atsumu's mind like he just had the best sex of his life, then he's too damn curious to see what else the bastard's capable of. Because it was good, fucking phenomenal even.

On the other hand, Atsumu remembers Sakusa is his enemy, and he should only have one kind of interest in Yakuza: to see them dead. And yes, Sakusa is definitely someone he wants to see bleed. But sometimes (always) Atsumu couldn’t care less about rules, especially when they're unspoken.

He wouldn't be a Miya if he would give two shits about them, right?

“I was almost impressed, Omi.” Atsumu's eyelids drop halfway. “You’re very strong-willed. I'll give ya that.”

Sakusa huffs. “Because I didn't kill you at that moment? Yes, believe me, I was close.”

“Mhmm,” Atsumu hums. “I believe ya were close.”

He leans back into the seat and spreads his legs a little wider. Atsumu rolls his head to the side, gazing at Sakusa, but the bastard remains unfazed. He keeps driving as if he's alone in the car but the blush on the tips of his ears doesn't go unnoticed by Atsumu. The assassin throws the water bottle into the footwell, causing Sakusa to frown.

Sakusa was hard when he edged Atsumu, unmistakably. Atsumu gets it if Sakusa doesn't want to fuck him for various reasons – although actually, he doesn't… because come on, Atsumu is hot. But the least he could do was to jerk off too when Atsumu offered, and the bastard refused even that.

It would have been too nice to see what was hiding underneath that pesky snobbish fabric of his pants. Atsumu can’t help but wonder how big Sakusa is. Shit, what he might look like when he comes…

“Although it was a bit cruel,” Atsumu clears his throat, pushing these thoughts aside. “Ya knew I was patient for a long time, and all ya can think of is makin’ me edge myself? Are you a sadist, Omi-kun?”

“Maybe.” Sakusa smirks beneath his mask, Atsumu can tell by the creases at the corners of his eyes. The goon rests his jaw on his fist and steers with only one hand. For a second, Sakusa’s gaze lingers on Atsumu. No longer smirking, his expression is now rather intrigued. “Think you can handle it?”

The corner of Atsumu's mouth curls up into a smirk, blood rushes into his cheeks and down his dick. He must be a masochist. How fitting.

“Depends,” Atsumu murmurs. “What else can ya offer?”

“Well…” Stopping at a red light, he turns to Atsumu. Sakusa's eyes light up. “Seems like you enjoy playing with knives. So, what about…”

“No fucking way,” Atsumu interrupts, his expression returned to seriousness. Sakusa’s smirk is back as he tilts his head. “Are you telling me you're scared if I use a knife on you, Miya? Your own weapon?”

“So ya can kill me? D’ya think I’m stupid?”

“Honestly?”

“Shut up.”

Atsumu knows he's pouting, and he can feel the skin on his face burning. Knifeplay is definitely nothing Atsumu will ever get involved in, and certainly not with Sakusa. The idiot wouldn't even know how to handle a good blade, would he?

The answer is yes, he knows.

Because no rookie would be able to slit the throat of Youko's henchman the way Sakusa did back when they were looking for him in Shiratorizawa. This guy isn't only good with guns, but apparently with all kinds of other weapons as well.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. How annoying.

When Sakusa stops driving like a maniac, adapting to the driving style of his fellow citizens, and starts looking around attentively, Atsumu knows they will soon arrive at Youko's location. In a side street, they eventually come to a halt. Sakusa turns to him with a frown before stepping out of his car.

“Youko is in a tailor’s shop around the corner. At this hour, he should be alone, but if there's still someone else around, we don't have much time.” Atsumu stares at him with wide eyes, frowning as he ponders what Sakusa is implying. Sakusa notices his lack of knowledge, so he continues.

“You got business with him, don't you? I'll immobilize him and then I'll give you an hour.” Sakusa opens the door and Atsumu frowns harder, stepping out of the car as well. “Twenty minutes if he's not alone, or less. Depends on who's with him,” he says as he slams the door shut and holds Atsumu's gaze.

So Atsumu has free rein, huh? Good. This means he can ask Youko anything about Osamu before he ends his life, certainly not in a nice way. He owes his twin and Hinata that much.

“Youko will try to shoot at us, so leave the incapacitation to me.” Sakusa attaches a sound suppressor to his gun. “Everything else is up to you.”

Atsumu cocks an eyebrow as he watches Sakusa set up his weapon. “What else are you gonna put on that thing? Stock? Barrel? Muzzle? Geez, Omi.”

“I will honestly blow your brains out, Miya, we are in Seijoh. If anyone here catches us killing Ushijima's man, we're dead. Both of us.”

“Ya might need an underbarrel for that, gonna add that too? Or did yer gun handler run out of shit ‘cause you keep stocking up that tiny mini gun of yers.”

Sakusa glares at him and Atsumu can’t help but chuckle.

Seems like his free ride ends here, huh? Interesting.

Atsumu gives him a firm nod. He understands what the guy is trying to say, the message is clear: Don't screw this up. And Sakusa doesn't have to worry, because Atsumu's fingers itch to finally paint Youko's body with blood.

As they walk away from Sakusa's car and round the corner, they immediately spot the previously mentioned tailor's shop. It’s impossible to miss.

The entrance of the brick building is clad in wood and ornamented with many small rectangular windows of the same size. Inside, a large scarlet curtain falls to the left and right, draped to the side to provide a view into the store. Above the entrance is a teal sign with "The Black Sheep" brandished in golden letters.

What an irony of fate.

Sakusa scowls at the shop, then speaks without shooting Atsumu a glance. “Let’s go.”

Atsumu is close behind Sakusa as he quickly marches to the entrance, pushing the door open and aiming directly at Youko's shoulder. A pain-filled scream runs through the room, and Youko's pistol drops out of his hand.

Shit. Sakusa is just as ruthless as he was with Goshiki. Only that, unlike Goshiki, Youko is on their hit list.

“You motherfu—” He is cut off as Sakusa aims his gun at Youko’s knee and puts a bullet through it. The asshole howls in agony and slumps to the ground, whining and writhing beside his dropped pistol. Blood seeps through his fingers and more curses through his mouth. “Piece of shit! Son of a—fuck!!”

Sakusa faces him and kicks his gun aside so it’s out of Youko’s reach. “Is there anyone else here?”

“Suck my dick, Saku—” A knife finds Youko’s thigh, and another scream is ripped from his lungs, beads of sweat forming on his temple.

“Wrong answer, bastard,” Atsumu says crouched down next to Youko as he draws the knife out and smears Youko's face with his own blood. He’s cutting his skin slightly, barely noticeably. Youko contorts his face, swallows hard, and turns pale. Atsumu watches him with deadly eyes. “Try again.”

“Miya Atsumu,” the guy laughs. A borderline hysterical sound. “What an honor... So, it's true that you're Oikawa's ally.”

“The hell am I,” Atsumu bites back. He straightens up and glares down at Youko. His arrogant face literally screams to be killed.

“We're alone,” Sakusa announces as he checks the store for more people and pulls the curtains at the entrance closed so no one can see them. They have an hour, Atsumu recalls, already contemplating that Youko no longer deserves so much time in this world.

Youko tries to sit up straight and slams his back against a counter, glancing up at Atsumu, sweating. He presses the hand of his yet uninjured arm against the gash in his thigh as if it might somehow stop his bleeding. Pain is written all over his face.

“How do ya know about Inarizaki's assassins?” Atsumu growls. He couldn't care less how Youko is feeling right now. The asshole huffs.

“Oh Inarizaki... the untouched land, huh?” He chuckles mockingly. “Shouldn't you of all people know that you're quite desirable? Everyone wants you on the team, but you think you're better than everyone else.” Youko contorts his face, all that remains is pure hatred.“All of you should be exterminated, especially your stuck boss.”

“You're pretty good at that, ain't ya? Not answering the questions you're asked?”

Atsumu ignores Youko's ramblings; especially with Sakusa present, he doesn't want to respond. Inarizaki's assassins are strong, probably the most powerful in Japan in the last few years, and the thing that makes them so desirable to everyone is that they are independent. 

They don't belong to Yakuza the way others do but act entirely on their own. It's incredible how someone who has no allies can face 3 major forces and several minor ones without batting an eye. Inarizaki’s assassins are s-tier. Everyone knows that.

That's why there is only a selected group of people that ever found out who is really behind them because six feet under was quite a convenient home for those who tried to do so.

Inarizaki's only well-known face is Kita. Working as a contractor, he makes sure that no one can ever harm his family – it will always come first for him. To harm those he cherishes is basically a death wish which explains why there’s only a limited number of Kita’s clients. He doesn’t want to attract any unwanted attention. 

So, Atsumu wonders how someone would be able to know this much about Inarizaki and himself, let alone Youko of all people. He isn’t someone Kita would sign contracts with.

Youko grits his teeth as Atsumu slams one palm down on his hands to press into the cut on his thigh. He grabs his shoulder with the other, squeezing the heel of his hand into the gunshot wound. For one thing, Atsumu stops Youko’s bleeding to keep him conscious, and for another, he makes him suffer even more pain. After all, Youko shouldn't miss any of it, and an hour can be quite long.

“Tell me, Pudding,” Sakusa scoffs at that and slams something in the background but Atsumu decides to ignore it. “Who’s yer lovely informant?”

Youko knits his eyebrows together, shutting his eyes as he tries to breathe through the pain and smiling mockingly when he's swallowed the preliminary shock. Reopening his eyes, he glares at Atsumu with mischief and hatred, reluctant to spill a single word. Youko is a sly bitch.

“What? Will you spare me if I tell you?”

So, it is someone from Kita's clients.

“I can be very accommodatin’, generous even.”

“Sure,” Sakusa snorts and Atsumu clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes before turning his gaze back to Youko. The asshole sweats increasingly, the color fades from his skin, and pallor creeps over his body. He won't survive that for too long, yet the hatred in his eyes is still as evident as ever.

Atsumu's hand creeps up from Youko’s shoulder to his chin, gripping it hard and forcing him to tilt his head back so he can look up into Atsumu's cold eyes. He might be intimidating, but he can’t deny there’s nothing but hope behind his unmerciful gaze. Hope to get his brother back in one piece.

“Do I need to remind ya who you’re tal—" Atsumu has no chance to finish the question as Sakusa rustles behind him with something that sounds like crumpled foil. He abruptly lets go of Youko, stands up, and whips his head around to glare furiously at Sakusa.

“Omi, the fuck are ya doing?!”

“I’m looking for a suit for you,” the bastard says bluntly and wraps something in a garment bag that looks suspiciously like some light gray fabric with a faint plaid pattern. Sakusa zips it up and hangs it on the door at the entrance.

“Correction,” he adds, not making a face. “I was looking for a suit for you. I was thinking it would look quite nice on you but to be honest, any suit will look good since you dress like a five-year-old toddler.”

Atsumu stares at him speechlessly and seriously considers killing Sakusa instead of Youko. Or both. Yeah. Both sounds fucking fantastic.

His blazing eyes are melted into the endless night in Sakusa's gaze as the jerk walks toward Atsumu. When Sakusa reaches him, the bastard scrunches up his nose and takes his eyes off the assassin to stare disdainfully at Youko.

“You're wasting your time, Miya.” Youko's gaze is filled with even more hatred than it was towards Atsumu. “He only opens his mouth to praise himself. He won't talk.”

It's not like Atsumu isn't aware of that. Youko has already accepted that he's going to die. So why should he betray those he has worked with? It wouldn’t make any sense.

Sakusa strolls behind the counter that Youko is leaning against and starts inspecting it. “Just kill him,” he remarks with a furrowed brow, his gaze now fixed on the furniture in front of him, finding interest in everything but the interrogation.

Youko’s time is ticking; he’s tethered on the edge of life and death. If he was at his end, Atsumu would probably just kill him. But he knows the drill.

It's not the first time Atsumu has made a stubborn asshole like Youko talk. Only when Youko has no more will to live and still won't spill the tea Atsumu can be sure that all of what he is doing right now is useless. But he can’t give up yet, not when Youko is the closest thing he has ever gotten to finding out where his brother is.

He turns his gaze back to the wounded man on the ground, his expression back to seriousness. If he doesn't want to answer that question, then a different one may work.

“Where is Osamu?”

Atsumu’s gaze flits to Sakusa, rummaging through drawers across from Atsumu. He could have sworn Sakusa's body froze for a split second when Atsumu uttered his brother's name. Or maybe he was just imagining things. He doesn’t care.

Youko laughs desperately, contorting his face as his chest rises and falls heavily. His miserable face gets paler and paler the more blood he loses. Panting, he tries to form some words. “How the hell should I know?”

Atsumu clicks his tongue and frowns. So, he's someone who likes to play dumb, huh? God, Atsumu hates people like him.

“When you attacked Hinata in Shiratorizawa, yer disgusting men had his name on their tongues. I’m pretty sure ya have an idea or two.” He bends down and grabs Youko harshly by the collar, making him groan in pain. “Don’t fuck with me or the next thing I’ll cut is gonna be yer dick.”

Youko has the audacity to scoff.

“It was a lie to lure you away.” He squints his eyes and swallows hard, obviously fighting his body to stay conscious. “I have no idea where Osamu is.”

Atsumu frowns and scowls at him. He feels like Youko is lying and his hunch is confirmed when Sakusa straightens up and pulls something out of one of the drawers. Sakusa quirks a brow, staring at the piece in his grasp. “And what’s this?”

Atsumu’s blood runs cold. He feels like a bucket of ice was spilled all over him.

From Sakusa's gloved hand dangles the same golden necklace that Atsumu is currently wearing around his neck. The only difference is that the charm isn't a crescent moon, but a ring adorned with alternating large and small curved spikes. A flaming sun.

He has something that belongs to Osamu. I think you should get it back.

Atsumu's stomach drops; suddenly Oikawa's words make so much sense.

It’s Osamu's necklace and the Kumichō  knew about it. He knew Youko had information about Osamu. He knew Atsumu would make major progress in finding his brother by confronting Youko here. He knew Youko would know more than he was pretending to.

How the hell did he know?

And why the fuck did Oikawa leave it to Atsumu when he could have taken advantage of it?

“Where the fuck did ya get this from?” Atsumu asks, just above a whisper. His eyes are fixed on the necklace, his gaze livid, his face paler than ever.

He drops Youko's body and ignores his howl of pain. Atsumu approaches Sakusa with slow steps, carefully taking the necklace from his hand and observing the piece of jewelry in the center of his palm.

There's an odd tightness around his throat that makes it hard to swallow. He has experienced this feeling before, right when he let Osamu slip from under his nose, along with the feeling of guilt clawing at the back of his mind.

It's as if the ground has been pulled out from under Atsumu's feet. As if he is falling, endlessly until he shatters. As if it’s pulling him, sucking him in. A black hole that tears him out of reality. His ears are ringing, numbness settles over him. His mind is playing tricks; he sees nothing but Osamu’s dead body.

He needs to know where he is.

Sakusa stares at him skeptically, seemingly catching on to the hidden sorrow behind Atsumu’s fierce gaze, but all the blonde can focus on is his brother's necklace. His counterpart.

Anger builds up inside him.

“Where's Osamu?” Atsumu asks again, quietly, his voice menacing. His eyes are still fixed on the piece in his hand while the world is ready to crush him into pieces. He clenches his hand into a fist, pressing the charm and his nails into his palm so hard that it hurts.

Breathe.

Atsumu closes his eyes as he chokes down the lump in his throat. He clenches his fist even tighter so that blood drips from his hand onto the counter between him and Sakusa. He feels nothing but anger and hatred and the desire to break something. Anything. His feelings are like a storm building up. Ominous. Deadly.

What else could he feel besides the desire to burn the whole city into ashes?

Breathe, ’Tsumu…

The fact that Atsumu is underestimated happens quite often. Those who do, quickly pay for their mistake; survivors won't do it twice. That anyone would be so foolish as to irritate Atsumu that much, although they know what he is capable of, is more of a rarity. And yet Youko decides to do just that. How foolish. Isn’t he already hanging by a thread? What else does he want?

“Not in my pocket,” Youko replies and scoffs, having the audacity to laugh. Sakusa's frown deepens the longer he watches Atsumu. He suspects the assassin is a ticking bomb by now.

And then Atsumu snaps. Some tempers are shorter than others, besides…

Osamu has always been the cool-headed one.

In the blink of an eye, he has Youko by the neck, slamming his bloody fist down on the asshole’s jaw. Atsumu jumps on top of him when another fist hit Youko's nose, the sound of bones cracking is filling the room.

“Where is he?!” Atsumu yells as his fists meet the reddening skin of the guy beneath him. Youko has no strength to fight back anymore, taking strike after strike while Atsumu loses control over his body.

Miya...

He needs to know where his brother is.

Miya.

Osamu was kidnapped because of—

’Tsumu… 

“Miya!” Sakusa rips him out of his trance.

“What?!” Atsumu snaps.

His golden eyes are wide with rage, killer instinct completely taking over him. Nothing but the sheer desire to kill Youko went through his mind. Even when he’s gazing up to meet Sakusa’s eyes, he feels nothing but remorse. 

Why ‘Samu?

Why didn’t they take me?

Atsumu is panting as he faces him, was yanked away from Youko when he failed to react to Sakusa's voice.

Sakusa's grip is tight around Atsumu's biceps while his fist is buried firmly in the collar of his red jacket. Sakusa holds his gaze, checking Atsumu's eyes for anything that will reassure him the assassin has regained his senses. And it's strange because only now does Atsumu notice Sakusa's eyes aren't entirely black, but there's a gleam of very, very dark hunter-green floating in them.

Beautiful, Atsumu thinks and ponders whether he has ever seen such beautiful eyes before.

He hasn't. He doesn’t think he will ever again.

“He's basically a corpse, Miya,” Sakusa hisses in irritation while his pupils dilate and a hint of distress spreads across his face. He seems to be insanely uncomfortable. As if he couldn’t bare to look at the mess that Atsumu is. It takes the assassin a moment to understand what’s going on.

When he catches Sakusa's hands almost trembling, Atsumu snaps out of his stupor. Anyone would’ve failed to notice the way they dare to almost shake as if he’s fighting to still his own touch. Anyone but Atsumu.

Sakusa has his reasons why he prefers a gun to a knife. Atsumu knows he has splashes of blood, Youko's blood, on his face. Atsumu's own bloody hand clasps Sakusa's wrists, his skin solely protected by the fabric of his suit. And then he remembers Iwaizumi’s words.

Sakusa just really hates to be touched.

Or he just doesn't know how to handle it.

Atsumu instantly releases his grip as he realizes his little tantrum is about to send Sakusa into a panic attack, which neither of them can handle right now. It was just a hunch at first but seeing Sakusa’s disgusted face confirms Atsumu's belief that he suffers from mysophobia. The signs are clear, Atsumu knows them from his mother after all.

A few seconds later, Sakusa releases his grip on Atsumu too and vanishes into the bathroom of the tailor's shop. Atsumu frowns, his gaze following him. He decides to stay quiet, though. He'd probably make things worse.

So, he turns his attention back to Youko, who lies covered in blood on the floor. His head is slowly reeling back and forth, his eyes blinking several times, groaning in a way Atsumu has only heard from people that are about to die. He is suffering and it’s satisfying to watch him do so.

“Any last words, asshole?” Atsumu asks as he crouches down next to Youko. With the back of his hand, he brushes strands from his own face, his disgusted gaze dropping down to the bastard on the floor.

He pulls Osamu's knife from its sheath and brings it to Youko's throat. However, just before he cuts him, the guy slurs and causes Atsumu's movements to stop.

“…aka.” It was soft, barely audible.

Atsumu tilts his head and frowns. “What?”

“Os—” Youko starts again, interrupting himself with a low whine.

“C’mon buddy, focus.” Atsumu pats Youko's cheek twice to keep him awake. His eyes flutter open and a second later shut. He swallows hard, chokes, and then writhes his body, coughing up some blood. Atsumu sighs.

He won't last much longer.

Youko groans in pain. He gasps for breath as he stops coughing, and curls up, making himself small. “Osaka…” He blurts, his voice is raspy.

Atsumu freezes, frown deepening as he stares down at Youko. He notices the asshole’s eyelashes getting wet. Atsumu knows at this point Youko is done.

Osaka?

It could be another lie, but Atsumu is pretty sure he's telling the truth. He would have found Osamu by now if he had been in Sendai. And in fact, Osaka was one of the places he hasn’t dared to step foot there yet, fearing the worst.

He'll have to check it out, it could be a lead.

“Good boy,” Atsumu whispers, pressing the blade against Youko's vein. “I'll make it quick.”

Youko sobbed as Atsumu uttered the words. It dies down, though, as Atsumu draws the knife through his skin, shutting him up once and for all.

This is for Hinata…

Atsumu stands up and stares down at Youko. He almost feels bad.

…and for Osamu.

Atsumu jerks his head around as Sakusa steps out of the bathroom and peers at him. They need to get out of here. Now.

“Goodness gracious, Omi! Ya look fresh as ever! Was the feeling of me so strong ya had a breakdown in there?” Atsumu says nonchalantly in hopes of lighting up the mood a little. After all, he was the one who lost his temper.

“I had to retch five times, and one more time for good measure. I hope your toothbrush gets stuck in your throat,” Sakusa spits back.

“Which toothbrush?” Atsumu chuckles and Sakusa shoots him a death glare. “Geez! I was just joking, Omi! C’mon,” Atsumu releases a deep breath. It’s time for them to leave. “Let's go.”

დ

☾　✴　　.　☾　✴　✧　　　　　☾　　　*　　✦

*　　　*　*　　☾　　　✦　　　　.　　☾*

“Hey, ‘Samu?”

“Mhmm?”

“When we’re sick’n’tired of this…” Atsumu rolls to the side and snuggles deeper into his futon, facing his brother who’s staring at the ceiling of their shared room. “Let's open that restaurant you've always dreamed of.”

Osamu quirks a brow and chuckles lightly. “Yer never gettin’ sick’n’tired of this, ‘Tsumu.”

“The hell would ya know?” Atsumu snaps, too tired to be seriously annoyed.

“Just’a feelin’.” Osamu shrugs and rolls to the side too, facing his brother and giving him a lazy smile. Atsumu yawns and then pouts.

“Well, yer feeling sucks.”

Osamu frowns and scowls at him. “You suck.”

Atsumu slides his middle finger out of his blanket in front of his face, scowling back at Osamu. His twin can't help but laugh, the sound is oddly soothing. Sometimes it's weird how easily Osamu can get Atsumu to calm down.

It may be the twin connection or simply the fact that Osamu is the only one Atsumu has left from his family. Osamu knows him better than anyone else, probably even better than himself. He knows what makes Atsumu tick and Atsumu hates (loves) him for that.

Growing up with a twin is not that easy.

But Atsumu wouldn't want to miss a second of it.

“But yeah,” Osamu starts, staring at his brother with a dopey smile on his face. “I guess we can do that, dumbass.”

“Fuck you.” Atsumu chuckles and then closes his eyes. It’s dark. He’s tired. He wants to sleep.

Osamu chuckles once more before his voice softens again. “Ma’ would’ve loved that.”

“Mhmmm…” Atsumu hums in confirmation. Osamu resembles her a lot. She loved cooking for her boys and the same passion lives within Osamu.

Atsumu misses her, especially in situations like these when it’s just the two of them, thinking about how happy they all used to be. He is glad that at least he still has his brother.

“Hey, ‘Samu?” Atsumu whispers. He’s drowsy.

“Hm?”

He needs to sleep.

“You will always stay with me, right?”

I wouldn't know what to do without you.

Osamu hums. “There’s no me without you.”

“Sap,” Atsumu deadpans.

Osamu chuckles. “Moron.”

“I hate ya.”

He doesn’t. Well, sometimes, maybe. But not right now.

“Yeah,” Osamu exhales, sounding at least as tired as Atsumu is. Atsumu imagines he's about to fall asleep too but he is too tired to open his eyes to actually check. “We’re in this together, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu hums.

Together.

He pictures them somewhere downtown in Osaka, just as Osamu has always dreamed. A small food shop… ‘Onigiri Miya’, just like their mother always wanted.

Yeah… together with you. That sounds nice, ‘Samu…

❆　•　　.　❆　•　❆　　　　　❆　　　*

*　　　*　*　　❆　　　❅　　　　　　❆*

❆　　　　•　　　❅　　•　　　.*••.

Atsumu blinks and wonders... where does the snow go?

Once the sun is up, the heat is so intense that it melts away. Slowly, carefully, it’s turning into water, slipping into the ground. Solid turns into liquid. White turns dull.

Even water vanishes… but where does it go?

Snow is supposed to be cold, right? So, why does it feel like lava in Atsumu’s hands? It’s scorching hot as if it’s boiling water, melting the skin off his hands. His palms aren’t red, though. What’s going on?

Huh…

Two figures are playing in the snow. They don’t seem to be struggling with the heat. It looks like it's only Atsumu. Strange. 

“Atsumu it's just snow… why are you staring at it like it killed your pet bird? '' Sunarin chirps out of nowhere. He sounds... young.

Sunarin… where have you been? 

“Yeah ‘Tsumu, better get behind something quick or I’ll cover the both of ya in snow!” Osamu yells enthusiastically. Atsumu whips his head faster than lightning, gazing softly at his best friends. Tears well up in his eyes. 

What’s going on?

“Osa—” Atsumu tries to call out his brother's name just to get a mouthful of snow. What a fool he is, he should know his brother by now. 

“Bahaha get dunked on, dumbasses!” Osamu laughs, stuffing Atsumu and Suna’s faces with snow. The truth about Miya Osamu is that he's a sneaky bastard because yeah, even Rin can't escape him; he is covered from head to toe in white powder. 

It’s hot… why is this so hot? It’s supposed to be cold…

It's a mouthful of literal fire... what's wrong with this snow? Why are they okay with this shit being so damn hot?

“Fuck you, ‘Samu…” mutters Rin as he tries to brush the snow off himself. He bends down to pick up some snow of his own to smother it into the twins’ faces. The only thing Atsumu notices, though, is how quickly it melts in Suna's palms.

It must be the weather. The temperature must be a little over the top today.

Atsumu feels stupid, why is his throat so tight? His eyelashes flutter to get rid of the blurry vision, Atsumu's eyes are filled with tears. Why are they filled with tears? What the fuck is wrong with him? It's just snow, why is he so dramatic?

Not wanting to ruin the easygoing mood, Atsumu bends down to pick up some snow too. He tries to ignore the heat, trying to convince himself the snow is just very very cold.

Is he about to cry because the snow hurts him so much?

He doesn't have time to sulk right now. His friends are here with him; it's time to finally have some fun!

With their hands full of snow, Atsumu and Suna spin around. They are ready to attack Osamu, after all, they need to pay him back. But they forget who they are dealing with.

They both lack the speed that Osamu picked up in the years of fighting with Atsumu. After all, he had to dodge all the crap Atsumu was throwing at him. So he sidesteps their snowballs with ease, laughing mockingly while ducking behind a hideout.

He laughs and it infects Atsumu. Only now does the blonde realize they are in Hyogo. He realizes that they are on the hills where they used to romp in the snow when they were teenagers. He realizes Osamu is very much alive and they are having the time of their lives.

Ya can’t run that far, ‘Samu! 

“Oi, scrub!! That's high treason!”

“And why the hell should I care?” Osamu laughs. A snowball comes dashing in Atsumu's direction but misses him.

“Yer my fuckin' brother!” Atsumu yells, smiling as well.

“Isn't that punishment enough?” Suna laughs. Atsumu throws a snowball at him but he dodges it with ease. “Shut yer trap, Sunarin!”

Atsumu is the first to run after his brother, Suna right behind. With his hands full of snow, he is ready to launch his attack as if his life depended on it. He feels a strange sensation. It's like a kind of giddiness he hasn't felt in a long time, the feeling of joy coursing through his body. Hell, it's Osamu! 

Gosh, it's Samu...

Did he take his brother for granted?

He did. 

When Atsumu reaches the mound of snow that Osamu has been hiding behind, he’s ready to launch himself at his twin with the snow in his hands. It's practically melting the skin off his bones but Atsumu doesn't care, he just wants to have a little fun.

But there is nothing behind it.

No sounds, no footprints, no Osamu.

Atsumu freezes, his blood runs cold. It's almost as if history is repeating itself. Osamu is gone because he lost track of him. How can he be so stupid? How can he let something like this happen again? Hasn't he learned anything?

Atsumu likes to believe he learns quickly enough from his mistakes to avoid repeating them. But if that's the case, then where is Osamu? He was just there a moment ago.

It's impossible how fast he can vanish right from under Atsumu's nose... he must have been hiding somewhere else when he and Suna weren't looking.

‘Samu?

The snow is melting, a field of red spider lilies unfurls around Atsumu.

‘Samu… where are you?

He turns around, almost cracking his skull because he wants to inform Rin as fast as possible before they lose track of Osamu's footsteps on the snow that melts persistently. But all he encounters is an eerie silence, no sign of either of them as if they had never been there. 

What’s going on?!

Atsumu swallows thickly. It's hard, because his throat tightens once more, making it just as hard to breathe. So his chest rises and falls in short, shallow heaves, almost hyperventilating as panic surges through him. His eyes are red-rimmed, tears blocking his vision. There is this odd tremor in his fingers, in his legs, in his whole body. He can’t be happy for shit, can he?

A cold wind blows through the field of flowers.

'Samu...

You never realize how much someone impacts your life, how many laughs they bring out of you, how fast your mood lightens when you're around them, and how free you feel with them until they're gone.

Where are you?

Once there is nothing left of them but meaningless traces, only then do you realize how empty and repetitive the days have become without them.

Atsumu ponders. Would everything have been different if Osamu had never joined him? If Osamu had at least hidden with Atsumu? Should they have both just died that night?

Atsumu is sure that at least he should have.

He stares up at the sky, letting the wind sweep through his blond waves as a tear creeps down his cheek.

Samu, he wonders, are you still alive?

*　　　*　*　　☾　　　✦　　　　.　　☾*

☾　✴　　.　☾　✴　✧　　　　　☾　　　*　　✦

დ

Atsumu is hot when he wakes up and feels his heart race. His chest is heaving, breaths deep but hushed, assassin instincts kicking in. He swallows thickly, his throat is dry, and his eyes are wide open. He is sweating although it’s a cold night in December and he should be freezing. Something is wrong.

Atsumu sits upright, rubs his eyes with his knuckles, and feels his skin getting wet. Was he crying?

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, only to get stuck in the knots that have formed in his fitful sleep. So, he grasps the strands and stares into the darkness of the night. What the fuck did just happen?

He releases the grip, reaches to the bedside table to grab his phone, and scrolls down to the name of ‘Sunarin’, letting his digits hover over the call button. But instead of calling him, he locks his phone and puts it away like he always does in situations like this.

Another dream about Osamu. Another nightmare. An intense one.

The first dream, however, was more of a memory. It was just before they left for their last mission, Atsumu remembers it as if it was yesterday. The second dream? A bad premonition.

Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face and sighs deeply. He needs to calm down and distract himself, think of something else. The only thing is that he can't.

He stares at his phone next to his legs, illuminated by the moon. He hesitates for a moment but eventually lets his hand wrap around the device. Instead of seeking out Suna's number, Atsumu's fingers hover over a different one.

He's going to hate himself for this.

Omi-kun (today, 02:23 am):

>> No idea if you catch this but text me if you're still awake.

It's the middle of the night and they finished their mission five hours ago. Why would Sakusa still be awake? And above all, why should he text Atsumu? It was a stupid idea–

Omi-kun (today, 02:25 am):

<< I’m awake.

Oh.

Atsumu blinks, his chest is feeling weird. Why was Sakusa still up?

Omi-kun (today, 02:25 am):

>> Are u free?

Omi-kun (today, 02:25 am):

<< Why?

Atsumu sighs, his hands trembling slightly. Why would Sakusa agree to his plan a second time? And what does Atsumu even expect? He's fucking Yakuza, no one he should voluntarily go to.

And yet he's the only one who can distract Atsumu in his own weird way.

Omi-kun (today, 02:26 am):

>> I love my bed but I’d rather be in yours rn ;)

Omi-kun (today, 02:26 am):

<< Good night.

<< I hope you choke and die.

Omi-kun (today, 02:27 am):

>> Nooooo Omi-kun waittt!! >.<

Atsumu grins a little as he types to the prickly bastard. He keeps telling himself he's only going to get involved with him one more time. It's a weak moment. But if he wants to find Osamu he needs to be fully focused for that.

Omi-kun (today, 02:27 am):

>> I’m feeling a bit off is all…

Atsumu ponders if Sakusa has either fallen asleep or if he has driven him away because he doesn't receive any more messages from him for quite a while. When his screen lights up about 10 minutes later, his heart beats a little faster.

Omi-kun (today, 02:39 am):

<< Because of what happened earlier?

Omi-kun (today, 02:40 am):

>> Don’t know…

>> Maybe.

Omi-kun (today, 02:42 am):

<< You should try to sleep Miya.

Omi-kun (today, 02:42 am):

>> If I could do that I wouldn't be writing you Omi-kun…

It doesn't make sense. Why would Sakusa get involved with him? He hates Atsumu at least as much as Atsumu hates him, and as long as Sakusa doesn't touch him, he doesn't even get anything out of it. So why should he agree to this foolish idea?

Omi-kun (today, 02:42 am):

<< Be here in 20 minutes. Same hotel room and same code word as last time.

Holy shit.

Atsumu will go to hell for this.

Atsumu steps out of the shower and dries himself off. He tousles through his hair, not bothering to style it. That's what makes him even more attractive.

He takes a deep breath as he wraps the towel around his waist, stares into the half-fogged mirror, and grasps his necklace. He needs distraction or he's going crazy.

As he opens the door and leans against the doorframe, he spots Sakusa spreading a huge towel over the bed, blanket and pillow moved to the couch. As usual, he is dressed in black, but instead of a turtleneck sweater, he is wearing a silky button-down.

Five candles burn in small glass pitchers on the table between the couch and the armchairs, each one of them a different color. Wax has already liquified below the flame; pools of pink, peach, lime, sky blue, and violet are forming around the wick. It's a strange choice of colors, especially for someone like Sakusa.

Atsumu quirks a brow. “You wanna set the mood or somethin’?”

Sakusa smooths the towel on the sheets before turning his head to Atsumu. His curls fall shamelessly gorgeous into his face. “Or something,” he answers, keeping a straight face.

Atsumu pushes himself off the door frame and saunters to the bottom of the bed. With his arms crossed in front of his chest, he eyes Sakusa curiously, his brows raised. “What d’ya have planned this time, Omi? Are ya gonna talk me through again? ‘Cause ‘m not gonna lie–” Atsumu smirks. “That shit was hot.”

“Sure… something like that,” Sakusa answers unfazed, and it sends shivers down his spine. No idea what's so special about this man, but he fascinates Atsumu a little too much. He feels his blood rushing into his dick, feels the heat working its way into his cheeks.

This indifference that Sakusa radiates makes him even more desirable. Atsumu wants to coax so much more out of him than he managed last time. He wants to see what Sakusa looks like when he gives up control of his body as well. When he gives in to his desires. Fuck, Atsumu needs to know what Sakusa looks like when he comes.

I bet he looks pretty…

His cock jumps at the thought.

“What d’ya want me to do?” Atsumu licks his lips.

“Remove your towel,” Sakusa instructs, and something in Atsumu's stomach kicks in.

“Want another show?” He asks cockily, tilting his head and hooking his thumb between the towel and his skin. Sakusa snickers.

He grabs a remote control lying on the nightstand and sneaks behind Atsumu like a beast, the latter's golden eyes following him steadily. Atsumu feels Sakusa's body heat as he stands behind him, his gaze falling to his hand as Sakusa slides his gloved one over Atsumu’s forearm and then over his fingers. His chest isn't pressed against Atsumu's back but shit, Atsumu would love to know what it would feel like.

With the mask on, Atsumu doesn't feel Sakusa's breath on his skin, but as Sakusa leans down to his ear it sends so many sinful things through his body and mind that he once again forgets who he's actually dealing with.

“Will you give me a lap dance this time?” Sakusa murmurs and Atsumu wants to come right then and there.

He tilts his head slightly, meeting Sakusa's beautiful eyes. “Never for the likes of Yakuza.”

It's like they’re consuming him. Exposed and vulnerable, he faces his enemy, staring at him with a hungry gaze. Hungry for what? That's something Atsumu has yet to find out.

“What a shame,” Sakusa retorts ironically disappointed, and in one swing Atsumu's towel is gone and his cock bounces free. Atsumu sucks in a surprised sharp breath, followed by a mischievous grin.

“Sit down,” Sakusa murmurs after studying Atsumu's body for a while too long. Maybe he is planning how to kill Atsumu. Maybe he thinks of other things. Atsumu obeys his orders without further protest.

The towel’s fabric is surprisingly soft on the skin of Atsumu's ass. He spreads his legs a little while bracing his palms behind his back, reclining slightly. His eyes are half-lidded, his hungry gaze never averted from Sakusa. The bastard should enjoy this view.

“What now? Are ya gonna stand there while I jerk off?” Atsumu's hand slowly creeps to his cock, but Sakusa stops him abruptly. “Don't touch yourself.”

Atsumu tilts his head in confusion.

Oh? Now things are getting interesting.

Sakusa's hand nestles under Atsumu's chin to grasp it. He pulls him into an upright position, tilting his head so he has to glance up at Sakusa. Atsumu meets a furrowed brow and an unreadable look.

If only he would take off that damn mask…

“The candles on the table,” he begins, his gaze lost in molten gold. “They are made of soy wax. I'm going to start pouring the molten wax over your body. The candles should be big enough to keep the wax from getting too hot. To be safe, I'll start pouring it down on you a little higher.”

Atsumu's eyes widen, his stomach churns. Holy shit he's going to what? Pour hot wax on him? He must be crazy and Atsumu even more because why does this turn him on so much? He’s truly a masochist.

“I put some on my wrist earlier. The temperature is okay as far as I can tell.” Sakusa's grip on Atsumu's chin tightens a bit, his brow furrows even more. “If it's too hot for you, you'll let me know right away. The last thing I can afford to do is burn your skin.”

“Awww, so you're worried about me, Omi-Omi?”

“Miya.” Sakusa's look is... strange. “Your brain may be telling you that pain is what you need right now, but it's not. But then, I never thought you were the smartest.”

“Hey–”

“To a certain controlled level, pain is okay. If you overdo it and take on more than your body can handle, I'll stop. Right away. You got that?”

Why the hell is he so damn... caring? He shouldn't give a shit about Atsumu's feelings. Hurting Atsumu should be exactly what he craves. So why? Why is he acting just the opposite of how Atsumu would expect him to act?

The assassin remains silent, staring up at Sakusa with an almost pissed-off look, and nods slowly. His heart leaps.

Pain is exactly what I deserve.

“You will lie on your stomach so I can trickle the wax over your back. First, I'm going to check how your skin reacts to it. Then we’ll proceed from there.”

“Okay…” Atsumu breathes, frowning as Sakusa loosens his grip around his chin and withdraws his hand, already missing the feeling of Sakusa’s fingers on his skin, even if they’re gloved.

“You won’t touch yourself or me today. Do you understand?”

Atsumu's eyes widen in anticipation. Does that mean Sakusa will touch him? That he is going to wrap his hand around Atsumu's cock? Because damn, last time he checked, it felt way too good. Atsumu swallows thickly.

“Yeah.”

“Are you…” Sakusa stops, frowns, and seems to hesitate. He stares at Atsumu with appraising eyes. “Are you okay with all of this?”

Why do you even care?

“Yeah,” Atsumu gulps. His voice is quiet. How embarrassing.

“I’m going to use you, Atsumu.” Scratch that. It's embarrassing how much this turns him on. “You’re going to be my personal canvas.”

His what?

When Sakusa starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Atsumu almost chokes on his own spit. 

On his left arm, Sakusa exposes the tip of a black dragon's tail, surrounded by single petals that look very much like white and purple chrysanthemums. The dark ink on his pale skin starts halfway down his forearm. The petals shape into full blossoms as the dragon's tail begins to curl around his arm. 

Atsumu’s gaze roams over Sakusa’s inked skin. He wants to touch it, trace every pinprick with his fingertips. It shouldn't surprise him if Yakuza is tattooed, but it still astonishes him that someone like Sakusa would adorn his skin with ink. It makes him even hotter. Damn, Atsumu is going nuts.

What the fuck, Omi…

He frowns as the artwork ends in the crook of Sakusa's arm, covered by the stupid shirt that the bastard refuses to take off. Atsumu wants to rip it off, wants to see how far the dragon curls up on his skin, how many flowers surround it, is hungry to know if there's more hidden underneath.

How far does his tattoo reach? Atsumu guesses up to Sakusa's shoulder, anything else would be illegal. But he wants, needs, to know.

“You’re–” Atsumu stops himself before he says something stupid. You're beautiful, he almost blurted as if Sakusa was a deity.

Maybe he is.

“You're tattooed,” he says instead as if it wasn't obvious. Sakusa raises a brow, Atsumu sees him smirking beneath his mask and he hates it. “Surprised?”

Obviously, yes?

“Not a bit,” Atsumu lies nonchalantly, refusing to admit his astonishment, letting his gaze linger on Sakusa's arm. He’s somewhat surprised Sakusa didn't go for all-black. Atsumu also wonders why he didn't just choose black or white for the candles, but colors instead, and such intense ones at that. Atsumu scoffs.

“Would ya look at that… seems like ya care about what I say,” Atsumu mocks with a pointed look at the candles, referring to Sakusa dressing like a mortician. He smirks a little. “Do ya wanna add some color to yer life?”

Sakusa chuckles while waving the remote control in his hand. “I wanted to try something. And since you like colors so much…”

Atsumu's eyes widen as Sakusa switches the lighting in the room to black light, taking in his surroundings in a completely different way. The blueish light makes Sakusa appear even more threatening. The only thing that flashes every now and then is his bright eyes. But what fascinates Atsumu most are the candles in the glass pitchers, glowing now in hues of neon.

You’re going to be my personal canvas.

Now Atsumu understands why.

Shit, that's going to look hot as hell and Atsumu suspects Sakusa was thinking the same thing.

“Lie down on your stomach,” Sakusa commands, snapping Atsumu out of his thoughts and pretending to have missed the way Atsumu's dick just twitched. Atsumu catches him smirking, so he looks at him pissed while his face heats up.

Atsumu prefers to shut up before he says something stupid and fucks up his play with Sakusa. Instead, he obeys him wordlessly and does as he is told, he is perfectly hard by now.

Sakusa left him a pillow on the bed, covered in a silk sheet. Atsumu doubts it belongs to the hotel's inventory, so it must be Sakusa's. He puts half his chest and chin on it, wraps his arms around it, and waits in the dark light for Sakusa to begin. The cold fabric of the silk pillow leaves goosebumps on his body.

With attentive ears, he listens to Sakusa's every move. He isn't particularly eager to be quiet, probably so Atsumu can catch on to everything he’s doing. He notices Sakusa stopping next to the bed, waiting for the first drop of wax to hit his body. The wait seems to be endless. He is just about to turn around when suddenly–

“Holy shit!” Atsumu hisses as the first drips of wax meet his skin. He arches his back, squirming a little but tries to stay in place. It’s hot, though not as hot as he expected. Probably because Sakusa let it drip down from quite high up.

“I don’t have to remind you to hold still, do I?” Sakusa chuckles as he puts the candle aside. “Get your butt up, the wax doesn’t seem to irritate your skin.”

“Ya didn’t tell me to keep still. Ya told me not to touch myself,” Atsumu grumbles as he props himself up on his forearms and knees. He arches his back and jumps as he gets a smack on his butt. Sakusa laughs nastily. “It's practically the same thing.”

“Fuck you, Omi.” Atsumu exhales a sharp breath as the shock of the slap evaporates. He can't help but laugh a little and Sakusa's deep chuckle sends sparks straight into his cock.

“I could tie you up,” the bastard suggests as he uncaps something that sounds suspiciously like lube. Atsumu’s dick twitches again.

“Yeah, no way,” he replies with his forehead pressed into the silk pillow.

And then he waits once more. And he knows that he could just turn around but where's the fun? Sakusa told him not to move and Atsumu is eager enough to show him that he can do that.

So Atsumu waits and waits until the delicious heat returns to his skin and is rewarded not much later with the first stripe, slowly drawn from the middle of his back all the way down over his ass cheek.

He flexes his muscles and moans as the hot liquid clashes with his skin, the pain feels so incredibly good. It's hotter than Sakusa's first attempt, just right that it's not too much yet.

“Fuck–” Atsumu blurts, gasping as his muscles relax again. He feels the wax running down his back and thigh, extending the stripe Sakusa has drawn. Atsumu's forehead is pressed against the pillow, glancing back to see a thin line of bright purple creeping down the inside of his thigh.

It's ridiculous how Atsumu's dick gets even harder just from that.

Sakusa draws another stripe on the other side of his back. This time, Atsumu catches a vibrant lime running down his skin. His body jumps slightly at the heat, soaking up the pain like it was exactly what Atsumu needed all along.

It hurts but it feels so fucking good.

He arches his back, stretching his ass even further to Sakusa. Shamelessly, deep moans fall from his lips. His cock bounces as the liquid pierce his body like tiny pinpricks. It's obscene what this does to Atsumu.

“You’re enjoying this,” Sakusa remarks with a hint of smugness lacing his voice, waiting for the wax to cool a bit. Apart from where it has dripped onto his body, Atsumu feels his skin heating up. His cheeks, ears, and neck flush a bright red that is thankfully not visible in the darkness of the black light.

“Crazy, isn't it?” Atsumu snorts. “With you, of all people.” 

He hears Sakusa chuckle and walk away from the bed for a brief moment, presumably to pick up the next candle. Atsumu wonders what color he will choose next and gets his body ready for the upcoming hot shock. He nearly loses it when Sakusa offers him something else than the expected third hot strip of wax.

“I would ask you to trust me but…” Sakusa begins and Atsumu’s body squirms as a cold, slick hand wraps around his cock. He hisses, expecting anything but cold. “I think I know the answer already.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh; Sakusa is a fucking obnoxious bastard.

His long fingers slide up and down to get Atsumu all wet. Atsumu claws his hands into the sheets, tensing his muscles as Sakusa begins to play with his head. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the underside, circling the spot and eliciting a deep yielding moan from Atsumu's lungs.

“Nnngh… fuck...”

Lord have mercy because Atsumu truly doesn't know if he can keep still and just let Sakusa do as he pleases.

Atsumu bites his lips, his eyes fluttering shut. He knows he’s leaking but he doesn’t care. Sakusa’s hand is so fucking big and wet and the things he’s doing to him feel too fucking good.

Sakusa tears another moan from Atsumu when his thumb rubs over Atsumu’s slit, stroking him in a torturous but delicious slow rhythm. The squelching noises are obscene, fuelling the heat that is burning in Atsumu’s gut. He groans, flexes his muscles even more and tries to prevent himself from coming even though the telltale feeling grows stronger and stronger.

Holy shit. Atsumu doesn't even know why he's holding back.

“Let go, Atsumu,” Sakusa chuckles menacingly like he knows why. “I want you to come.”

“Haa… Omi, shit–” Atsumu feels his dick throbbing in Sakusa’s hand as he continues to stroke him slowly and evenly. He wants to buck his hips into Sakusa’s fist, chase more friction to make him tip over but he keeps letting Sakusa tease him, building up pressure slower and more intense.

Atsumu turns his head to the side and opens his eyes. He gasps, feeling goosebumps break out on his skin. His body shudders with each stroke Sakusa draws along its length, his mouth goes slack. It's ridiculous how good a simple handjob can feel. Atsumu is so fucking close.

Sakusa is a fucking curse and blessing all in one, mostly a curse, though. He knows Atsumu is teetering on the edge. One push and he falls endlessly, giving in to his lust, his desire. But Sakusa makes no attempt to pick up speed. Instead, he slows down his movements, pressing and rubbing in places he knows are intense for Atsumu.

“You're doing so good, Atsumu.”

Sakusa will be the fucking death of him.

Atsumu arches his brows and moans heavily as Sakusa traces another strip of wax over his back. This time centered, almost between his ass cheeks. His eyes flutter shut as the liquid grows cold and creeps down his thigh. Then, a second later, the very thing Atsumu wanted to control for a bit longer kicks in full force.

“I’m–” Atsumu’s muscles are shaking, he can’t hold back anymore. “Fuck, Omi, ‘m gonna come…”

“Good,” Sakusa murmurs and Atsumu wants to punch him for being so hot. “Go on.”

It should be illegal how utterly bored Sakusa sounds and it should be a shame that this of all things makes Atsumu tip over. 

He comes hard while Sakusa keeps stroking him through it. Atsumu’s body jerks violently, responding to the featherlight touches to his already sensitive cock. He tries as hard as he can to keep it in place.

Once he has caught his breath, sweet moans fall from his lips. He feels heat spreading all the way up his cheeks. 

Atsumu’s body trembles with aftershocks; he whines from how sensitive he feels and with Sakusa's hand still moving at a slow rhythm, he can't seem to calm down or catch his breath fully. Only when he realizes Sakusa won't stop, he snaps his eyes open and notices his gaze dripping in liquid honey. His eyelashes are wet.

“Omi, fuck–”

“Mhmmm,” Sakusa hums, seemingly lost in thought. It’s deep and threatening. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Atsumu’s head spins.

His hips jerk and buck, his muscles are tense like he’s fighting for his life. Atsumu is unsure if he wants to fall into Sakusa’s touch or get further away. He doesn’t know if his dick is ready to get hard again or if it’s starting to hurt.

Actually, it doesn't matter. Either way, it feels too damn good.

Atsumu groans, almost screams, as Sakusa drips wax between his ass cheeks; the pink color melts just past his rim, reaching his balls in a lukewarm state. His cock pulses in Sakusa’s gloved hand and beads of precum form on his tip while his body heats up even more.

He curls his finger into the mattress, pressing his eyes shut, and sucks in a sharp breath as ice-cold lube laps his hole in contrast to the hot lava on his back. Atsumu has braced himself for more burning heat, but he gets the complete opposite.

“Nnnnngh–Omi, fuck, fuck, fuck–” He chokes on his voice as Sakusa’s slick and cold fingertip prods against his hole. He pushes his ass back, slightly escaping Sakusa's big hand around his cock, eager to feel his cold fingers inside him instead.

“You're impatient,” Sakusa laughs meanly. “Yet you were just about to beg me to stop. Weren't you?”

Atsumu moans shamelessly, tenses but relaxes quickly as Sakusa slides one finger inside. His legs feel like jelly, his lashes are clumped together, and his chest heaves up and down as Sakusa's finger twists inside him, getting him wet there as well.

“How do you feel, Atsumu?” Sakusa murmurs as if he actually cares, yet never lets up with his touches and pushes his finger slowly in and out while stroking Atsumu’s hard cock.

“Good,” Atsumu slurs, dazed by the stimulation on both sides.

It’s ridiculous what a needy sound Atsumu makes as Sakusa pulls his finger out of Atsumu's hole again and his hips jerk back against the touch. The sound is stifled, however, as Sakusa trickles the next load of wax over Atsumu's ass and back, hot enough so that the wax drips down his balls. 

“Omiiiiiii–” he whines almost breathlessly. A burning sensation tingles over Atsumu's skin.

He throws his head back as tears creep down his face, the pressure in his gut starting to get too much. As Sakusa circles his thumb over Atsumu's head, stroking cum and lube along his length, he slides another finger back over the tight ring of muscle, followed by another on the next thrust.

Fuck...

Sakusa curls his finger and Atsumu thinks he might lose it. He fists his hand into the sheets beneath him, the soft fabric preventing his nails from digging their way into Atumu’s palms. Sakusa rips a deep, ragged moan from Atsumu’s lungs as he pushes against his prostrate massaging the spot as if it wouldn't almost kill Atsumu.

He’s going to die.

Atsumu’s going to die from overstimulation.

Is that a cause of death? It is as of today.

“Will you come again?” Sakusa knows Atsumu is close. “For me?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes back, letting lewd sounds vibrate from his vocal cords. He presses his lips together as he surrenders to Sakusa's grip, his body trembling from all the attention Sakusa is giving him.

With his damp forehead pressed against the silk pillow, Atsumu watches Sakusa jerk him off. He watches his own release stain his belly, Sakusa's hand, and the towel beneath him, gleaming white in the black light. Watches the luminous colors curl around his body, glowing in the darkness.

Atsumu doesn't see himself completely but he can guess he must look pretty damn hot. His cock twitches.

“Omi, ‘m gonna come,” Atsumu blurts, trying to catch his breath as he clenches around Sakusa’s fingers.

He overhears the bastard chuckle before adding a third finger, the stretch burning just right. Sakusa gives Atsumu's prostate full attention, eliciting high-pitched moans with each breath as he easily fucks him with his three digits, spreading precum all over his cock. He thrusts in deeply, over and over until–

“Omiiiii–” Atsumu whines, contorting his face in pleasure as he comes and comes and comes, jerking with each spurt that’s escaping him. 

Atsumu's legs are shaking, he can't take it much longer.

Sakusa works him through his high until nothing spills out of Atsumu anymore and he starts hissing through gritted teeth. Atsumu relaxes a little by the time Sakusa loosens his grip around his cock, giving him space to breathe. He feels so weak and hazy, all of this hurts so fucking much and yet Atsumu wants more.

He squeezes around Sakusa's fingers as he feels them being removed from his ass. Next follows a deep laugh and Atsumu is hard again. “Still not satisfied?”

The noise Atsumu makes when Sakusa stops touching him should be embarrassing but at this point, he couldn’t care less. He should be using this moment to take a breath, but instead, he's eagerly waiting for Sakusa to push him to his next high. 

He’s too fucking obedient.

Hot drops fall down his back, followed by cold wet fingers sliding back into Atsumu’s hole. He sobs, his mind turned off. “Mmmmm’gonna–” Atsumu’s voice dies down, his eyes flutter shut.

Sakusa laughs, “Already?” And pushes him closer and closer to the edge.

The rhythm Sakusa keeps up is relentless, Atsumu's body doesn't even know how to react anymore. He longs for the touch as if it's all he ever wanted. Yet he jerks away, the sensation burning too much.

“Come on, Atsumu.” He feels so fucking sore and breathing is so damn hard but he wants to be good again. Just this last time. “Don’t hold back.”

Atsumu's cheek is pressed against the cold fabric of the pillow, his eyebrows knitted together as Sakusa takes him apart. He groans, low and deep, and then he comes. Hard. Intense. Mind-blowing but painful.

Almost transparent release shoots from Atsumu's aching cock; Sakusa steadies his body as he notices Atsumu's legs give out, carefully working him through his orgasm. As Atsumu's muscles relax and his body starts to go limp, he pulls his fingers out of Atsumu's hole and then gently helps him lie down on his side.

“You did amazing, Atsumu,” Sakusa praises. “How do you feel?”

“Mhmmmm… good,” he slurs, smiling lazily as he curls up in a ball. He’s still high.

Sakusa sits next to him on the mattress, his palm lingering on Atsumu's ass cheek, his thumb drawing soothing circles into his sensitive skin. He feels amazing, actually. Better than he has in a long time.

Atsumu only now realizes how much Sakusa touched him tonight. He is too exhausted right now, though, to freak out about it.

“I'll get you cleaned up in a minute, okay?” Sakusa’s voice is so nice.

“Mhmmm…” Atsumu hums, closing his eyes as he drifts off into sleep, feeling delusional.

His body burns and everything hurts, and at the same time, he feels like he's been reborn. The pain does him good. The endorphins kick in. This was insane.

“Atsumu…” he catches Sakusa saying softly. Everything that comes after that, however, he no longer perceives.

Atsumu wakes up when he notices that he is being carried by two strong arms. The light in the bathroom is dimmed, and a candle smelling of cedar wood illuminates the room. Atsumu's eyes flutter open, his gaze meets Sakusa's beautiful face and his mask is unfortunately still on.

Atsumu's stomach drops.

“Omi,” he breathes, his voice raspy. He is wrapped in the towel that was placed underneath him. Of course, the moron wouldn't touch him otherwise.

Sakusa glances into his eyes, and only now does Atsumu realize what he looks like. His hair is disheveled, Atsumu is pretty sure there is a faint blush sitting high on his cheeks, and his eyes are sparkling. It seems like Atsumu wasn't the only one having fun.

“Have ya been jerking off?” He asks smugly, a smirk curling his lips. Sakusa scowls at him, then answers blankly, “No.”

“Uh-huh…” Atsumu replies, not believing any of his bullshit.

“Are you able to stand?” Sakusa asks, slowly easing Atsumu from his arms. “Take my hand, I'll help you into the bathtub.”

Atsumu realizes he's wearing a new pair of nitrile gloves as he puts his own hand into Sakusa's. They stare at each other for another moment and Atsumu blushes, his stomach fluttering oh so oddly again.

Is he getting sick?

Atsumu hisses slightly as his skin hits the warm water. He quickly gets comfortable with it, however, and lets himself sink deeper and deeper into it, enjoying the soothing warmth, and letting the wax on his skin soak. His muscles relax and he’s tipping his head back.

Sakusa sits across from Atsumu on the bathtub's edge, watching him with unreadable eyes. Atsumu would say they look worried but the guy in front of him is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Why should he–

“Are you okay?”

Atsumu blinks. Why does he feel like Sakusa's words mean so much more than just the last hour? Why does he even care?

“Sure,” Atsumu says, sinking deeper into the water.

“What happened today…”

“I really don't wanna talk about it, Omi.”

Of course, it's about the thing with Youko. Sakusa looks at him with a furrowed brow but it's silent for a moment. The only sounds are the splashing of the bath water and the flicker of the candle. 

Atsumu is too tired to talk about any of it. Too exhausted to defend himself about anything. But Sakusa doesn’t seem to be done with this topic yet.

“You were close to him.” His gaze is now averted from Atsumu. “To your partner,” he clarifies.

Atsumu doesn't reply, and Sakusa doesn't inquire further. It's strange how sensitive this topic is for both of them. Sakusa shouldn't care about any of this, right? What would he even know about it?

“We'll find him,” he then says, determinedly looking at Atsumu. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t fucking care. Why does he even care?

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He nods slowly, gazing at him somewhat confused. Sakusa is strange.

“Did you enjoy the wax?” He asks then, deflecting from the subject. Atsumu is grateful for that.

He stretches a bit to ease his muscles, then nods slowly while looking at Sakusa with half lidded eyes. “Yeah... yeah it was good.”

“And you're sure it wasn't too much?” Sakusa quirks a brow. Atsumu shakes his head.

“Just perfect, Omi.” Atsumu smiles lazily. “Ya really got me outta my head.”

“Good,” he says relieved, relaxing his tense body. “That’s what I wanted.”

Atsumu's gaze wanders to Sakusa's arm and lingers on his tattooed skin. He wants to straighten up a little more, but his whole body aches so he just lets himself sink even deeper into the hot water. Sakusa chuckles a little as he notices Atsumu's struggle.

“Did it look good?” Atsumu asks curiously, a gentle smile on his lips as he notices that Sakusa seems to be at ease. He forces his gaze up into Sakusa's onyx eyes. “All that glowing wax on me?”

They shine, Atsumu notices slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, assumes Sakusa is smiling underneath his mask too.

“A masterpiece,” he replies. “I told you you were beautiful. Just like a unique painting.”

Atsumu's heart skips a beat.

“Your tattoo,” Atsumu deflects, not wanting to think too much of it for his own sanity. He feels heat climbing up his face and convinces himself it's from the hot bath. “Did it hurt?”

Sakusa shifts his gaze to his arm, inspecting the strong ink before locking eyes with Atsumu's again. The assassin is sure he is grinning smugly beneath his mask. “Do you like it so much that you want to get one too?”

“Nah,” Atsumu chuckles and closes his eyes, the longer he lies still, the more he realizes how much his whole body hurts. It feels good. “I fucking hate needles.”

He pops one eye open and notices Sakusa raise an eyebrow. “You're an assassin. You wield knives. And you tell me you're afraid of needles?”

“’M not afraid!” Atsumu is offended. “I jus’ don't like ‘em!” He explains as a matter of fact.

“That’s fucking stupid, Miya.”

Atsumu chuckles and nods at Sakusa's tattoo. “So, tell me about it.”

He lets himself sink deeper into the water and closes his eyes again, struggling not to fall asleep lest to drown – he knows Sakusa would actually let that happen. Atsumu listens to Sakusa's calming voice, contorting his face every now and then as he talks about how thousands of tiny stitches bored into his skin to get the ink in.

Atsumu knows why his own skin is still unblemished.

At some point, Atsumu wakes up and realizes he's curled up in the hotel room's queen-size bed. It's dawn and Sakusa is no longer here. With the blanket pulled up to his chin, Atsumu makes himself small, feeling hollow and trying to drift off some more.

Strange, Atsumu thinks. Something feels missing.

Chapter Text

When Atsumu enters Oikawa's office after two knocks on the door, he catches the Kumichō playing with the buttons of Iwaizumi's shirt, suspiciously hanging over him. Iwaizumi has his arms folded in front of his chest, God those strong arms and that defined chest, and is not fazed by either Oikawa or Atsumu who has not necessarily been waiting for a sign that he may enter.

“Atsu-chan,” Oikawa says with a smile on his lips after whipping his head into Atsumu’s direction, slowly detaching himself from Iwaizumi while blowing smoke from his lungs. Atsumu squints.

“Where is Sakusa?” He asks as he pulls the door shut behind him. Atsumu faces Oikawa and Iwaizumi, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow and stares at Oikawa silently.

“He has a day off,” the Kumichō says nonchalantly, taking another drag, then hands the cigarette to Iwaizumi. When he turns back to Atsumu, he frowns. “Didn't he tell you?”

The bastard never tells me anything.

“No,” Atsumu replies, pissed off. Oikawa chuckles.

“You guys should really work on communicating.”

“Actually, I'll soon make sure he shuts up for good,” Atsumu mumbles as his gaze drops to the floor, trying not to be too irritated by Sakusa. What a prick.

A few days have passed since they finished Youko off in Seijoh. During that time, Atsumu and Sakusa have been looking for more hints about Osamu and have passed on the information to Oikawa that Osamu might be in Osaka.

Oikawa is currently using his contacts to avoid rushing off blindly. He has connections to smaller gangs in Osaka and is checking whether there is any truth in Youko's words or not. Until then, it's just a matter of waiting.

Several small groups are settled in Osaka, but none of the three big Yakuza really dare to touch the city or prefecture because it’s too close to Hyōgo – a restricted area. Assassin’s territory. They might get the wrong idea if somebody takes over it at this point.

This means Osaka is independent; Atsumu has always loved that about this city. So, if he enters it with Sakusa, he must be careful not to send any wrong signals. Sakusa is Yakuza after all. Oikawa's Yakuza in particular. The man isn't exactly appreciated in Hyōgo.

“Where the hell is he even,” Atsumu asks annoyed, referring to Sakusa. His irritated gaze is now back on Oikawa.

“Tokyo,” the latter responds charmingly. Atsumu grimaces.

“The fuck is he doin’ in Tokyo?”

As far as Atsumu knows, and damn he would be a fool if he didn't, Tokyo is where the headquarters of the Schweiden Adler is. Ushijima's Yakuza. If it was that risky for Atsumu and Sakusa to be seen in Seijoh, why would he voluntarily go to fucking Tokyo, of all places, where Ushijima's men are practically waiting to kill him?

And why did Oikawa allow this trip in the first place? It puts his gang at least as much in danger.

“He's visiting his family,” Oikawa explains, causing Atsumu to deepen his frown. Is everyone here fucking stupid?

“Kawa—” Iwaizumi scowls at his boss, but Oikawa interrupts him, lifting his hand and refocusing his gaze on Atsumu.

“You wanna tell me he got family…” Atsumu starts, dumbfounded. “In Tokyo?”

“It’s just his mother,” the Kumichō elaborates, earning another warning “Oikawa” from Iwaizumi. But again, Oikawa ignores him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and examines Atsumu with a straight face.

Is Oikawa telling him the truth or is he taking him for a fool? Because in which world would that make any sense?

Why would Sakusa join Oikawa when he doesn't even like the moron? Why would he join Oikawa's Yakuza when he could have just joined Ushijima instead? Especially when his family is living in Tokyo?

He could be on bad terms with the Adler's boss.

But even if he would have screwed things up with Ushijima, why doesn't he at least bring his mother here to Sendai? She seems like an easy target in Tokyo, doesn't she? Ushijima would thus have Sakusa in his grip.

Or is that perhaps even the case?

Nothing of this makes any sense and it's starting to piss Atsumu off. He knows nothing, absolutely nothing about this bastard and it bugs him. Why does it bug him? He shouldn’t care. Atsumu doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Fucking. Care.

“His mother?” He asks curiously.

Oh, fuck him.

“She’s sick. The docs can’t really agree on what’s specifically wrong with her but she suffers from brain damage for a good while now and you know... Kiyo’s just being the responsible son.”

Atsumu's eyes are wide open, his ears perked up. Curiosity is written all over his face, but before he can ask Oikawa any more questions, he is thwarted by Iwaizumi, who now looks really, really pissed off. Something about him is somewhat intimidating.

“I think that's enough,” he growls. Oikawa turns around and raises an eyebrow, but Iwaizumi couldn’t care less. “What do you want, Atsumu?”

Is he annoyed because of him or because of Oikawa? Did Atsumu interrupt them both doing something? Oh, come on, he's not stupid. Of course, he interrupted them. But is that the reason why Iwaizumi is in such a bad mood? It started when Oikawa talked about Sakusa's family...

Atsumu clears his throat.

“I'm gonna spend the day with Bokkun and visit Hinata. I was wonderin’ if anyone else wants ta join us.”

“Chibi-chan!” Oikawa beams. He loops an arm around Iwaizumi's neck, clings to him, and presses his body into his side. Atsumu squints again. Oh, Iwaizumi is so much more than just Oikawa's right-hand man.

“Iwa-chan and I will be busy today but squeeze Chibi-chan from me!”

Atsumu nods and tries not to think about what exactly ‘busy’ would mean in this case. He glances at Iwaizumi and stifles a snarky comment. Gosh, he really can't mess with him.

“I was hoping to inform Omi-kun personally, but since he's obviously not here anyway, it doesn't matter anymore.”

“How considerate of you to let him know,” Oikawa grins. Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, unlike some others, I'm not an ass.”

That has Oikawa chuckling.

“Don't worry, he will return in the evening. Then you'll have him back.”

“I don't want him back.”

“Sure.”

“I hope he gets killed.”

“I doubt it.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and all he can see is Oikawa's mischievous expression.

If it was just Oikawa and him... if they were alone then Atsumu would have asked what that meant. He would have asked why Sakusa is supposedly so safe in Tokyo. He would have asked what this was all about. But with Iwaizumi here? Atsumu knows when he's crossing lines and it's more than obvious that Iwaizumi is protecting that bastard from something.

Atsumu huffs.

It's strange that someone like Sakusa Kiyoomi can have true friends.

“Is there any news from Osaka?” Atsumu asks, diverting from the topic.

When they are alone. When they are alone Atsumu will satisfy his curiosity.

“My friends are on to something. I'll let you know as soon as I figure out more,” the Kumichō replies, and Atsumu nods. He makes his way back to the door with slow steps, never turning his back to the two.

“Atsu-chan,” Oikawa stops him before he can get out the door. Atsumu halts. “Don't be too hard on Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu blinks a few times until the words have sunk in. Then he snorts and leaves Oikawa's office, shaking his head.

He shouldn't care.

“Atsumu-san!!”

It's crazy what the sound of a voice can do to a person's state of mind. To be honest, Atsumu doesn't know what he did to deserve this.

When he enters Hinata's room and is greeted with the biggest grin he has ever seen, his heart leaps. Atsumu is glad, happy, and relieved to find the boy in such a damn good condition again. The way he remembered seeing him last time, it was really questionable whether he would survive at all.

But that's long forgotten now.

“Shōyō,” Atsumu's look was soft, calm. He rushes to Hinata and pulls him into a hug, making sure not to hurt him as he does so. “Fuck, Shō...” he mumbles, eliciting another bubbly laugh from the boy’s lungs.

Hinata's body is warm. He is alive.

Shit.

He's alive.

“Hey hey hey, look who we got here!”

“Bokuto-san!”

Hinata beams when Atsumu pulls away and lets Bokuto greet the kid properly.

“It’s so good to see you, guys!”

“It’s good to see yer doin’ well, Shōyō,” Atsumu replies, relief written all over his face. Hinata flashes him a toothy grin, making Atsumu smile as well until guilt returns with a frown. “Shōyō, about what happened in Shiratorizawa—”

“No hard feelings, Atsumu-san.” Atsumu's eyes widen, he shakes his head. Before he can open his mouth, however, Hinata continues and deflects. “Oikawa-san told me that you got a lot closer to finding your partner!”

Hinata doesn't give him a chance to respond. With a skeptical expression on his face, Atsumu observes the boy, but he finds no trace of false modesty. Hinata doesn't blame him at all for what happened. In his eyes, an apology seems to be gratuitous.

He has long since forgiven him, Atsumu can see that clearly. He huffs a laugh, closes his eyes, and drops his head a little. He shakes it before glancing at Hinata with a relieved and sincere smile. In which world did he deserve such a good friend as Hinata? He is grateful to have him.

“‘Tsumu is now working with Omi-Omi,” Bokuto laughs, causing Hinata's eyes to pop. “Omi-san? Damn! I want to work with Omi-san too!!! I bet that's super cool!”

Atsumu snorts, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets. “We have different definitions of ‘cool’, Shōyō-kun.”

Hinata giggles. “I mean he's kind of intimidating! But have you ever seen him fight? Woah!! I wish I was as good as him! The way he handles his gun? He just goes swoosh and there it is! And then bang bang and no one has a chance to even get close to him!”

“That's true,” Bokuto chuckles from his seat next to Hinata's hospital bed. His strong arms are crossed in front of his chest as he rocks back in the chair. “Sakusa is probably the best on our team.”

“Probably? I mean, Bokuto-san, I love you, but no one really comes close to Omi-san!!!”

“Hah...” Atsumu leans back against the wall and lifts an eyebrow. He's half annoyed by how much Hinata praises that bastard and half amused. “Is that so?”

Hinata flinches, his eyes widening as he realizes who he's talking to. Then he waves his hand apologetically in front of him and rubs the back of his head with the other.

“Of course, you know how he fights… He knocked you out, didn't he?”

“Shōyō-kun, what the hell...?!”

“I JUST MEAN—” Hinata's getting bogged down. “If I ever had the chance to pick a team for a mission, it would probably be you, Omi-san, and Bokuto-san.”

He beams and flatters his colleagues. Bokuto stares at the ceiling and mumbles to himself.

“Miya, Sakusa, Bokuto, and...”

“Ya boi Hinata!” Hinata grins and points both of his thumbs at himself, his eyes narrowed due to his big fat smile. Atsumu and Bokuto burst out laughing.

“Shōyō!”

“We would make such a cool team!!!” Hinata is an idiot. “We could give ourselves a sick name! Miya, Sakusa, Bokuto and Shōyō – MSBY! Just imagine what that sounds like!!!”

“Best is, we link it to a really fascinating animal that embodies our abilities!” Bokuto is at least as stupid as Hinata.

“OH! YES! And then if we communicated over the radio, it would sound super cool,” Hinata cups a hand in front of his mouth and disguises his voice. “'kchhh... our vision is clear – MSBY over.'”

Hinata and Bokuto hype themselves up and squeal, which somehow makes Atsumu laugh a little as well. Those two are pure chaos. Just what he needs.

“You guys do realize Omi would pretty much hate ya?”

“Omi-san loves us! He would always have our backs!”

Hinata must be misjudging Sakusa a lot. Or maybe it's just Atsumu who hasn't really figured the bastard out yet. It remains an unanswered question.

The three of them fool around until the nurses practically kick Bokuto and Atsumu out since Hinata still needs to rest. It's amazing how quickly the boy has recovered, yet he's still banged up. It’s not very surprising, regarding the injuries he's had.

But it's like Iwaizumi said: Hinata is strong. Nothing will kill him that easily.

“Atsumu-san,” Hinata begins, his broad smile shrinking to a slight one. “Thank you for sending Kageyama over.”

Atsumu's eyes widen, he tilts his head to the side. “You've been talkin’ to him?”

Hinata shakes his head and pouts. “It never ends well when we talk,” he mutters, then. “He needed to see I was okay. I needed to see that he wasn't going to do anything stupid. You were the one who took Youko out, right? Oikawa told me that Yama-yama took the murder on himself. So, our team is off the hook. Ushijima has to sort it out internally now.”

Atsumu frowns. “Why? Wouldn't that be the perfect reason to finally attack Oikawa?”

Bokuto grins and shakes his head. “That's not how it works with them.”

Atsumu understands absolutely nothing.

“Oikawa trained Kageyama, you know? We’re both from Karasuno,” Hinata explains. “Kageyama still respects Oikawa, but in the end, he decided to go a different way… However, that doesn’t turn them into enemies. He’s still somewhat… loyal.”

But why?

Atsumu doesn’t get it.

“Ushijima is also from Miyagi, from Shiratorizawa to be precise,” Hinata elaborates and causes Atsumu’s heart to stop a beat. What? “He did many things right, that’s why he is in Tokyo now, leader of the Schweiden Adler.”

“And for a long time, he wanted Oikawa to join him,” Bokuto adds. Atsumu frowns.

“An alliance?”

“Sort of,” Hinata confirms. Then, he chuckles. “But Oikawa has always been Ushijima’s rival; he’s never liked the guy.”

“They’d be strong if they teamed up,” Atsumu points out, only earning another snicker from Hinata.

“Ushijima has gotten his hands on a lot of things that Oikawa fought hard for. They are… very often of different opinions. With Oikawa, we are all truly free in how we act. His ideas about Yakuza aren’t bad… he’s actually one of the good kinds, you know?”

Atsumu snorts. Yakuza and good in one sentence is pretty ridiculous.

“Oikawa cares about his men,” Bokuto explains. “While Ushijima is mostly concerned with how much he controls. On top of that, they are both pretty stubborn. You can imagine how often they clashed.”

Atsumu is aware that a gang war is always pointless because that would only mean there would be losses on both sides. Losses from which others could obtain an advantage. After all, there is also a third batch in the round that was at least as big as Oikawa’s or Ushijima’s Yakuza.

Daishō Suguru.

“You guys are still here!” A nurse scolds as she comes in to check on Hinata.

The kid laughs, Bokuto rises abruptly from his chair, and Atsumu lifts his hands in surrender, pushing himself away from the wall. “We're as good as gone!”

The nurse shoos them away, making Hinata laugh even harder. She's short and dainty, which makes the whole situation of her having a grip on two dangerous broad-built men pretty hilarious.

Just before Atsumu and Bokuto are out the door, however, the blonde pauses again and turns to Hinata.

“Hey Shō,” he starts, infected by the kid’s bright smile. “It’s really good to have ya back.”

Hinata nods. “I'm glad to be back, Atsumu-san.”

After spending half of the day at the hospital visiting Hinata and the other half strolling around with Bokuto, the two of them eventually end up at Sugawara's bar. A good drink to end this marvelous day is all Atsumu needs right now. Honestly, it's fantastic that Hinata is doing so well and Bokuto's company has been nothing but sheer fun. Atsumu likes him at least as much as he likes Hinata. These guys are amazing.

“To Hinata!” Sugawara toasts and raises his glass, encouraging Atsumu and Bokuto to join him in drinking. The two smile broadly and chime in, tilting their heads back to down the liquor.

It reminds Atsumu so much of the time in Inarizaki before Osamu disappeared. A carefree evening in a bar, hanging out with his friends and drinking with them. Having no worries, just good vibes. Damn, how much Atsumu missed that.

Does he even deserve it?

“AKAASHI!!!”

Atsumu has no chance to slip into a new spiral of thoughts, as Bokuto (fortunately? Or maybe not?) prevents him from doing so. Bokuto is unstoppable when mentioned Akaashi enters Sugawara's bar.

What follows are barstools toppling over, a half-spilled drink on the counter, and various indefinable noises that sound suspiciously like squealing and suppressed screeching from Bokuto. He practically jumps on Akaashi, but the look on the man's face isn't nearly as surprised as Atsumu expected it to be. On the contrary. Akaashi looks just plainly done.

He must be used to Bokuto’s antics. Atsumu and Sugawara are laughing.

“Hey hey hey!!!”

Bokuto has a firm grip on the delicate man. His bulky arms are wrapped around Akaashi’s narrow shoulders, Bokuto’s face is tilted down to him. He laughs, beaming, just before kissing Akaashi tenderly. Nudging his nose, then diving in.

Damn... Atsumu thinks. They're infatuated with each other.

“Hiyaaaa, Akaashi!” Sugawara beckons him over, already mixing a fancy cocktail.

“Ah.” Akaashi, slightly flushed, breaks away from Bokuto and walks over to Atsumu and Suga at the bar. “Suga-san, hello.” He gives him a polite nod before turning to Atsumu. “And you must be Miya-san.”

“Atsumu,” he insists.

“Atsumu-san it is.”

Akaashi grants him a sheepish smile, which Atsumu immediately returns, beaming broadly. He is truly the complete opposite of Bokuto.

Atsumu has already learned a lot from Oikawa and most of all from Bokuto about him and is tremendously grateful to him for having saved Hinata's life. As much as Atsumu knows, Akaashi Keiji is an excellent doctor – he's too fucking good at what he’s doing.

Hinata was full of beans when Atsumu and Bokuto visited him. Atsumu is at least 95% sure that no other doctor can patch the boy up and get him back on his feet so quickly in such a short amount of time. Akaashi must be incredibly talented.

Atsumu also notices this the more time he spends with him throughout the evening. Two drinks in and the clock strikes midnight.

Akaashi is mostly calm and composed, usually choosing not to show a wide range of emotions. He has a habit of calling everyone (especially Bokuto) out on their foolish actions. So, even Atsumu and Suga aren't spared from his blunt comments.

That's something Atsumu likes about him right away. He is real, not faking it for anyone. To be honest, there's something very comforting about him and, along with Suga and Bokuto, he's someone Atsumu feels genuinely at ease with.

What is it about Oikawa's people?

“Akaashi,” Atsumu wonders, “Why are ya workin’ for Oikawa?”

He is too smart to get involved with the moron and at this point, Atsumu is sick of holding back. He already has too many questions, and Akaashi is the type of guy who will definitely spare him an honest answer. So Atsumu has to take his chance.

“Oh, that's easy.” Akaashi smiles slightly, first glancing into Bokuto's eyes for a few seconds before turning back to Atsumu. “Oikawa made it possible for me to live my dream.”

Atsumu frowns and tilts his head slightly. “What do ya mean?”

“My purpose has always been to help Bokuto-san,” he says fondly. “And well... you know him. He loves to take risks, and I'm really not one who could physically support him.”

“So ya wanna make sure ya can at least heal his wounds?” Atsumu quirks a brow.

“Bokuto-san is incredibly strong and not easy to defeat. But he's only human, and every human makes mistakes. If that's all I can do, then I want to do it right.”

Akaashi's gaze flits back to Bokuto. The latter must be telling Suga an incredibly silly and funny story. The two laugh boisterously and Atsumu catches the slight blush on Akaashi's cheeks. He loves Bokuto. Truly. Unconditionally.

“We’ve known Oikawa-san for a while through a friend of ours. He has offered to pay for my medical education if Bokuto joins his group.”

Atsumu snorts before bringing the beer bottle to his lips and taking a sip. Of course, this jerk has ulterior motives.

“I wasn't able to scrape together that much money, and Bokuto-san was and still is in good hands with Oikawa-san,” he elaborates. “In the end, I was finally able to help him, so all of this was a win-win situation.”

“Yeah, 'cause he gets ya to repay him by working for him.” Atsumu narrows his eyes. “You can't be that naïve, Akaashi.”

“I’m not naïve, Atsumu-san.” Akaashi shakes his head, his expression is straight. “He never asked me to do that, not once. He even offered to let me and Bokuto move on once I was done, but that was never an option for me.”

“Why, though?” It doesn't make sense.

Why would you voluntarily work for Yakuza? Can't you see what they're doing?

“He's one of the good guys, Atsumu.” Akaashi smiles, sincerely. “He can be trusted.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh. Well, if that doesn't sound familiar.

“He’s Yakuza... a Kumichō on top of that.” Atsumu's eyes are fixed on the bottle in front of him. Then his gaze snaps back to Akaashi's blue ones. “How can someone like that be good?”

“You have doubts,” Akaashi states. “That's understandable. But Oikawa plays with his cards on the table. If he's serious about someone or something, he shows it. Besides...” Akaashi smiles again. “You wouldn't still be here if you didn't know that.”

So far, Oikawa has actually done everything in his power to help Atsumu find his brother. He knows that he is a good deal closer to Osamu. He also knows that this would never have been possible without Oikawa.

Still, Atsumu is skeptical.

“Oikawa can be sly. Believe me, I know that. But he wouldn't have brought you into the team if his intentions weren't serious.” Akaashi offers Atsumu his bottle to clink glasses with. “Otherwise, the two of us would have a big problem now because I'm not particularly eager to leave my boyfriend alone with people I can't trust.”

Trust. What a huge word.

Atsumu stares first at Akaashi's bottle, then at his mischievous face. He means well. They all do. Maybe Atsumu can truly rely on them. Maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know.

In the end, he clinks glasses with Akaashi and smirks. “What? You think you can handle someone like me? An assassin?”

“I'm a doctor, Atsumu-san, a damn good one at that. Where do you think Sakusa-san got the injections he gave you a few weeks ago to send you to slumber?”

Atsumu gasps. “They were from you?!”

“I know my remedies.”

“Keiji-kun!” Atsumu chuckles. “I'm shocked!”

“I can help with that, too.”

Atsumu laughs and shakes his head. He takes a sip before setting the bottle down on the counter.

“We're all a little crazy,” Akaashi chuckles. “But I'm here if you want to talk to someone who's a semi-outsider.”

Atsumu smiles faintly. “Thanks, Akaashi.”

He nods to Atsumu and is caught off guard the next moment by Bokuto, pulling him into his arms from behind.

“Keijiiiiii, I love you so much!”

Akaashi narrows his eyes.

“What did you put into his drink?” His skeptical gaze is fixed on Suga, who holds up his hands in surrender.

“Nothing he hasn't asked for.” He grins too mischievously to be innocent.

Atsumu laughs and takes another sip of his beer when he suddenly feels his phone buzzing in his pocket. As he pulls it out and checks his messages, his eyes widen for a split second before a deep frown settles on his face.

Omi-kun (today, 00:17 am):

<< What are you doing right now?

Omi-kun (today, 00:17 am):

>> Hanging out in Suga’s bar with Bokkun and Akaashi. Why?

Omi-kun (today, 00:18 am):

<< Are you drunk?

Is he fucking serious? Atsumu blinks a few times. He should actually text that.

Omi-kun (today, 00:19 am):

>> Are you fucking serious?

Omi-kun (today, 00:19 am):

<< As vulgar as you write, it is quite possible to assume that.

Atsumu shoots the next message before Sakusa can finish typing, mumbling some curses under his breath. The frown on his face is deepening, his mouth is twisted into a pout, and his fingers are tapping quite furiously.

Omi-kun (today, 00:20 am):

>> NO.

>> I am NOT drunk.

>> Why /the fuck/ are you even asking?

What follows, instantly shatters Atsumu's fed-up expression. Instead of narrowed eyes, they are now wide open. Instead of scrunched-up eyebrows, they now shoot up so high that they almost meet his hairline. Instead of curling up and sulking, he is now sitting upright on the barstool, curiosity coursing through his body.

Omi-kun (today, 00:21 am):

<< Can I see you tonight?

These words are so plain and simple, and yet they turn Atsumu's world upside down.

His heart slips into the pit of his stomach and at the same time, it starts beating so fast and loud that it's the only thing Atsumu can perceive. Sakusa wanting to see him can only be for one reason. Atsumu isn’t dense.

If they meet up outside of their missions, it’s for one thing and one thing only, and Atsumu can’t decide if that would be such a good decision tonight. Sakusa is still his enemy, his rival, the last person with whom he should end such an amazingly peaceful day. And yet Atsumu cannot deny that it's somehow appealing.

This arrangement has been about him, not Sakusa. Well, Atsumu keeps telling himself that it's a two-sided thing, but in truth, they both know it's about him blowing off some steam to re-sharpen his senses and to be able to focus on his missions. It's not easy to work with such a damn attractive bastard like Sakusa.

So, the fact that he is the one asking Atsumu this time is kind of... odd.

Atsumu's first question is why? Then: what is he going to do to him? Does Sakusa need to clear his head this time? Will he strip himself of his clothes? Will he touch Atsumu properly? Will Atsumu be allowed to touch him?

Fuck, please let me touch you.

Atsumu’s heart sinks lower, he scrubs a hand over his face.

He can’t be that needy, right? Of course, he craves that close contact with another human being while shutting out the rest of the world – the death, the crime, the worries about his brother. But he can't be that desperate to get involved with Sakusa one more time, right?

Once, out of curiosity. Twice, a mistake. A third time?

Atsumu closes his eyes and swallows once his fingers managed to act faster than his mind.

Omi-kun (today, 00:30 am):

>> When and where?

He shouldn’t be doing that.

The next message comes instantly.

Omi-kun (today, 00:30 am):

<< Same as usual.

<< ASAP?

Same as usual.

Atsumu really shouldn’t be doing that.

Omi-kun (today, 00:31 am):

>> I’m there in 20.

He’s going to regret this.

As Atsumu steps into the hotel room, his and Sakusa’s dark eyes meet. Atsumu’s heart speeds up, his throat runs dry. The second they lock eyes, his gut clenches, and all the questions he had on his mind so far about why Sakusa wanted to meet him evaporated in the blink of an eye.

Holy shit. What’s wrong?

Sakusa doesn't look any different than usual. He is dressed in black, gloves and mask covering his pale skin. But the look he wears on his face, his onyx eyes, betrays him. Something’s off and he can’t hide it. As much as he likes to, he can’t. At least not from Atsumu.

The latter closes the door, and the click must be hitting Sakusa’s nerves like gunfire. Atsumu can see him flinch slightly, pulling in a sharp breath. He never did that before.

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes easy, but Sakusa's answer doesn't.

“I…” He meets Atsumu’s gaze and swallows, his voice dies down.

Atsumu takes off his sneakers and places them neatly next to Sakusa's polished oxford shoes. He walks into the bathroom and leaves the door open for Sakusa to watch him wash his hands. Then Sakusa shakes his head and whispers so softly, it almost didn’t carry over the running water.

“I don’t want to talk.”

His gaze is averted from Atsumu, lingering somewhere on the floor, obviously avoiding his eyes. Atsumu dries his hands and walks towards Sakusa with slow and careful steps, ensuring he doesn’t feel threatened. Though the light is dim, it’s enough to reveal the color blooming in his cheeks. Atsumu chews on his lips and accepts that Sakusa once again prefers to keep things from him.

Maybe it has something to do with the Tokyo trip? Atsumu remembers it’s none of his business.

He doesn't want to talk? Fine. They don’t need to talk. And Atsumu shouldn’t care in the first place, but standing here in front of Sakusa, seeing how shaken he is by something he can’t talk about, tugs at something in Atsumu’s chest. It’s weird. Odd. It’s definitely not a feeling he is used to.

No. He shouldn’t care.

“What do ya want?”

Sakusa’s gaze snaps up as soon as Atsumu’s words were out. His beautiful eyes answer in no uncertain terms; they gleam in that dark hunter-green that Atsumu secretly adores oh so much and reveal a silent want. A demand he can't refuse. His gaze screams:

You. Sex. Now.

Atsumu gulps – that shouldn't have come as a surprise to him.

And yet it did.

Because Sakusa should never have asked him to come over in the first place, and Atsumu should have never agreed to it. Sakusa should never look at him the way he is doing right now and Atsumu should never surrender to his gaze. Shit. What's wrong with him?

The thing that's going on between him and Sakusa is... God, it’s amazing. Sakusa has a way of not just turning Atsumu on, not just making him feel good, but making him feel… like he’s the only man in the world. Worshipped, a muffled voice dares to spill in the back of Atsumu's mind.

But what does it do for him? What good does it do him to feel this way with Sakusa when everything they are is the complete opposite of that? They aren't lovers fooling around. No. Definitely not. Atsumu doesn’t even dare to think about that. They’re not even really sleeping together; Atsumu has no idea what the touch of Sakusa’s skin even feels like.

And yet he wonders: if only he could tease more out of him, if only he could touch him, if only Atsumu could somehow return what Sakusa does to him, he would do it without batting an eye. Isn't that exactly why he's here?

Oh, what a fool he is.

“I don't think...” Sakusa clears his throat. “I don't think I can touch you tonight.”

“It's fine. We can work with that,” Atsumu replies immediately. He mirrors Sakusa's expression and frowns too. “What d’ya want me to do?”

The reluctance that emanates from Sakusa makes Atsumu wonder. He doesn't know him like that, Sakusa is not the type who seems to be haphazard. In general, he acts incredibly weird tonight. He appears somewhat sad, odd, lost in thoughts? Atsumu wonders what happened.

“Take off your jacket,” he instructs hesitantly, taking more slow steps toward Atsumu until his body is only inches away.

Atsumu holds his gaze and stares deeply into Sakusa’s dark eyes. His gut knots: he can see that Sakusa is not in the right mindset. He looks… frustrated? At least that’s what the faint furrow between his brows reveals. Atsumu feels like Sakusa’s mouth is twisted down underneath that mask. Feels his urge to break something.

…or someone.

Atsumu wonders if this is his turn to get Sakusa out of his head.

Tipping his head back slightly to keep his gaze locked, Atsumu slowly shrugs his burgundy jacket off his shoulders. He feels Sakusa's body heat as he peels one sleeve after another from his skin, falling under the spell of the endless void in his dark gaze. Atsumu cannot read him. Not a bit. And yet he obeys him without batting an eye.

Talk to me.

Atsumu's heart beats fast and hard as Sakusa averts his gaze from his golden eyes and lets it slowly roam over his body. He enjoys the sight, taking the time to memorize inch by inch.

For a moment, they just stand there. Atsumu watches Sakusa take him apart with his eyes alone. He's not stupid. Of course, Atsumu notices where Sakusa's gaze stops, and it may just be the last place where they linger that makes Atsumu's whole body flush.

Use Me.

Sakusa draws in a sharp, deep breath through his nostrils as he realizes his eyes have dwelled too long on Atsumu's posh lips. His gaze snaps back to his hooded eyes, he swallows hard as he realizes that Atsumu might have a hunch about what's going on.

Why? Why me? What can I possibly do to fix whatever happened to you?

It doesn’t matter.

Atsumu doesn’t need to know why Sakusa asked him to come over. The only thing that matters is that he’s here when in fact he shouldn’t be. And at the same time, it somehow does matter, and it ticks Atsumu off. The uncertainty in Sakusa’s gaze, like he needs an anchor, or reassurance, or something to make him feel better and every goddamn inch within Atsumu wants to give him exactly that.

Before any words can leave Sakusa's pretty little mouth Atsumu takes a step back and slowly, holding his gaze, gets down on one knee. His fingertips reach underneath the hem of his cargo pants on his left leg and lift it up, revealing a black leather strap just below his calf with three knives attached to it.

He pulls one from the clip, causing Sakusa's gaze to turn skeptical. With the knife in his hand, Atsumu slowly straightens up until the tip of his nose almost touches Sakusa's lips. He casually flips the knife around and offers him the handle of that beautifully curved blade, earning another irritated look on Sakusa’s face.

“Atsumu…”

“Ya don’t wanna touch me but ya wanna break me. I don’t see how else that’s supposed to work.”

This is Atsumu’s turn to get Sakusa out of his head and he is stupid and naïve enough to jump right into it.

“Atsumu—”

“’m not scared if ya use a knife on me, Omi,” Atsumu murmurs. “Isn’t it my weapon, after all?”

Hesitance.

Shouldn't Sakusa be thrilled about trying out Atsumu's own weapons on him? The stupid blond man who doesn't know any better. Naïve enough to sacrifice himself to his enemy. Foolish enough to subordinate himself and his own good. What is wrong with Atsumu? What happened to his hatred of Yakuza? Why is Sakusa so reluctant? And why the fuck does Atsumu even care?

Stupid. All of this is so stupid.

“I could kill you.”

“Ya won’t.”

Atsumu's gaze falters, his eyes dart down to watch the way Sakusa’s muscles clench and relax at his throat. A shiver runs through his body, realizing how much trust he is about to put into Sakusa's palm. His rival. His enemy.

It feels like a crime.

“Fuck,” Sakusa curses like he’s pissed at himself and Atsumu’s gaze snaps back up into his dark eyes, his heart skipping a beat. Sakusa’s pupils are dilated, so much that the glint of green in his iris is almost swallowed by infinity. “Sit down.”

And then he takes the knife.

Another shudder rolls through Atsumu at the mere thought of what could be happening in the next few minutes, but he complies without any further protest. He slumps down on the couch next to them and watches Sakusa dragging the small table that separates Atsumu from the armchairs closer to him.

He sits down on it so that he is directly opposite Atsumu and spreads his legs, leaning forward, knife dangling from his fingertips. Is it embarrassing to admit that Atsumu was already half hard just from that sight alone? Oh, as if Atsumu ever cared what anyone might think of him.

Sakusa’s eyes are sharp, frown still chiseled onto his face. He tilts his head to the side and considers Atsumu, taking another deep breath as if to compose himself. What does he think? Atsumu needs to know.

Holding the knife’s grip tightly by now, Sakusa forces his gaze from Atsumu. He examines the weapon and slides his forefinger over the back of the blade. Atsumu knows it's not too sharp; without proper pressure, it couldn't cut through skin, and Sakusa looks like he knows that too.

However, when he uses the other side, the curved one, things are completely different…

“You need to hold still for good this time,” Sakusa starts, eyebrows knitted together as his gaze drifts from the knife back up to Atsumu. “Or else I could accidentally cut you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice breathy.

Sakusa nods. “Take your shirt off.”

Atsumu sits up straight, sneaks his fingers between his white shirt and his tanned skin, and then slowly peels the fabric from his body, over his head to throw it on the floor. A rush of affirmation runs through him as Sakusa's eyes fill with greed and hunger, almost like the first time he saw Atsumu naked.

Sakusa can't take his eyes off Atsumu’s body, and it gets Atsumu hooked. The attention Sakusa gives him is insatiable, Atsumu will never get tired of it.

“Undo your belt and then put your arms on the back of the couch,” Sakusa commands and Atsumu obliges, placing his belt and Osamu’s knife neatly beside himself.

As he leans back, Sakusa's gaze darkens. He places the tip of the knife on Atsumu's chest and Atsumu draws in a sharp breath, gripping the soft cushions tightly. Slowly, Sakusa traces the centerline of Atsumu’s chest and between his abs all the way down to his navel, letting his muscles flex as the pointy metal grazes the skin of his stomach.

Atsumu tries not to move, but it's hard, because the feather-light touch tickles him, sends little shocks through his body. Whether it's the hint of knife play or the thought of one of Sendai's most dangerous men holding Atsumu's life in the center of his palm, there's something exciting and thrilling about the idea that sends Atsumu's world reeling.

His dick twitches and attracts Sakusa's attention. He lifts a curious brow.

“You’re excited.”

“Wha—” Atsumu flushes, he whips his head to the side and scowls at the air. Then, he mumbles. “’Course I am…”

What reasonably sane person wouldn't be? Or is Atsumu just a little crazy?

Sakusa places the sharp blade on Atsumu’s cheek, startling him, then presses his head back so Atsumu is facing him again. He moves the tip of the blade right under Atsumu’s chin, tilting it up. His golden eyes are heavy-lidded, mind dazed with lust and want.

“Look at me,” Sakusa says and how the fuck could Atsumu say no? “Don’t hide.”

Flush sits high on his cheeks and something tugs at Atsumu’s chest. Spoiler: it’s not the knife.

Sakusa can't just say such a thing. He cannot.

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When his gaze falls back on Sakusa, he notices that his look has changed: The furrow between his brows is gone, the features around his eyes are softer, his appearance altogether more composed. The look Sakusa wears has a mesmerizing effect on Atsumu. He’s staring at him almost as if he is the only one Sakusa has ever wanted.

Another tug in his chest, a little kick in his gut. Atsumu gulps nervously, deepens his frown, and turns beet red.

What the fuck...

Sakusa skims the blade back down over Atsumu’s skin, brushing his nipples and earning a surprised sigh from the latter. It sends jolts through his body, a rush of pleasure pools at the base of his dick. He traces the scar on Atsumu’s right side, the graze that left his body a flaw and frowns again. Discontent is visible on his face.

“How come you were so reckless?” Sakusa asks somewhat irritated. He knows Atsumu and his abilities; no matter how much danger he puts himself in, nothing and no one could ever come that close to leaving permanent damage on his body.

Except something did exactly that.

“A weak moment,” Atsumu replies nonchalantly, trying not to dwell on it, but Sakusa doesn't seem to be satisfied.

“Must have been a very idiotic moment,” he grumbles, making Atsumu scowl.

“And most of all, it's none of yer business,” Atsumu bites back, slightly pissed-off tone lacing his voice.

Sakusa's look is one of surprise as his gaze snaps up, and Atsumu's stomach drops as he catches the hint of disappointment swirling in Sakusa's eyes. For no reason at all, Atsumu feels guilty, almost wanting to apologize, but he doesn't.

It's none of Sakusa's business that Atsumu got a grazing shot two years ago when he and Osamu were on a mission in Miyagi. It's also none of Sakusa's business that this was the reason Osamu went missing in the first place.

That's something Atsumu doesn't want to talk about, and as much as the questions bounce back and forth in that beautiful skull in front of him, Sakusa thankfully doesn't inquire any further. Even though it's itching him to learn more, he remains silent. They don't need to talk. They have other things to do.

“Okay...” Sakusa mutters and refocuses his attention on the blade. As his thick black lashes flutter back up and he’s finding Atsumu's shining golden eyes, the latter shudders. The look Sakusa is shooting him is threatening, predatory, menacing. His breaths are deep and even, his face once again unreadable.  “Be a good boy and hold still.”

Fuck...

Atsumu wants to be a good boy, so of course, he’s doing exactly that. He wants to let Sakusa use his body as he pleases, he’s too excited about what he’s going to do. So, when the cold metal trails further down and reaches Atsumu’s pants, the assassin must do everything in his power to keep his breath in check and prevent his dick from twitching.

It’s hard. His cock and maintaining self-control.

Carefully, Sakusa cuts the button off Atsumu’s pants, pointy tip slowly tracing his hard-on where it was straining against the seam, sliding down the zipper and almost freeing his cock. Atsumu’s breath hitches, then he’s pressing his lips together and throws his head back, closing his eyes in an attempt to compose himself.

His groan is stifled, his whole body tensed up. Holy shit. How the hell is he supposed to hold still like this?

“Let me hear you, Atsumu,” Sakusa clicks his tongue and rebukes him. The deep timbre of his voice immediately shoots into Atsumu's dick. Exactly where Sakusa increases the pressure slightly, just enough so that he doesn't harm him. “Keep your eyes on me.”

“Fuck—Omi…” Atsumu chuckles almost frantically, breathlessly, because he’s sure Sakusa will kill him. Literally.

He lifts his head and shudders as Sakusa catches him with his mesmerizing gaze. Hungry. Greedy. Yearning for some touch. Almost desperate even.

Do it. Touch me.

But he doesn't.

Sakusa traces the outline of Atsumu’s cock, presses the cold blade against his damp underwear, and applies just enough pressure to daze Atsumu's mind. Chills run down his spine at the mere sensation of how fucking good it makes Atsumu feel. Goosebumps and sweat break out on his skin.

“Hah… shit,” Atsumu pants. “Didn't think it could feel that good.”

Sakusa lifts a curious brow. “It does?”

Atsumu nods his head frantically. “Really fucking’ does…” and then he’s slowly bucking against the knife, seeking some friction to get himself off.

If it wasn't for the mask, Atsumu could see it for sure: that shit-eating Cheshire cat grin. Triumphant and aloof. The look of pure malevolent glee. It's the first time tonight that Atsumu thinks Sakusa lets go. The first time Atsumu gets him out of his head.

Let the fun begin.

Atsumu's eyes are wide as Sakusa shifts in his seat and settles at the very edge of the table. He is closer to him now, able to touch every inch of his body.

As Sakusa reaches down, he leans forward, so close to Atsumu that it makes his heart beat ridiculously fast. Heat creeps up to Atsumu’s cheeks, his throat is running dry. Sakusa’s look is indifferent, bored even, just as he removes another knife from Atsumu's leg. He couldn't care less about how close they are.

“Do I make you nervous?” He murmurs deeply, knowingly calling Atsumu out.

Oh fuck, that velvety voice is going to drive him nuts.

“No,” Atsumu lies too silent, forcing himself to hold Sakusa’s gaze and avoid shamelessly glancing to the side again. He pouts only slightly, but it's enough for Sakusa to let another grin flit across his face. Without commenting on it, he straightens up, holding a second knife in his hand.

“Be good for me, will you?” He strokes the first knife over the head of Atsumu’s cock until it arrives at his slit, carefully starting to rub the harmless curved back of the blade against it, letting Atsumu's jaw drop and earning a deep loud moan. Atsumu turns bloody red, his cock twitching while soaking his briefs.

Fuck… He’s going to die.

“Shit,” Sakusa curses, lifting the second knife to Atsumu’s right nipple and drawing tight circles around the sensitive flesh. “Look at you. So wet for me.”

“Omi—” Atsumu cuts himself off when another deep moan ripples through his lungs.

He starts to rock against the knife on his cock, subtly grinding his slit against the blade and pushing the cold metal in until it starts to hurt. Atsumu is leaking, briefs damp from all the precum dripping from his head, immediately staining the gray fabric.

It's filthy and yet so intoxicating.

“Shit—Atsumu…” Sakusa growls and within seconds he removes the knife from his dick. Atsumu whines and is startled as Sakusa snaps, “I said, hold still!”

One second apart and his briefs were cut open. His cock pops free and bounces against his belly. The head is so blissfully red and the string of precum stretching from his belly to his cock sets his mind spinning. Shit.

Atsumu’s breath hitches as the cold metal presses just right against the raised bud of his right nipple. He gasps as the first knife returns to his cock, tracing vein after vein until the tip arrives on the underside of his head, moving the blade in small tight circles.

“Ahhh…!” Atsumu moans, tensing his muscles to stop his back from arching. Stops his body from moving or even twitching. Stops this deep desire to curl forward and hump against the cold metal that gives him absolutely nothing.

He’s going to die. He’s going to fucking die.

Atsumu can't keep his eyes open, the double stimulation makes a furrow pop up between his eyes, his brows arch gorgeously. His mouth hangs open, heavy breaths make his chest heave slightly. As best he can, he tries to keep the rise and fall in check, but Sakusa isn't exactly making controlling his own body easy for him.

“Fuck—” Atsumu curses and realizes his eyelashes are clumping together as he flutters them open. How can he already be this worked up? Sakusa smiles wickedly at the sight of Atsumu's condition.

“Can’t take it?” Sakusa laughs meanly.

“Fuck you,” Atsumu blurts and almost chokes on a gasp when Sakusa glides the second knife from his right nipple over his chest to his left one, making a superficial razor-thin cut without truly hurting Atsumu.

The assassin hisses quietly, startled and somewhat stunned Sakusa dared to cut his skin. It was nowhere close to being deep enough to draw blood but the dull ache is clouding his mind.

Atsumu feels his nipple throb when the sharp edge rubs against it, buds hard and desperately perking up. The pressure is just right to let Atsumu shudder, growling low in his throat as he prevents his hips from twisting.

“Excuse me?” Sakusa twists his hand and applies some pressure at the head of Atsumu’s cock. He suppresses the urge to grind against the knife when Sakusa moves it torturously slow to the base of his dick. “What was that?”

“I—fuck...” Atsumu’s head spins and his muscles burn from exertion, unsure if it’s from the pleasure pooling in his gut or the pain of having to hold back.

“Breathe,” Sakusa reminds him and the next he does is suck in a deep breath, he’s almost sobbing. Holy shit, why the fuck is he nearly sobbing?

Overwhelmed, Atsumu shuts his eyes, squeezing a hot tear free.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa groans, snapping Atsumu out of his trance. Glazed eyes peer up at him, begging him to do something. Again, Sakusa shifts in his seat. “How do you feel?”

Good.

Fuck. I do feel good. I feel fucking amazing.

In response, he whines, opening his mouth as Sakusa slides the blade from his nipple up his neck, then brings it to his jaw. Atsumu’s eyes are wet, and his pupils are so blown out that only slivers of molten honey in his irises are visible. A few more tears follow the first one, streaming down his cheeks until they drop to the ground. A soft gasp falls from his lips.

Atsumu sticks out his tongue, nudges his head against the sharp silver blade when it’s gently brushing his lips. Sakusa’s eyebrows furrow, he’s inhaling sharply. “Fuck, Atsumu...”

Atsumu’s mouth falls open in anticipation, eagerly waiting to take what Sakusa is willing to give to him. His lids are heavy, gaze unfocused and swirling with so much want. If only he could rip that damn mask off that bastard. If only he could touch him. If only he could kiss him.

Atsumu shudders.

Sakusa hesitates but can barely hold back as Atsumu slides his tongue over the back of the blade, spit glistening on his lips. His eyes darken, he clenches his jaw and swallows thickly; every noise that drips from Atsumu’s lips leads to Sakusa being close to losing control. As if Atsumu is finding the smallest cracks in his resolve and bursts right through them.

“Can you take it?” Sakusa asks almost shakily and Atsumu closes his eyes, hums deeply, satisfied he finally gets what he wanted oh so badly. Atsumu swears he can hear Sakusa cursing under his breath, then he murmurs in his low voice. “Of course, you can.”

Sakusa pushes the blade inside Atsumu’s mouth, almost half of the cold metal pressing flat on his tongue. He slides it along that nasty muscle and Atsumu wishes it was Sakusa’s cock instead.

He breathes evenly and deeply through his nose, letting Sakusa thrust the knife in and out, always weary and careful not to leave damage. Atsumu’s eyes flutter shut, and his dick twitches slightly at the mere thought of giving Sakusa head. Of how good it would feel.

Atsumu’s chords vibrate in his throat and his eyes roll back as he imagines what Sakusa would taste like. Salty, probably. Addicting, most likely. Atsumu would suck him dry, that’s for sure. Would eagerly swallow until the last drop gushes out of him.

Shit, he’d gladly let Sakusa fuck his mouth. Whenever and wherever he wants. Not just his mouth, to be honest. Sakusa could fuck any part of him because Atsumu would love to take it. After all, there’s a reason why Atsumu thirsts for him. A reason why he gets involved in all of this in the first place.

He catches Sakusa shifting in his seat again, spreading his legs to adjust himself. The bulge in his slacks is impossible to miss; his cock must be achingly hard by now, pressing against the seam of his suit pants. Atsumu wonders why the fuck he’s still holding back when he has clearly offered to join him. How is he supposed to get him out of his head like that?

Atsumu knits his brows. He has the urge to do something but how much can he do when he’s practically not allowed to touch him at all?

In a moment of carelessness, Atsumu closes his mouth a little too much. Lost in thoughts of how he can actually help Sakusa, he forgets he has a fucking knife in his mouth and allows the sharp blade to graze his palate and tongue. The cut isn’t too deep, but enough to draw some blood.

Atsumu swears there’s a twitch in Sakusa’s pants. Oh.

With his brow furrowed and his gaze skeptically fixed on Atsumu, Sakusa takes out the knife and withdraws the other from Atsumu’s cock too. Atsumu closes his mouth and tastes something metallic, iron specifically. It’s warm and pools in the crack between his lips, coloring them red until the first drop trickles over. 

Blood. Not much. Just enough to draw Sakusa’s attention right to his mouth. Sakusa sucks in a sharp breath.

“Touch yourself,” he demands, cheeks darkening immediately.

Atsumu only notices now how much they’re both panting, chests heaving as if they were running a fucking marathon. A battle to choose which of them can endure more and it seems like Atsumu has the upper hand.

This time, it can’t be all about him. No. As much as he’s enjoying this, he wants to break Sakusa down as well until all he knows is Atsumu’s name. After all, Sakusa was the one who called him to come over.

“Only if ya join me,” the assassin counters determinedly and watches Sakusa scowl.

“Atsumu–”

“It’s my wish,” he blurts, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He shakes his arms and stretches his legs slightly, relaxing his muscles now that the blades are removed from his body. Shit, it feels so good to be able to move again.

Sakusa’s frown deepens but before any words can leave his lips, Atsumu interrupts him again.

“D’ya remember?” He gasps. “When we were in Shiratorizawa… I won our bet. That’s my wish. Touch yerself and I’ll obey you and touch myself too.”

He’s losing his mind. Atsumu is stupid. He is so. Fucking. Stupid.

Anything could have been his wish, but he chose what? To watch Sakusa jerk off? Just in order to make the goon feel better? What the actual hell is going on with Atsumu? Since when does he care about the bastard’s condition? He shouldn’t.

But what does he care when he can see how close Sakusa is to breaking? How close he is to giving in to him. How close he is to granting Atsumu everything he wants. All that's missing is a little push.

“What,” Atsumu taunts. His eyelids drop halfway, then he murmurs, “Ya wanna chicken out?”

“Fuck you,” Sakusa snaps and narrows his eyes. Oh good, he’s starting to get furious.

“Ya wish.” Atsumu winks smugly. Only a little more. “But sure, who would have thought Sakusa Kiyoomi actually wouldn't have a stick up his ass, right?”

Atsumu's hand moves to his cock, his body flinching slightly as he grips the base of it and slowly begins to spread the precum along his length, slicking himself up. Fuck, he’s leaking and the sounds he’s making are obscene. “Enjoy the show, bastard.”

“Fuck you,” Sakusa mutters again, this time visibly pissed, and leans back. Atsumu's eyes widen.

Gosh, does he really…?

As he set the knives aside, Sakusa props his palms behind his back and reclines, spreading his legs and bringing the heel of his palm to his dick. Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath, then bites his lips as he keeps stroking himself, catching Sakusa’s eyes roaming up and down his body. Fuck.

Sakusa presses his hand down and tilts his head back, rolling back his eyes while his lids flutter shut as a deep sigh is pushed out of his lungs. The sound goes straight into Atsumu’s pulsing cock, he’s biting his lip and feels this deep sinful pleasure taking root at the base of his spine.

It's as if Sakusa's relief sends Atsumu skyrocketing to a newfound high. By the deep blush on his cheeks, Atsumu can tell how good it must feel to finally touch himself. Sakusa enjoys it, his lascivious gaze is back on Atsumu, and his chest starts to rise and fall in deep and even breaths. The sight does it to Atsumu. He can’t stop staring.

Fuck, he needs Sakusa to take it out. Now.

As if he’s reading his mind, a soft gasp tumbles over Atsumu’s lips as Sakusa undoes his slacks, gaze fixed on the blonde as if he’s actually fucking him. Atsumu wishes he would.

Sakusa makes a low noise as the zipper stops pressing against his dick and he pushes the white waistband of his black briefs down just enough to free his cock. Atsumu's eyes instantly drift down Sakusa's body and widen, mouth going slack as he releases another throaty groan.

He’s big and he’s fucking leaking and holy fucking shit Atsumu needs to feel him.

Atsumu feels feverish as he watches Sakusa circling a thumb around the slit at the head of his cock and starts to mirror his movements, doing the same thing on his own dick. He moans and tips his head back, his mind going fuzzy with every sound Sakusa makes.

Fuck, he wants that cock inside him. Actually, it's not a matter of want. He needs it.

Every drop of his blood must have pooled between his legs as dazed and lightheaded as Atsumu feels. He rubs his palm over his head and almost chokes on his moan, brings his head back up, and stares at Sakusa's heavy-lidded eyes. They’re nearly doing the rest.

Atsumu is close. Oh gosh, he is so fucking close.

“You like it?“ Sakusa rasps, lifting a brow and curling the corner of his mouth into a complacent smirk.

Like? Atsumu is drooling, that's how much he ‘likes’ it. He huffs out a laugh.

“Could be worse, Omi-kun.” He’s a damn asshole.

Atsumu’s core pulses with heat as he’s stroking himself, smearing the beads of precum all over his length. His hips buck into his hand, his muscles tensing and relaxing with the telltale pressure that keeps building up in his gut. He pushes some strands of hair out of his face that were sticking to his damp forehead, gaze locked with Sakusa’s as he, too, strokes himself.

He flicks his wrist and picks up the pace, and holy shit what sinful things that does to Atsumu.

Surrendering, he closes his eyes, trying to compose himself so he doesn't come before Sakusa. God forbid because Atsumu has to see what he looks like when he's coming. He cannot and is not allowed to miss that sight.

Sakusa hisses and Atsumu’s eyes snap open. His head is hazy seeing the beautifully arched eyebrows of his enemy, the long black lashes that tickle his cheeks because his eyes are closed, and the blush that reveals that even Sakusa won't last much longer.

Close, close, they are both so close.

“Fuck… Atsumu—” Sakusa moans as he slowly flutters his eyes half open, tipping his head back to peer down at him. Atsumu groans as he works himself faster, harder. Shit.

With his fingertips pressed against the underside of his cock, he strokes himself up and down and applies pressure to make it feel like he's jerking himself and Sakusa off simultaneously, just as he imagines what it could be like. Oh, just how much he wishes he could feel him.

Atsumu’s hips thrust into his hand, his head lolls to the side and his lip is almost bitten raw as his thighs and abs start to burn from all the clenching, and relaxing. His body feels hot, way too hot, and Atsumu starts to reach a point where he can’t slow down anymore.

“Omi… Omi, shit—”

His face is crimson red, and sweat is dampening his skin. Atsumu tries to resist the pleasure in his gut, but when he sees Sakusa’s fucked out face like this, he can't. The next thing he realizes is how his knees tip outward, how his back arches clean off the couch, and his whole body tenses, and then, he falls apart.

Streaks of white cover his upper body, shooting up so high that it's even spread across his chest. Atsumu's moan is silent until he catches his breath, then a sob cracks from his bitten lips. He comes hard. It's mind-blowing, somehow intoxicating, and sends Atsumu almost into a trance if it wasn't for Sakusa's deep groan that rips him back to reality.

Atsumu's teary eyes blink open and thank God he catches the moment Sakusa comes too. His eyes fall shut and then he lets go, all over Atsumu’s stomach, the white mess he's making mingling with the one Atsumu has caused.

“Fuck,” slips quietly over Atsumu’s lips. A whisper.

The sensation of Sakusa's hot release brings another spurt from Atsumu's cock until his legs start to shake. Atsumu's head rolls to the side and his muscles go limp. For a few seconds, the only thing that is audible is Sakusa and Atsumu's heavy breathing. Only when his heart slows down and Sakusa opens his eyes does Atsumu realize what the hell just happened.

Sakusa came. On Atsumu.

“Fuck,” Sakusa joins in, as he realizes it too.

Atsumu slumps down on the queen-size bed and collects his thoughts. He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face, but that doesn’t help – he can still see Sakusa's blissed-out expression, can still feel his hot cum all over his belly.

A shiver runs through him. In his mind, he can still picture Sakusa’s face in that unbearably hot moment – eyes screwed shut and skin flushed as he strokes himself through his high, coming all over him. Atsumu imagines Sakusa's lips were parted. He wished Sakusa had taken off his mask so Atsumu would have been able to watch him properly.

He looks down at his body, but the shreds of evidence have long been washed away.

Holy shit. He has lost his mind. He shouldn’t have come to the hotel, never mind letting a bastard from Yakuza come all over him and enjoy everything that Sakusa’s been doing to him. Help his enemy? Put his life in his hands?

What the fuck was he doing?

Sakusa wouldn't hesitate to kill him, he has made it more than clear to him, not only once. He is not someone Atsumu should enjoy spending his time with. He is not someone Atsumu should trust that much. Sakusa Kiyoomi is Yakuza. Yakuza… the reason for his mother's death.

How can he be so stupid?

And still, something about Sakusa draws him in.

Atsumu can’t deny that the cold detachment is part of it. Sakusa has always been so in control that tonight is considered Atsumu's personal triumph. Because all Atsumu could think of is that Sakusa was exactly what he needed to be able to let go. And tonight, it was Sakusa who thought exactly the same of him.

And when Sakusa’s control wavered, as it had been not long ago, he was mesmerizing. Addicting.

Atsumu wants more. Is greedy. He wants, needs, to get under his skin. Needs to see and hear him. Taste him when he lets go completely. He needs to know what it feels like to fu—

His phone buzzes, derailing his train of thought. He sighs annoyed, pissed at himself for his messed-up feelings, and digs his phone out of his pocket to look at the screen.

Atsumu’s heart slips into the pit of his stomach. There are exactly two messages on his screen that send his world into a tailspin. His eyes are wide open.

Oikawa (today, 02:19 am):

<< You and Sakusa are going to head to Osaka tomorrow.

<< Stop by the HQ at 7 am.

Kita-san (today, 02:15 am):

<< You should come back, Atsumu. Call me when you read this.

And now Atsumu is thinking that, damn, I could use a little more distraction. He is sure he won't sleep tonight because this can only be about one person alone. Osamu.

Chapter Text

Behave.

That’s the last thing Oikawa said when he sent Atsumu and Kiyoomi off to Osaka. He knew them, sensed whatever tension this was between them, warned them that they could easily fuck everything up if they didn't get a hold of themselves.

So Atsumu bit his tongue before he uttered things he could genuinely regret. He forced his gaze to the side because looking at Sakusa would mean he might lose his mind. Keeping quiet and pretending nothing happened the night before is probably the only reasonable thing he can do right now.

Because it drives him nuts.

The threat, being voluntarily at the mercy, Sakusa’s blissed-out expression, the things Atsumu triggered in him... He was the one Sakusa yearned for. He is responsible for everything that happened last night. He did this to Sakusa.

Atsumu inhales sharply.

All of this should have happened once and gotten out of his system. The pent-up energy should have evaporated and Atsumu should be able to focus perfectly fine. But now he's sitting here for 10 hours of driving with the man who won't give him a moment's peace. Because all Atsumu can do is watch him, want him, crave him.

But he can't get him. And he shouldn't want to.

Yet he does.

“We're almost there,” Sakusa breaks the silence after what feels like an eternity. Perhaps it was. Atsumu isn't even sure if they've talked at all today.

They met up early. Oikawa wanted them both to come to the headquarters this morning to inform them of everything that has been carried on to him. The current plan is to meet with Meian Shūgo, an independent informant, living in Osaka. He is an acquaintance of Oikawa, one whom he trusts but is always somewhat wary of. After all, people in Osaka don't necessarily think very highly of Yakuza.

Atsumu knows the drill. It's the same story all over Hyogo.

Supposedly, Meian gathered information that could lead them to Osamu, or at least give them a hint that would reveal his current location. It could be nothing, or it could be everything. But what else can Atsumu do but hope? That's the only thing left for him to do these days, so he clings to anything that’s given to him.

Too much time has passed anyway. He must find Osamu soon.

Atsumu frowns as Sakusa pulls into an underground garage of a high-rise building. He drives to a level requiring a fingerprint scan to get in and parks next to cars at least as obnoxious as his own. Atsumu takes in his surroundings with wide eyes.

There are at least 20 or 30 sports cars here, one more expensive than the other. Eventually, Atsumu's eyes catch a sports bike standing in a spot away from the cars. The seat's lacquer gleams in neon green, entwined with deep black and a white font gracing 'Yamaha'. Just this level here must cost a fortune.

Sakusa kills the engine and gets out of the car, Atsumu following him suit. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his red jacket and follows Sakusa toward an elevator with a skeptical look on his face. As Sakusa types in a code and the doors open for them to enter, Atsumu tilts his head and hesitates.

“Shouldn't we meet Meian at the Hozen-ji Temple? I'm pretty sure that's not the way.”

Sakusa stares at him, dark eyes boring through Atsumu's gaze. It makes him shiver.

“I need to change,” Sakusa explains and Atsumu’s frown deepens. Sakusa sighs. “Like this, it's easy to tell I belong to Yakuza. That would be too dangerous. I have some of my things stored in an apartment some floors up. Come with me to get them or stay here. I don't care what you do but stop blocking the damn door.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and enters the elevator. He wonders, “You own an apartment? In Osaka?”

Sakusa frowns, seeming somehow peeved. He replies, “It belongs to a friend.”

Atsumu snorts. “Imaginary friends don't count, Omi-Omi.”

He reaps a glare from Sakusa, livid and murderous.

The door behind Atsumu closes and he leans against it, peering at him with half-lidded eyes and a smug grin. Sakusa always seems to be so indifferent and collected, and since Atsumu has seen what he looks like when his façade crumbles, he can't help but want to break it down completely.

He has the urge to coax some emotions out of him, needs to see what it looks like when Sakusa breaks. Atsumu wants to get under his skin, wants to know what it's like when Sakusa lets go. God, it drives him crazy, he needs to... needs to know what Sakusa's touch feels like. Must know what his mouth tastes like.

Atsumu's grin disappears, he swallows hard.

He shouldn’t. And Sakusa would never.

The elevator dings and snaps Atsumu out of his thoughts. They get out and step in front of a door, where Sakusa types in another code. Atsumu looks around warily and finds a nameplate next to the door that reads ‘Utsui’. Whomever this friend of Sakusa's is must be pretty shady.

After a sound of clicking, which was the door unlocking, the two enter the apartment. They take off their shoes and while Sakusa disappears into the bathroom to wash his hands, Atsumu enters further into the apartment and starts looking around.

It is clean. Too clean. Too neat. Too tidy.

Atsumu is pretty sure no one lives in here.

He steps into the bedroom and encounters a bed that is impeccably made. By now at the latest, Atsumu is sure that the apartment must be empty. Nobody goes in and out of here every day and can possibly have the nerve to leave his apartment so neat. Unless this friend is just as much of a neat freak as Sakusa is.

Sakusa joins him and walks to the closet, opening it and then crouching down to pull something out of the base. He ignores that Atsumu is peering over his shoulder, curious about what he's doing. When Sakusa finally withdraws a black sniper rifle from a bag, Atsumu's eyes widen.

“What the fuck, Omi?” He wonders, more to himself than actually talking to Sakusa.

“Wait outside until I have changed.” Sakusa's gaze is fixed on the sniper rifle, carefully placing it on the bed behind him.

“What, yer getting shy now? It's not like I haven't already seen yer di—”

“Miya.” Sakusa tilts his head, glaring furiously.

Atsumu throws up his hands in surrender and takes a few steps back. “Okay okay, but don't think ya don't have ta explain this to me later.” His gaze drops to the weapon.

“I don't have to explain anything to you, except perhaps how to mind your own business.”

Atsumu snorts. “The tale of storing some clothes in a ‘friend's apartment’ might have satisfied me, Omi, but the fact that yer hiding a gun in here, a damn sniper rifle that is, kinda brings up some questions, ya know.”

“Which I'm not willing to answer for you.”

“Does Oikawa know about this?”

Sakusa flinches for a split second, squinting his eyes and clenching his jaw.

Oh. So, he doesn't know. Interesting.

“Get out,” Sakusa growls.

Atsumu thinks about the cracks in his façade.

Atsumu fiddles with his phone while he waits for Sakusa. Once again, he didn't call Kita and instead shot him a message that he was on his way back home and will stop by his bar as soon as he arrives. No reply from Kita ensued, but an uneasy feeling in Atsumu’s gut did.

He knows he's been avoiding Kita for too long. He knows that he's been avoiding everyone from Inarizaki for too long. But he couldn't help it. The shame of losing Osamu and not being able to find him again consumes him. He is already dreading seeing them all, his family, soon again.

Will Suna come too?

Atsumu's gaze snaps up as the bedroom door opens. He hitches a breath as Sakusa steps out, and there was no trace of a snooty mobster left. The expensive suit and his signature turtleneck are set aside.

Instead, he is dressed in a pair of black pants that were ripped open just above his knee on the left side, the scraps of fabric held together only by single threads. Above that, a dark olive green strap loops around his thigh, reaching the waistband of his pants where his gun is attached.

Sakusa wears black leather gloves that gleam in the moonlight's glow, black boots that reach over the fabric of his pants, and a green sweatshirt jacket that looks a little too big even on him. Atsumu spots a black windbreaker accented with single neon green stripes over the sweatshirt jacket, the right sleeve is slipped down his shoulder so that it's lingering in the crook of his arm.

Underneath the jackets, Sakusa wears a black sweater with various pockets all of which could easily stash some knives, embellished with the same neon green as on the windbreaker. Atsumu's eyes flit up and notice that half of Sakusa's face is hidden in the collar of that sweater, large enough to obviate the need for a mask.

Atsumu blinks a few times, only realizing now what that means. Sakusa wears combat gear. And holy shit, he's actually not wearing a mask. Sakusa looks so cool and so damn hot and just... like a fucking assassin.

What the fuck...

“Let's go,” he says unconcernedly and walks to the door. Atsumu notices that his sniper rifle is slung over Sakusa's left shoulder, but he can't get a word past his lips. No snarky comment. No dumb insult. Nothing. Only gaping. “Meian is waiting.”

Right. They need to meet Meian. Atsumu can't stop staring.

 “Yeah,” is all he can get past his lips, quietly and reverently. Sakusa is a handsome man. This isn't news to Atsumu, he's dealt with handsome men before, he's one himself after all. But why does it throw him off so much when it comes to this bastard? Why does Sakusa make him so nervous? Why is he looking at him so intensely? Atsumu has to fight the blush on his cheeks.

He was a fool to think he would get that shit out of his system. The urge to break down Sakusa's walls grew only stronger.

When they arrive back down in the garage, Sakusa doesn't head for his car, no, but for the motorcycle that Atsumu spotted earlier. Sakusa swings the strap of his sniper rifle over his head, so it doesn't slip off his back, walks to a box where the vehicle is parked, and pulls out two helmets, tossing one of them into Atsumu's hands. The assassin blinks dumbfounded.

“Hold on to me,” Sakusa says before putting on his own black helmet. “And stick to my movements. Unless you want us to die.”

Atsumu swallows thickly, forcing a mischievous grin on his face to cover his astonishment. “Yer full of surprises, Omi. What's coming next? Will ya grant me one more wish?”

All Atsumu can perceive through the visor is the fierce look on Sakusa's face. “Shut up, Miya, and let's get this over with as quickly as possible.”

Maybe they'll agree on that for once.

Sakusa pulls out a pair of black fingerless gloves from the box and throws them to Atsumu as well. “Put them on. It gets too cold if you don't.”

Atsumu blinks a little too often and frowns but does what the bastard tells him to do. It's winter, it's cold, and it gets even colder when they ride the bike. Why does he care how Atsumu might feel?

As soon as he slips into the fabric his doubts and thoughts dissolve and all Atsumu can think about is how damn soft these gloves are.

Sakusa swings one leg over and adjusts his seat on the bike so that he's sitting comfortably. Atsumu joins him and for a moment his brain stops working. Only now does he realize how close he is to Sakusa. Only now does he understand that he will, must touch him, despite having too many layers of clothing between his palm and Sakusa's skin.

“Okay handsome, now how am I supposed to hold onto you? D’ya want me to put my arms around yer waist and snuggle close to ya? I can do that easy-peasy,” Atsumu half-jokes, his tone is teasing but Sakusa is undeterred.

“Maybe you should stop watching so many romcoms, Miya. That would make it hard to steer and we'd lose balance too. Just put your palms on either side of my waist.”

Put your—what?!

Atsumu’s brain short circuits, he actually expected to hold onto Sakusa's clothes. So now the bastard really wants Atsumu to touch him? Touch him. Is that his permission? The chance to get that close to him?

“Miya,” Sakusa mutters annoyed as he peeks over his shoulder.

“You want me to touch you?” Atsumu blurts, dumbfounded.

“My waist.”

“Yer—”

Atsumu gulps. His waist. It's not like it's anything special. Atsumu has touched plenty of waists. Some to have fun with, some to kill. Sakusa's waist might be somewhere in between. It's nothing special. Nothing special. His waist. Not special...

Atsumu fights the urge to release a groan as his palms nestle against Sakusa's body. Even with three layers of clothes, Atsumu feels how defined his it is. Even with three layers of clothes, Atsumu realizes how tiny it is.

It's pretty damn special. So perfect in his hands.

“Ready?”

“Y-Yeah”, Atsumu sputters like an idiot.

And then they're off, and Atsumu's grip tightens as Sakusa accelerates.

It’s unnatural but Atsumu is an excellent backseat driver. He’s behaving himself and follows Sakusa along, isn’t overly pushy or demanding, and basks in the sensation of freedom as Sakusa keeps driving like a maniac. Atsumu clearly enjoys this. Maybe a little too much.

Especially because it feels so intimate; Atsumu is molded into Sakusa’s back. It’s like a dance that’s only known by them, involving trust and teamwork at a physical, bone-deep level that skips right past the conscious intellect. A taste of freedom. A spark to feel alive.

Atsumu can feel the cool humid air rolling down from under a blossomed hillside. He can smell the road dust, the oil, the herby scents of weeds and wildflowers on the roadside. The river they’re driving near, the food of the alleys, the scent of Sakusa in the breeze passing by.

Sweet and mysterious. Tempting and dangerous.

He wants. Oh, Atsumu wants so bad.

It's dark when they arrive at the Hozen-ji Temple, the place lit only by lanterns and lights from the stores. It's beautiful, soothing.

They get off the bike and put their helmets on the seat. A figure with mid-length, slicked-back hair leans against the wall across from them, taking a drag from his cigarette. He is quite tall and has a sturdy build. Sakusa walks right up to him and Atsumu is sure this must be Meian Shūgo.

“Sakusa,” he says as he pushes the smoke from his lungs.

“Meian,” Sakusa replies with a nod.

“And Miya Atsumu, I suppose?” His gaze is now fixed on the blonde. Atsumu nods. "Good," Meian flicks the cigarette aside and stomps it out.

“What do you have for us?” Sakusa asks, his voice even.

“What are you offering me?” Meian smirks.

“Anything you want.”

“Oh?” Meian raises a brow and his grin widens. “Oikawa is that serious?”

“That's why I'm here,” Sakusa replies unfazed.

Meian nods. “I see.”

“So?” Sakusa raises his eyebrows expectantly. Meian's eyes light up.

“A group of former henchmen of various Yakuza. They want to set up something, think they own Dōtonbori. Eliminate them. I don't need these rats in here.”

Atsumu knows very well that Meian doesn't just refer to these people, but to Yakuza in general.

Sakusa nods. “Consider it done.”

Meian smirks and pulls out another cigarette. “Good.” He sticks it between his lips and offers his lighter to Atsumu, curling the corner of his mouth up in a lopsided smile, expecting Atsumu to light it for him. The latter snorts but pulls his hands out of his jacket pocket and does what Meian requests wordlessly. Atsumu figured it was better not to have him against them.

“Ever heard of Noriaki?” Meian asks, and Sakusa frowns.

“Daishō's man. Even one he's quite close to. Yes, why?”

“Rumor has it that he was traveling with the one you are looking for.”

“Osamu?” Atsumu frowns, swallowing hard. “Osamu is here?”

“I don't know about that, kid. But Noriaki still is. Find him and you might find this Osamu of yours too,” Meian explains.

Atsumu frowns and pulls his eyebrows together. His stomach is churning, his throat is getting dry. Atsumu feels his heartbeat hammering in his throat, feels dizzy, his body trembling. Is it true? Did he finally find Osamu?

“Where is Noriaki now?” Sakusa asks as he notices Atsumu is too caught up in his head.

Meian laughs. “It would be too easy if I knew. No idea. In Osaka or somewhere in Hyogo prefecture, but where exactly you have to find out yourself.”

Sakusa nods and then clarifies, “You understand we'll take care of Noriaki first before I handle things in Dōtonbori?”

Meian grins. “Of course.”

“Good.” Sakusa frowns and examines Atsumu. He can feel Sakusa's gaze on him, but he can't tear his thoughts away from Osamu. Not now that he knows he is so close. So, Sakusa turns away and walks back to the bike, not paying Atsumu another glance. He murmurs, “Let's go, Miya.”

And Atsumu has only one thought:

Osamu... are you here?

Being back in Inarizaki is... strange.

It's the first time in almost over a year that Atsumu can see the stars again, hanging in the beauty of the night. There is no light from a big city polluting the sky, just single lanterns shining dimly and far enough away from each other to not be too bright. Atsumu takes a deep breath. He would lie if he said he didn't miss living in the countryside.

Sakusa parked the motorcycle somewhat away from the center so that they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. Ever since Osamu disappeared, the assassins here have gotten a little cautious, to say the least. So now they walk silently through the dark alleys, through streets covered with powdery snow. Atsumu thinks about his dream.

“Miya,” Sakusa rips him out of his thoughts. “If you start letting your mind drift again, I will let you die.”

Atsumu scoffs. “It’s cute that you think I need yer help defending myself, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa shoots him a look that makes Atsumu blush. Wasn’t he the one who claimed the bastard’s help to clear his mind? Wasn’t Atsumu the one who was already saved twice by the goon?

Atsumu tries to wave it off and distract from the topic as they kept on walking.

“Anyway… are we gonna talk about it or act like it never happened,” Atsumu says, looking with raised brows at the weapon on Sakusa’s back that was impossible not to notice; a fucking sniper rifle.

“No, we’re not going to talk about it. It would do the universe justice if you don’t open your mouth right now... or ever,” Sakusa bites back annoyed, not giving Atsumu a glance.

“I’ll have ya know that my voice is a necessity to keep ya from taking yer own life every night, Omi-kun. It’s okay to admit, ya know?”

“I’d rather take my own life any time of the day if it means not hearing you utter another word.”

Atsumu chuckles. “Feel free to die whenever, just not until ya tell me why you have a huge ass fucking sniper rifle and what the hell ya would need it for?!”

Sakusa stops and scowls at Atsumu. His eyes are narrowed, a vein is popping up on his temple. Whether he is irritated with Atsumu? No. Not at all.

“It comes as no surprise that it takes this big of a fucking gun to shut you up. One shot is enough to assure humanity that you never exist again,” Sakusa snaps and Atsumu can’t help but smirk.

“Ya sure know how to flatter a guy, huh, Omi-kun? What's next on the agenda? Telling me how pretty I look covered in blood? ‘Cause I sure think ya would.”

And when Atsumu catches the blush sprouting on Sakusa’s cheeks, he remembers their shared night from yesterday and all the things they did. Atsumu’s smirk fades, he swallows and ignores the dull feeling in his stomach.

He must be wrong. It must be the cold coloring Sakusa’s face in a pretty pink. Never would these things ever affect either him or Sakusa. Never. Neither of them cares. Not Sakusa and certainly not Atsumu.

Right?

“Blood contains a huge amount of get a life, Miya, which would look nothing but pathetic on you,” Sakusa quips.

Atsumu rolls his eyes and keeps on walking, averting his gaze from the goon to escape and fight his own blush. He continues babbling, “Blood also contains protein, which yer lanky ass seems to be lacking.”

“I'm surprised a brain-dead moron like you even knows anything about blood, let alone what it contains.”

“It’s common sense,” Atsumu smirks, catching Sakusa’s eyes. The latter hums. “You lack that, and all other things as well.” 

Atsumu can’t help but chuckle, raising his brows comically as he keeps on talking. “It sure as hell didn’t seem like that when I was told to come over ‘cause you were so worked up.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miya.” Sakusa tries to keep a cool face but Atsumu can see it again. The way his façade is crumbling. Little by little. “You don’t have that kind of influence on me.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Atsumu hums amused. “Not what sweet little Omi-junior thought.”

Sakusa stops, once again, and grimaces in annoyance and disgust.

“Miya,” he says evenly. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Uh-huh… yeah. Not gonna happen,” Atsumu clarifies. Then continues persistently, “So the sniper…”

“Oh my God…” Sakusa sighs exasperatedly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s a fucking sniper rifle, Miya, not some Elden Ring boss with a hidden lore and treasure behind it, stop asking.”

“Oh, dear almighty Omi-kun, I kneel before ya as I beg ya to enlighten me as to why yer dragging such a killer weapon out of yer lovely friend's chamber.”

“You do not kneel,” Sakusa states. Fair point.

“Yer right, I would never do that for you,” Atsumu grins. “So?”

“You won't give up, will you?”

“Nope.”

Sakusa exhales deeply, closes his eyes, and throws his head back. The collar of his sweater slips off his face, exposing his beautiful lips. They are puckered into a kissable pout once he brings his head back to seek Atsumu’s golden eyes.

Atsumu wants. Oh, he wants...

“Come here,” Sakusa demands, holding his gaze. His dark eyes are ominous and cold and fearsome, but Atsumu doesn't let them faze him one bit.

Instead, he steps in front of Sakusa and peers up at him, sucking in a startled breath as he leans in, feeling his body heat. Sakusa's lips are right next to Atsumu's ears as he whispers.

“To kill you, Miya.” His voice is low and sultry, sending chills up Atsumu’s spine. Breath clashes against skin that wants to be kissed. “To drill bullet after bullet through your pea-sized brain and watch your body fall lifeless to the ground. Because you won't see me and you won't hear me until it's too late and you wish you heard a shot before it hits you.”

Atsumu shudders, and if it hadn't pissed him off to know Sakusa thinks so little of his abilities, this would be definitely quite entertaining. But, once again, Sakusa underestimates him and it bugs him. Because no one ever underestimates him. Not Atsumu.

He scowls at Sakusa as he takes a step back to look up into his eyes. Their faces, bodies, are close. Too close.

Atsumu's gaze slides to Sakusa's lips before he forces it back to his eyes. The way Sakusa clenches his jaw doesn't go unnoticed by Atsumu. Small cracks: the façade is crumbling. Little by little. Piece by piece. Atsumu wants. Atsumu wants so badly. He needs...

“That’s a lot of bullshit, Omi.”

“Here’s a better load of shit, ‘Tsumu.”

Both Sakusa and Atsumu whip their heads around, startled off at the sudden deep and clearly irritated voice. Their hands are immediately on their weapons, but the moment Atsumu lays his eyes on who was walking behind them, he instantly loosens his grip on Osamu's knife. His heart slips into the pit of his stomach, his gaze softens.

“Rin,” Atsumu whispers breathlessly because holy shit, how long has it been? He knits his brows together but tries to play it cool. “Geez, Sunarin… had a fight with an ugly-looking Tibetan fox?” 

Why are you covered in scars?

If Suna hadn't rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, Atsumu wouldn't have noticed. They must be all over his body. Small cuts split his skin, some of them presumably deep enough to stay permanently.

Atsumu frowns since it was unlike Rin to act so recklessly. He's nothing like Atsumu, no. Rin's fighting style is similar to that of Osamu, always acting mindfully and not letting anyone get near him.

So how could this happen?

“A dear Miya sent three lovely assassins my way for whatever goddamn reason. Pretty sure Sir David isn’t the one who decided the Tibetans should go extinct, bastard. What the fuck is wrong with you?! So much for going on missions.”

Oh, he’s pissed.

“Well, hello to ya too, asshole.” Atsumu squints his eyes, he has no clue what Suna is talking about. “Can ya please enlighten me on what the fuck you mean, my dear Rin-ta-rō?”

Just in front of him, Suna comes to a halt and fists his hand into the collar of his jacket, pulling him up. Atsumu grasps his wrists, holding Suna's furious gaze. Suna grits his teeth.

“You could have delivered me that fucking message yourself, coward.”

Atsumu frowns. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“At my family's grave? Seriously, Atsumu? The kind greetings that I should fuck off from finding Osamu?”

Atsumu's eyes search Suna's, darting back and forth as if to find clarification for his confusion. Suna scoffs and pushes Atsumu away, backing off and passing Sakusa as he heads towards Kita's bar. Sakusa stares at him with at least as much confusion as Atsumu.

“Hey!” The blonde yells. “Suna, what the fuck?! Talk to me! What's going on?!”

Suna stops, glaring at Atsumu over his shoulder. “You tell me, ‘Tsumu.”

“No. Nuh-uh. Fuck you, don’t gimme that. I have no idea what yer talkin’ about!” Atsumu explains desperately while approaching him. He steps in front of Suna and stares deeply into his eyes, frowning before placing his hands on his shoulders. “What happened?”

Suna is mad. Atsumu understands that. He would be too if he would look like his best friend, covered in scars. But Suna is mad at him for whatever reason and Atsumu doesn't understand what on earth he did when they haven't seen each other in a year. So, how can he be blamed for this?

Suna’s expression softens slowly, he takes a deep breath. He must realize that Atsumu is telling the truth. He is indeed completely clueless.

“I was at my family's grave in Aichi last week. Three assassins were waiting there to take me out. At least, they had the fucking decency to wait until I left.”

None of them, with the exception of Atsumu perhaps, would ever walk around without a weapon, be it the smallest knife. But each of them possessed something with which they were unbeatable, and for Suna, it was his bow and arrow.

In Aichi, the home of Suna's family before he came to Inarizaki, is the only place in Japan where he dares not to carry this weapon around. There, he forgets for five minutes that he is an assassin. Forgets how dangerous his life has become.

Not many people know about this, in fact, only the inner circle of Inarizaki. So, him being attacked there of all places is truly weird.

“Fuck, Rin...” Atsumu swallows thickly.

Suna snorts. “Yeah, fuck indeed. They told me to give up looking for Osamu. And when I asked who sent them, one of them just grinned stupidly at me and said 'Miya, of course'.”

Atsumu's heart slips into the pit of his stomach, his eyes widen. “It wasn't me,” he clarifies. His throat is dry. “He was lying.”

“Well, did he?” Suna narrows his eyes, his voice accusing, and it makes Atsumu angry. He lets his hands slip from Suna's shoulders and shoves them back into his jacket pockets.

“What the hell would I get out of it?”

“You tell me, Tsumu.”

Now Atsumu is starting to get pissed. At this moment, all he wants is to actually kill Sunarin.

Frustrated, Atsumu rummages in a pocket attached to his pants for something, meanwhile holding Suna's irritated look. He doesn't believe his words? Fine. Then he will show him why he better should.

When Atsumu finds what he was looking for, he yanks Rin's hand toward him and forces the open palm up, letting the item slide into Suna's grasp. For a split second Suna’s eyes widen, then his gaze snaps back to Atsumu and all he can do is frown.

“Two years ‘n’ that's all I have, Sunarin,” Atsumu tells him pissed off. Fed up with himself and with Suna and somewhere deep inside also with Sakusa. Actually, not that deep inside. “If I wanted ya to stop lookin’ for ‘im, I would’ve killed ya myself.”

Suna stared perplexed at his hand, then into Atsumu's eyes. The thin golden metal adorned with the sun charm is distinctive. The counterpart to Atsumu's moon necklace. It’s Osamu’s.

“Where did you get this from? Where is—”

“I don't know, Rin,” Atsumu interrupts him because he can't stand to hear this question anymore.

Where is Osamu?

Oh, how much he wishes he had an answer to that.

“We got a hint that he might be in Osaka. Gotta talk to Kita first and see what he has for us.”

For a moment, the world stands still. Atsumu and Suna stare deeply into each other's eyes, their gazes full of despair and empathy. They are suffering. Both of them. No one can understand each other better than they can. The morbid concern for the one they love the most.

It is a shared sorrow.

Suna's gaze drifts back to the necklace in his hand, clenching it into a fist, squeezing the piece of jewelry tightly. It's all they have. Of course, Suna considers this at least as frustrating as Atsumu. They need more than that.

His gaze shifts to Sakusa, green fox eyes observing him until he frowns. Atsumu's heart beats a tad faster. He gulps. Suna wouldn't notice Sakusa was part of Yakuza, right?

“You got some nerve showing up here with these lousy guns,” Suna refers to the sniper rifle and probably to Sakusa's pistol too. “Didn't anyone ever teach you to fight with real weapons?”

Sakusa snorts. “What’s it with Inarizaki and their assassins? All of them think they're superior. How naïve.”

Suna squints, but Atsumu steps between them before he can open his mouth again and forces an irritated smile on his own lips. He has no time for bitching right now.

“Okaaaay, great. Lovely. Omi-kun, this is Sunarin. Sunarin, this is Omi-kun. So nice to meet ya guys! Now let's go to Kita.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Sakusa corrects him.

“Suna Rintarō,” Suna follows suit.

“Wonderful. Now that that's settled, can we leave?”

They stare at each other for a moment longer before Suna's gaze returns to Atsumu. He snorts and shakes his head, muttering something about the blonde being a 'stupid moron' which Atsumu pretends he didn’t hear. Then Suna detaches himself from them and continues walking.

“Let’s go.”

The first one to greet Atsumu is Aran. The tight hug and the low words of "It's good to see you again" clearly (don't) make Atsumu's eyes hot. Red-rimmed and after a few blinks, it's almost unnoticeable that he was about to shed a few tears.

It is truly good to see his family again. Every single one of them.

They are all here. Ōmimi, Riseki, Akagi, Ginjima... all of them are here. Everyone is happy to see Suna and Atsumu again, eager to celebrate their return. But before they could, they were interrupted by a soft voice that quickly silenced the whole room.

“Atsumu.” He should be happy, but instead, he flinches out of fear. “It’s been a while.”

A lump forms in his throat, making it difficult for him to breathe or swallow. It could be mistaken for his heart, pounding so loudly and heavily that it numbs Atsumu. His body starts to shake, and he feels sick. So incredibly sick that he wants to throw up.

Where have you been?

Why didn't you answer me?

Why did you avoid me?

Why did you never come back?

Where is Osamu?

Questions over questions to which Atsumu has no answer. But Kita doesn't ask any of them. No. Instead, he holds his gaze, calm and collected, and says nothing. Silent torture for Atsumu's small insignificant heart.

His stomach twists, it feels like thousands of knives stabbed through his heart. Atsumu is hot and he's shaking and this damn guilt is swallowing him up and—

“Welcome home,” Kita says warmly before hugging him tightly, and though Atsumu's body tenses at first, he instantly lets himself sink into Kita's embrace the second after. Home. Is he still allowed to call it like that?

“Kita,” he whispers shakily and squeezes him back even tighter. “Kita, ‘m sorry.” He buries his face in the crook of his neck and swallows down his emotions.

Because Inarizaki would break him. That's why he didn't want to come back. Because everything reminds him of Osamu. That's why he had to stay away. Because disappointment and pity are written all over everyone's face. That's why he isolated himself.

But Kita doesn't condemn him, no, not at all. Kita holds him until he stops shaking. Embraces him until he calms down. Rubs his back to erase his worries.

And it works because all of this feels like back then when the twins' mother died and Kita took them in. Kept an eye out for them. Took care of them. Helped them become who they are today. It works because Kita is their home and always will be.

Atsumu inhales deeply his soothing scent of peach and jasmine before taking a step back and looking him in the eyes. A look full of love and affection, full of sympathy and patience. No feelings of guilt. No sorrow. No pity. Kita is just glad Atsumu is back.

“I missed you,” he says softly while caressing Atsumu's cheek with his knuckles. Atsumu frowns but forces a shallow smile on his lips, his chest feels tight. “I missed you, too.”

“You’re blonde again,” Kita smiles softly. Atsumu nods.

No remorse. No blame. Only genuine delight.

It is strange to be back in Inarizaki and yet it's not.

“I see you brought a friend with ya.”

If Atsumu could read Kita with any degree of certainty, he would say that he seems kind of tense. Maybe he is. Sakusa is, after all, an armed stranger who doesn't necessarily score points for sympathy. But there was something else in his gaze besides tension. Something that made his eyes go cold. Something that Atsumu has never seen before.

Fear? Panic?

Atsumu must be wrong.

“Ah, no.” He clears his throat. He'd be damned if he'd lie to Kita. “Omi ain't no friend.”

“An acquaintance,” Sakusa interjects, and it bugs Atsumu. Why? He doesn't know. Or he pretends not to know.

“Kita-san, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Omi-kun, this is Kita Shinsuke,” he introduces them to each other and Sakusa nods his head to Kita but looks at him with equal skepticism. “He helped me looking for ‘Samu,” Atsumu explains, assuring Kita that it's okay to talk about leads to his brother with Sakusa being present.

“Is that so?” Kita asks.

“Yeah,” Atsumu nods, even if he wishes he had made all the progress on his own.

Kita and Sakusa don't take their eyes off each other for quite a while, making Atsumu uncomfortable. He feels the tension between them and it's oppressive. Even more so when he thinks about Kita never being biased against anyone. And yet he looks at Sakusa as if he was his worst threat.

Could he know...?

Atsumu is most afraid of Kita finding out that Sakusa belongs to Oikawa. Then he would know without a doubt right away that he has been fooling around with Yakuza for the past few weeks, and it would be better if no one would ever bring that up.

Hyogo's assassins aren't exactly too fond of Yakuza.

Of course, Kita handles jobs for both Ushijima and Oikawa. Maybe Daishō too. Atsumu had never heard the guy say anything remotely endearing about his clan, but their money was as green as anybody else’s. And as long as they demand to kill each other, it's a win-win.

Less Yakuza equals more blessings for the world.

“Sit down,” Kita urges, his gaze still focused on Sakusa. “What can I get ya to drink?”

“Whiskey,” Atsumu and Sakusa answer in unison, both scowling at each other. Suna scoffs before turning to Kita and letting him know that he doesn't need anything. Kita nods and vanishes behind the counter, letting the three of them sit down.

To say the atmosphere is tense would be an understatement. It would only take a pushpin to rip the heated veil around them to shreds. Everyone was kind of annoyed with each other, a certain tension laying in their muscles.

Atsumu's gaze keeps drifting to Sakusa, catching his onyx eyes that don't reveal the slightest thought. But he stares back, holding Atsumu's fire, and Atsumu wonders if it's not him whose walls are beginning to crumble.

When Kita comes back, all eyes fall on him expectantly. He puts the drinks down for Sakusa and Atsumu and has gotten himself a glass of water. He takes a deep breath as he sits down between Atsumu and Suna and lets the silence last a little longer until he starts talking.

“Daishō contacted me two weeks ago to set up a shot.” Atsumu's gaze flits to Sakusa, who is already looking at him as warily as Atsumu is looking at him. “Not an easy mark, since it's one of his closest men.”

“Who?” Atsumu asks, frowning because he has a faint hunch.

“Noriaki Hayato.”

Jackpot.

Atsumu's eyes widen while Sakusa's frown deepens. They look at each other and know immediately that Meian's hint must be right. Now the only question is what this mission is all about.

“Daishō didn't let much slip, only that he suspects Noriaki would betray him. Guess that's reason enough to kill his own men from now on,” Kita continues disdainfully, looking into Sakusa's eyes.

As if he would suspect something. As if he knows.

“You checked the hit?” Suna asks just to be polite. They all knew Kita checks every job before he passes it on to his assassins.

Kita nods. “Everything is fine with the contract so far. What makes me wonder is that Noriaki was supposedly seen with someone who’s from Inarizaki.”

“Osamu,” Atsumu finishes the thought and feels his heart beating in his throat. Kita hesitates. “It could be misleading information.”

“It's a chance,” Suna interjects.

“You have to be careful,” Kita warns, giving them green light for this mission. Kill him but watch out.

Atsumu thinks about the conversation with Meian, about how he told them exactly the same thing. So, there must be something to it. Noriaki must be the key to his brother. Atsumu's hands are already twitching to get his hands on that son of a bitch.

“Noriaki was last seen here in the area.” Kita slides a picture of him on the table along with headsets for each of them. “The radio range is far and stable enough so that it can't be disrupted. You should split up until ya find him.”

Atsumu smirks a little when he sees Sakusa reach for one of the headsets. “You can wait here Omi and let the pros do the work.”

Sakusa gives him a look that could not have been more obvious to Atsumu. There's no way he'd stay here, in a city full of assassins who supposedly all despise Yakuza. Atsumu has to admit it's kind of amusing.

“Suna shouldn't have to do this alone,” he answers instead and pisses Atsumu off. Suna chuckles.

“Get back in one piece,” Kita interrupts them before they can lapse into their usual banter. “And let me know if you need more help. Everyone is willing to find Osamu.”

Sakusa and Atsumu stare into each other’s eyes, the mood between them clearly tense. Atsumu’s gaze is wavering, though, as he sees the muscles at Sakusa’s throat clench and relax, swallowing thickly, and he realizes he wants to kiss that pouty mouth ever since he’d taken off that stupid mask. Something in Atsumu’s stomach begins to flutter.

“Thank you, Kita-san,” Suna says also on behalf of Atsumu and rips him out of his thoughts. Atsumu blushes faintly.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and mutters. “Thanks.” Kita nods approvingly.

It’s pissing Atsumu off.

While Sakusa has gone back to his friend's apartment in Osaka, Atsumu is sleeping in his and his twin's apartment in Inarizaki. It's been a year now since he last entered it and he realizes, nothing has changed.

Osamu's stuff is still here, untouched, his scent long gone.

Atsumu throws the key into a bowl next to the door, takes off his shoes and jacket, places them in the genkan, and trudges into their living room. He sighs as he picks up a photo of himself and his brother. They were fifteen and each got their own weapon from their mother. Atsumu a katana and Osamu the ribbed knife.

They smile at the camera; their hair is brown and their faces are slightly sunburned. Back then everything was still okay, their family was complete.

Atsumu puts the picture aside and sneaks into Osamu's room. On his desk are a few recipes, and in his bed is a golden plush dog that they used to play with when they were kids.

Osamu's plush dog and Atsumu's plush cat.

Atsumu lies down in his brother's bed and takes the furry toy in his hand. He studies it for a while, then lowers himself onto its back and snuggles it close to his chest. Atsumu makes himself small, pulls his legs closer to his body, and rolls to the side. He closes his eyes and frowns.

Sleep will not overtake him tonight. Without Osamu, this doesn't feel like home.

Atsumu has forgotten how much fun it is to work with Sunarin! Well, more or less. Because they have been searching for Noriaki for days now and it starts to agitate them. There is no lead at all plus all the unspoken things hanging above them are about to explode.

They’re not going to last much longer like this until someone snaps because the mood between the three is as tense as Atsumu’s dick when he thinks about Sakusa.

Which might be part of the problem.

When Suna radioed for support because he spotted something suspicious, Atsumu was the one nearest to him. So, he ended up on the roof of a bakery with his best foe (friend) Rintarō, looking down on the laundry across from them because Noriaki might supposedly be inside.

Atsumu lies on his back playing with Osamu's knife while Rin squats next to him, keeping his eyes on the building across from them. Rays of sunlight keep them warm as they wait, winter slowly fading away, the snow melting.

Red spider lilies...

“What's the deal with you and Sakusa?” Suna asks out of nowhere but doesn't avert his gaze from his target. Atsumu holds still.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Atsumu asks seemingly cluelessly, though he knows exactly what Suna is alluding to.

“He hates you, and at the same time he wants to get you laid,” Suna states bluntly. Then he turns to Atsumu and raises an eyebrow. “Did he?”

“No?!” Snaps Atsumu and blushes a deep red. What the fuck? “The only thing he might want me to do is slit his throat.”

“You’re talking bullshit, ‘Tsumu.”

“Not more bullshit than you do, Sunarin.”

Suna scoffs and shakes his head, returning his focus to the building in front of them. Atsumu gives him a side-eye and examines him, he can tell there's so much more on the tip of his tongue, and he hates it. He hates that Suna even thinks of him and Sakusa that way. Hates that Suna is saying what Atsumu wishes so badly.

Touch me. Crave me. Want me.

Never. Never would Sakusa do that.

“Of all assassins, you choose one with a pistol and a sniper rifle,” Suna mocks, glaring bitterly at Atsumu. “You haven't learned a thing, have you?”

If only Suna knew Sakusa is definitely not an assassin...

Atsumu scowls at him. “Now, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Put some more effort into that brain cell of yours, maybe you'll figure it out.”

“Fuck you, Rin.” Atsumu sheathes Osamu's knife and stands up. “No, listen. Fuck you. You don't have the right to judge me!”

“Don't I?! Which one of us traded his fucking katana for a shotgun? Do I need to remind you that it’s what led to Samu getting lost?!”

“Do I need to remind ya who broke his fucking heart before we left? Who fucked him up so badly? Because I have no fucking problem holding back.”

Suna grits his teeth, rage and despair swirling in his green fox eyes. Only a spark is missing until it explodes. Just a little push.

Of course, Suna is right. Atsumu trading in his beloved katana for a shotgun was only meant for this one mission. What followed was that both his personal weapon and his twin brother went missing.

Osamu scolded him why he swapped it in the first place. Said it was unnecessary, that they would get things done their way too. But when they were told that their mark was accompanied by someone who wouldn't hesitate to turn their gun on them and was pretty good at it too, Atsumu wanted to play it safe. For Osamu. To increase their chances of not getting killed.

This plan kind of backfired.

Atsumu's katana was found, yet Osamu wasn't. When Kita figured out Atsumu used a gun like a miserable mobster, his precious weapon was confiscated until he would return with Osamu. A punishment sitting deep in his bones to this day.

His katana was one thing. But Rin playing with his brother's heart in such a devious way made Atsumu furious to this day. Osamu wasn't in the right headspace when they left. He shouldn't have joined Atsumu in the first place. At least not like that.

So, no. Atsumu is not going to let that sit. He's had many clashes with Suna over Osamu, and each time it gets worse.

“God, I really hate you, Atsumu.”

It's so easy to blame others when you don't want to hurt yourself. So easy to let spiteful words fall from your lips when you want to protect yourself. So easy to shut down when you can't take it anymore.

“Why?” Atsumu bites back. “Because I look like my brother? Because I remind you that you fucked up, Rin?!”

Atsumu knows. Atsumu knows that none of this is true. Suna is not to blame for this. Not at all. Atsumu knows he's not being fair. Atsumu knows he is doing him wrong. He knows. Really. And yet he can’t stop his words.

Because only he saw how fucked up Osamu was when they went to Miyagi. Only he saw that Osamu stopped caring about everything. Only Atsumu has seen Osamu's indifference. That he gave up on everything but his brother. Because Atsumu was the only one he had left. His twin. His soulmate.

And now they are apart.              

“It should have been you.”

It was quiet, but loud enough to make Atsumu's gaze snap up. There was no more rage in Rin's eyes. No hatred. Just pure desperation. Regret. Guilt.

Yes, it should have been Atsumu, not Osamu. It's not as if Atsumu didn't know that. It's not like he doesn't keep telling himself that every day. But hearing it from Suna was even more hurtful. Because it's true. And they both know it.

“You know how much ‘Samu loved you,” Atsumu mutters softly, his stomach feeling hollow.

Suna's eyes glisten. Just like back then. Back when he was told that Osamu had disappeared.

“It’s not like I never harbored the same feelings for him, ‘Tsumu,” his voice is shaky.

The lump in Atsumu's throat gets bigger, so much bigger. He can't swallow it, causing tears to well up in his own eyes. Atsumu's chest is tight and his stomach so hollow. As if he would be swallowed from the inside and burst at the same time. Atsumu feels nauseous. So incredibly sick.

“Then why, Rin?” His vision is so blurry. Tears. Tears? Why are there tears? It's hard for him to swallow. The lump... “Why did ya push ‘im away?”

“It’s just—fuck...” He’s struggling. Suna turns away from Atsumu and returns his arrow to the bag on his back. He runs his hand through his hair, obviously trying to compose himself. Atsumu's heart clenches; he doesn't want to hurt Rin, but he doesn't want to get hurt either.

When Rin turns around again, his eyes are red-rimmed, but he doesn't shed a tear. He is angry, furious. Probably both at himself and at Atsumu. “‘Samu hated this life. He wanted to quit, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu knows that. They wanted to go to Osaka. “Yeah, so what?”

“He could’ve never done that with me by his side. There would be too many people chasing me and I... I didn’t want him to get hurt, ‘Tsumu. You know what foolish missions I took on when I wasn't working for Kita. You know how much it would have put him in danger!”

“And ya think I’m any better than you?!” Atsumu spits. “We would’ve managed that. ‘Samu and I would get rid of ‘em. We are so strong, Rin, and with you even more so. We could have managed this…”

Suna closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, turning away from Atsumu.

I screwed up, ‘Tsumu...

Atsumu remembers Suna's words before they went their separate ways a year ago.

I'm lonely, Rin...

A stupid, so stupid moment in which they almost ruined so much more.

“I need a drink,” Rin declares exhaustedly. “Noriaki isn't in there.”

Atsumu scowls at him.

It's not fair.

Neither of them speaks a word as they end up in Kita's bar. Sakusa and Atsumu sip their whiskey while Rin forces down a beer.

Atsumu is annoyed. He is so annoyed with both men each sitting next to him, it drives him crazy.

He is annoyed with Suna because of everything he did to Osamu and because of everything that was between him and Atsumu. He is annoyed with Sakusa because he is giving Atsumu mixed signals. Because Atsumu needs to keep telling himself not to get carried away. Because Atsumu can see the way Sakusa is looking at him and it doesn't match the way he is acting toward him.

And caught in this mess is Atsumu who still wants, wants, wants.

The one who wants to touch him, who wants to press his lips to Sakusa's, who wants to listen to what it sounds like to have the sweet name of Kiyoomi roll off his tongue. And if he didn't give him this damn look, if his cheeks didn't blush, if his body didn't react the way it does with Atsumu, he wouldn't care. He would ignore it all.

But he can't.

Because Atsumu is curious and impatient and maybe a bit of an asshole.

Good things don't happen after 2 am, so Atsumu should have just let it be. He should have gone to his lonely apartment and let his thoughts consume him there. He shouldn't have given in to his emotions.

But he is Atsumu, not Osamu. The loud one. The unrestrained one. The hot-headed one.

Suna and Sakusa's eyes snap to Atsumu as he abruptly rises from his barstool and leans over the counter to reach for a bottle of tequila. Atsumu feels Kita's eyes on him and hopes he can pay him back tomorrow or whenever. Hopes that he'll just let him do whatever he needs to do.

“Atsumu what the—”

“Shut up,” he interrupts Suna while placing a tiny glass bowl of lemon pieces on top of the counter, which Kita must have prepared for the night. Atsumu is genuinely sorry, but right now he's kind of freaking out a little bit and he’s pissed. His feelings get the better of him.

“So fucking done with this bullshit,” he murmurs as he grabs salt and three glasses, pours the liquor into each and slides one glass to Suna and one to Sakusa.

“Lick, drink, bite,” Atsumu says as a matter of fact and is scowled at by both of them.

“There's no way in hell I'm—”

“I don't drink teq—”

“Ya two shut the fuck up and drink.” Either they talk about what's on their minds or they fight. Atsumu doesn't care, but something has to happen because it's tearing him apart. “Don't tell me ya can't handle that little bit of booze? Are ya too chicken? Afraid you'll fall all over me?”

Suna huffs while Sakusa's gaze darkens even more. Atsumu hates it. He hates it because he feels like he's triggering something in Sakusa, and he can't get him to let go. He can be wrong, yes. After all, Atsumu still can't read him. But he would be stupid if he didn't at least try.

The snarky comment makes them each take a shot and a slice of lemon.

Atsumu and Sakusa hold their gaze as they each slip off a glove. Sakusa looks at Atsumu and Suna in disgust as they lick the back of their hand before scattering some salt on the damp skin. He himself uses a piece of lemon and rubs it over his pale skin, then lets some salt trickle on it as well.

They perform the ritual: lick, drink, bite, and Atsumu was stupid, so incredibly stupid for what he did. Of course, he made the mistake and looked into Sakusa's eyes. Naïve of him to think that it wouldn't affect him.

When Sakusa pulled down the collar of his sweater, that should have been the first sign that Atsumu should look away. His stomach flipped as Sakusa revealed his beautiful face, his heart nearly popping out of his chest as he licked his hand. What else could that tongue do, he wonders.

And this look?

Fuck, Atsumu would die to see it again.

The liquid burns down his throat and stomach, sending heat to his cheeks and allowing his muscles to relax. It doesn't calm him down, but it definitely makes him lose the last few inhibitions Atsumu never had anyway.

“Another one,” he says because he needs to see. Needs to watch.

“Atsumu you’re insane.”

“You wanna chicken out, Rin?” Atsumu bites back, shooting him a look.

Suna looks at him peeved but doesn't comment further and lets him pour another shot. So, they repeat the whole thing and Atsumu thinks he might lose it as Sakusa's cheeks start to sprout red, eyes never averted from the blonde.

Atsumu swallows thickly and lets more heat rush into his own cheeks, shifting in his seat because his pants tend to get tighter. Sakusa watches him, letting his gaze fall on Atsumu's lips, further down on his crotch, then back up into his golden eyes.

Dark orbs that are filled with hunger, desire, and too much reluctance.

Want me. Crave me. Touch me.

Atsumu's head rests in his arms on top of the counter, cocked to the side to glance up at Sakusa. His head definitely hazy from the alcohol, intoxicated from Sakusa. He wants. Needs...

Atsumu's heart beats strongly in his chest, holding Sakusa's consuming gaze, making him waver more and more. He's been trying to suppress it, pretending not to see it, but Atsumu can't misinterpret that.

If Sakusa didn't want this at least as much, then he wouldn't be looking at him like this.

And yet he hesitates, and it's so so so fucking frustrating.

“One more round.” Thus, Atsumu wants to make him snap.

“You’re pathetic, Miya,” Sakusa scoffs but doesn’t protest.

He would prefer not to care about it, but Atsumu respects Sakusa's boundaries and doesn't touch him unless he allows him to. So, he does what he can do best: being so incredibly stupid.

Annoyed with the situation, with himself, with Sakusa, and still with Suna, Atsumu stands up and once again attracts the gazes of the two men. Sakusa calls Atsumu pathetic? Yet he himself is not a bit better.

Atsumu glares at him before turning to Rin and climbing onto his lap. Both Sakusa's and Suna's eyes widen, followed by confusion and a death stare.

“‘Tsumu what the—”

“C'mon, Sunarin. Shouldn't we show Omi-kun how to drink properly in Inarizaki?”

“Atsumu,” Suna warns.

“What?!” Atsumu snaps. “Scared ya might fall for me, Rin?”

He smirks wickedly while Suna glares at him with hatred in his eyes. Atsumu knows he's being an ass, but he was mad and frustrated and neither of them deserved better. Rin probably senses that he's half hard, but Atsumu couldn't care less.

Just on a whim, he slides a little closer, noticing the furrow of Sakusa's brow as he watches them.

You don’t like that, right?

But that's exactly what Atsumu is going for.

He takes Suna's hand and stares at the tattoo splayed across his biceps. A dark fox with light highlights, the snout pointing toward his shoulder blade, surrounded by single petals. The counterpart to his brother's tattoo. The yin to Osamu's yang.

Atsumu frowns and grits his teeth. Seeing the artwork on Rin's skin makes him even more furious. Because his brother and this idiot were meant to be, but Rin has decided to be egoistic, selfish, and throw it all away even though he loved him.

Still loves him...

And if that wasn't enough, Rin almost kissed Atsumu a year ago if Atsumu hadn't stopped him just in time. A mistake, a stupid moment that they both regret.

They’d been looking for Osamu and they were desperate because they couldn’t find him, let alone gather even the slightest hint of where he could be. So, they ended up drinking, drowning their sorrow and grief. Rin a little more than Atsumu did.

Alcohol is never a good idea. Not today, and certainly not then. Because their emotions were intensified and so was the longing for the one person they loved so much. The urge to see Osamu again. Despair at not being able to change that.

They were angry and sad and frustrated. But they were there for each other, always, always there for each other. And that night, Atsumu looked a little too much like Osamu, and Rin was suddenly the only one Atsumu had left.

He was lonely, so damn lonely, but Rin was there.

So, it almost happened. Foreheads pressed together, noses nudged, breath hot on each other's lips. It felt so right for a brief moment, so wrong for any other one. Atsumu stopped them before it could even get that far. Left Inarizaki. Has been searching for his brother on his own ever since.

So yes, Atsumu knows the shit he's pulling right now is the worst, but each of them deserves it.

As he dampens Suna's wrist with a piece of lemon and scatters some salt on it, the latter squints his eyes. Atsumu licks the spot, keeping eye contact and feeling Suna tense up, Sakusa inhales a sharp breath.

Atsumu tips his head back and downs the shot before holding the lemon piece in front of Suna's mouth, wordlessly urging him to wedge it between his lips. Annoyed by Atsumu's behavior, he lets him do it, knowing that any protest would end in an even bigger disaster.

Atsumu catches Sakusa's displeased look from the corner of his eye. His brow is furrowed, his arms crossed, his eyes deadly. It doesn’t matter to Atsumu. Let him watch him. Maybe it will hurt him a little, too. He doesn't care.

Suna's hands burn on Atsumu's hips, keeping him from sliding off his lap as he leans in, getting dangerously close to Rin. As Atsumu sinks his teeth into the lemon slice, almost kissing Suna, Sakusa stands up and mumbles something about wishing them ‘a great fucking night.’

Atsumu straightens up, removes the peel from his mouth, and watches Sakusa leave. He swallows. Acid and alcohol etch in his throat, burning through his body. It hurts. Not the liquids.

“You’re an asshole, Atsumu.”

Atsumu knows that. He fucking knows it.

“Likewise,” he answers as if he doesn't care. Except he does.

He may not be able to read Sakusa but this... this was unmistakable.

When? He wonders. When are you going to break, Omi?

Chapter Text

When Aran opens the door to Kita's house, a faint smile appears on Atsumu's lips. There is something about Ojiro that gives him an incredible calm. It's similar to what Kita radiates but in a different way.

“It's been a while since I last saw ya with blond hair, ‘Tsumu.” Aran smiles and pulls Atsumu into a greeting hug. “Was it when ya were sixteen? When you and Osamu were obnoxious teens? I recall him dyeing his hair gray.”

Atsumu snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Obnoxious teens? Please, Aran, we were adorable.”

“You had nothing but crap in yer minds.”

“And ya think that's changed?”

“Not a bit,” Aran laughs and waves Atsumu inside. “Come in, Kita’s making tea.”

Atsumu grins mischievously and nods.

It's been a while since Atsumu was last at Kita's home, the cedar scent and ancient walls nevertheless just as familiar as they were a year ago. Atsumu stares at Aran with wide curious eyes, his hands hidden in his red jacket pockets.

“How’s Benihime?”

Aran can’t help but smirk and lifts a brow. “You miss her?”

“Lots…”

Aran's hearty laugh makes Atsumu feel a little more at home. A little more at ease. He’s missed it.

“Kita takes very good care of her. She’s still in the library on the left. Go see her as long as Kita is busy,” Aran winks, making Atsumu smile broadly. “Thanks, Aran-kun.”

Atsumu passes the rooms that have been a second home to him and Osamu for so long. When their mother died, Kita took the twins in, gave them food and a roof over their heads. Then, at nineteen, the brothers moved out because they didn't want to strain Kita's kindness.

Of course, Kita would undoubtedly have taken care of them even longer.

Atsumu enters the library and is struck by a surge of nostalgia and delight. He approaches the wall opposite the door, heading for a blade as sharp and beautiful as any that ever existed. There, hanging on the wall is his weapon, oh his beloved katana, gleaming red in the morning hue of the sun.

The razor-sharp metal shines, as well as the golden kanji letters that bear the name of ‘Atsumu’ where the blade meets the black handle. The small full moon charm reflects the sunrise as it quietly dangles from the end of the grip. The black leather sheath leans neatly beneath the weapon against the wall.

Indeed, Kita took very good care of his baby. Better than Atsumu ever could.

Engulfed in the spell of his katana, Atsumu raises his arm and reaches out until he's stopped by a voice that makes him flinch. “Atsumu,” Kita says.

Atsumu abruptly withdraws his hand and turns around. “Kita-san,” he gulps, eyes wide.

“Aran told me you’re here.”

“Yeah…” Atsumu clears his throat and nervously rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Ya know I wanna return it to ya.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu averts his gaze and stares at a random spot on the floor.

“You showin’ up with someone whose first choice isn't necessarily knives but guns is—“

“That doesn't mean I use them,” Atsumu dares to interrupt him, his gaze snapping up. He swallows thickly and lowers his head apologetically. “Sorry. I-I mean… jus’ because Omi uses guns doesn't mean I use them too. Ever since... ever since Osamu went missing, I've never touched another one, Kita-san. I swear.”

Kita's look is skeptical when Atsumu finds his eyes, and it’s honestly quite understandable. Inarizaki's assassins are proud fighters, skilled in wielding knives and swords. The fact that one of them would ever touch a gun is not only unimaginable but also a disgrace.

They would resemble too much the ones they deeply despise: Yakuza. So the fact that Atsumu traded his katana, of all things, for a weapon that was used to kill his own mother didn't just infuriate Osamu back then, no. It was the reason why Kita confiscated Atsumu's weapon, to make him realize that he wasn't worthy of it anymore. At least not as long as he doesn't take responsibility for his mistake. Atsumu knows and accepts that.

“C’mon,” Kita sighs, turning his back on Atsumu. “Suna and Sakusa are already waiting.”

His stomach churns at the mention of Sakusa’s name. A part of Atsumu feared he had gathered his things and headed back to Miyagi. Another bigger part hoped that he was still here. Facing him after the shit Atsumu pulled last night is going to be weird.

“Yeah.” Atsumu clears his throat once again, chancing a glance behind his shoulder to take one last look at his katana. He’ll get it back. That’s for sure. “Let’s go…”

Miya Atsumu has no shame.

Or at least he pretends not to and doesn't let on that Suna and Sakusa's death stares suffocate him. He knows he acted like shit, but he can't exactly say he's sorry.

He was still pissed at Suna for back when he almost kissed him, for yesterday when he reminded him once again that Osamu's disappearance was primarily his fault. Pissed that it should have been him. That Suna still loves Osamu even though he pushed him away. That all of this was for nothing.

Rin will always be Atsumu’s best friend. It is always easier to show your worst sides to those who are close to you. Suna won't hold that against him. He probably won't even care. Because they are both desperate and will surely hurt each other countless times more while they are looking for Osamu.

What matters is that after all, they can always rely on each other and it’s something that will never change. That they would always be there for the other, no matter what was or is between them. Because in the end, the only ones they have left are each other. Atsumu has Suna, and Suna has Atsumu.

They have known each other for way too long to throw away their friendship because of some foolishness.

Sakusa, however, was a different story.

Sakusa is his enemy with whom he currently has a truce. Sakusa is an enemy with benefits that so far have been more for Atsumu than for Sakusa to use. Sakusa is not someone who should make Atsumu's heart beat harder and cause turmoil in his stomach.

And he shouldn't give him that look. Full of sorrow and jealousy. Not Sakusa. He shouldn't look at Atsumu as if he hurt him. Even if he did, Atsumu shouldn't fucking care. He shouldn't. Doesn't give a shit. They're not friends, they're fucking enemies.

So why does it make him so angry that Sakusa is holding back? Why does it bug Atsumu that Sakusa might be jealous? Why was he even hoping to coax more out of Sakusa last night than just a snide comment? What was Atsumu longing for?

For Sakusa to pull him away from Suna? For Sakusa to pounce on him? For Sakusa to bend him over the counter and f—

Atsumu shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he glances first at his hands, then into Kita's eyes who’s just updating them that the other assassins didn’t stumble upon Noriaki yet – of course, they didn't.

Atsumu’s thoughts dart back to yesterday night. What the fuck did he expect?

In Kita's bar, of all places. In a city full of assassins. In a room that lets Sakusa know how much they detest him and his way of operating. A man who handles guns. A man who is part of Yakuza. A man who is supposed to be his enemy.

“The best thing to do is to split up.”

Kita tears him out of his thoughts when he tells them that Ginjima and Ōmimi have found traces of Noriaki in Osaka. Since the search has been rather ‘slow’ and the trio hasn’t necessarily worked harmoniously together, Kita has offered some help to find their mark. He sent those assassins who aren't busy elsewhere at the moment.

Atsumu didn't necessarily like to accept this help. Except for Suna, no one else should be dragged into his shit. But he quickly realized that locating Noriaki wasn't a dangerous task.

“Ōmimi told me you should keep an eye on the situation from afar until Noriaki is alone. He has men around him all the time, he probably suspects that someone has put a bounty on his head.”

“That means we kill his henchmen from a distance so they can't get their hands on us,” Suna analyzes.

“Yes,” Kita's look is resolute. Atsumu doesn't suspect anything good. “Gin and Ōmimi can help ya if ya need reinfor—“

“No,” Atsumu interjects, interrupting Kita for the second time today. All eyes are on him. Atsumu gulps. “Sorry, Kita-san. No. Gin and Ōmimi are responsible for guarding Inarizaki. This is mine and Suna's mission, and we got Omi to help us. We can handle it.”

“You can leave Inarizaki to me, Atsumu. And Aran is here, too.”

“I won't put them in danger too, Kita-san.”

It's a rarity for Atsumu to disagree with Kita. In this case, however, it's necessary. He cannot put the rest of his family in danger because of the mistakes he has made. With Osamu's disappearance and Suna and Atsumu searching for him, three strong fighters are already gone from Inarizaki. Atsumu would be distressed to know that something could happen in here just because he is too incompetent to do a simple job.

He has no doubts about Kita or Aran, not at all. But if something were to happen and there were too many people for them to handle just because Kita sent reinforcements to Atsumu, he wouldn't be able to cope with it.

Atsumu has already lost his brother; the thought of losing another innocent family member kills him. And the fact that Noriaki was in Daishō's inner circle doesn't exactly help make this whole mission any less dangerous. Quite the opposite.

So no, this is a matter that concerns only Suna and Atsumu (and because of Oikawa, somehow Sakusa as well).

Kita nods. “Then please be careful and make sure you work together.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps to Suna and then to Sakusa, both still scowling at him but giving Kita a nod.

“Yeah... Yeah, we will,” the blonde answers with his head hanging low.

“Sakusa. Suna. Since you two are handling weapons that are usable for long-range targets, you should split up.”

The two nod. Then Suna says, “And since ‘Tsumu and I know our way around Osaka, we should do the same.”

This time, everyone's eyes snapped to Rin, one look more horrified than the other. It would mean that Atsumu and Sakusa, of all people, would have to work together. Atsumu isn't sure if Rin suggested it on purpose to pay him back for what he did to him yesterday or whether there is actual logic behind this suggestion. It's probably a combination of both.

He's right though, Atsumu working together with Sakusa does make sense. But pairing them up is a bit tricky right now, to say the least. Then again, what other couple isn't at the moment?

“Yes,” Kita sighs, not exactly pleased. He’s obviously not too fond of the idea but agrees with Suna. “That sounds good.”

No, it doesn't.

Atsumu gulps as his eyes fall on Sakusa. He’s staring at the cup of tea in front of him like he wants to murder it. Atsumu can tell he hates the idea, and well, he isn't exactly thrilled about it either. But this is not about what Atsumu likes. This is about finding Osamu and doing it as fast as possible.

After all, Atsumu has somehow survived the last few weeks with Sakusa, so he'll be fine. He can either ignore him or have some fun and bug him. It's okay. Or maybe he'll just get killed during the mission, so he won't be a problem for Atsumu anymore. That would be great. Gone in a flash. Easy. 

“Let's go then,” Suna suggests but is held back by Kita. “I wanna talk to you alone for a sec first.”

Rin and Atsumu frown, but he nods in agreement. Atsumu wonders what it is that Kita can't discuss with him being present. Then he remembers that Sakusa is here too and figures it’s perhaps because of him.

“Alright, Omi and I will head out. We'll keep in touch.”

Suna nods and Atsumu looks at Sakusa, shuddering. He wonders how he can still live when the bastard is staring at him like he's able to kill him.

Oh, this is going to be a lot of fun.

Atsumu arriving in Osaka in one piece, breathing and alive, is a miracle. The fact that Sakusa drives both his car and his bike like a deranged person is no longer a surprise. This time, however, Atsumu is sure that he wanted to get rid of the assassin and make it look like an accident.

With his heart beating fast and strong in his throat, Atsumu prowls the alleys of Osaka with his tormentor following closely behind. He keeps telling himself that he's still worked up over the ride, not over Sakusa in general or the fact that they haven't exchanged a single word since last night.

It doesn't stop Atsumu from talking crap, no. But usually, Sakusa would at least make some stupid comment about how much he'd like 'Miya to shut up'. This time, however, he simply ignores him, causing a dull feeling in Atsumu's stomach.

He is angry. Atsumu isn't dense, of course, he knows that. But just the fact that Sakusa is mad pisses Atsumu off to no end. He has no right to be furious. Not Sakusa, no. He doesn't have the fucking right.

“I'll let Sunarin know we're here. Did ya tell Oikawa about the mission?”

They're almost on the top floor of a high-rise building with the best view of Noriaki's men. Ōmimi and Ginjima did a really good job finding their hideout in an arcade, accessed only through the main entrance or through a backyard bordered by winding alleys and buildings – a view on it is almost impossible, but still detectable for Inarizaki's assassins.

Sakusa kneels at the window holding his sniper rifle and observes the situation while Atsumu leans against the wall, fiddling with his phone to shoot Suna a message. He ignores Atsumu once again and doesn't bother to take his eyes off the visor. When Atsumu locks his phone and raises his gaze, he lifts an eyebrow and snorts, fed up with Sakusa's behavior.

“And you always say I'm the immature one.”

“Excuse me?”

Oh, it seems like this got Sakusa's attention.

He has turned his head in Atsumu's direction, glaring at him with hatred swirling in his eyes. These dark, ice-cold orbs that hold nothing but death send shivers down Atsumu's spine.

“Ya heard me,” Atsumu taunts, tucking his phone away and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Ignorin’ me like some snotty toddler. Are ya?”

“I wasn't the one acting like a whore.”

Atsumu's eyes widen, his mouth goes slack. What the fuck did Sakusa just call him?

“Run that by me again.”

His arms drop on each side of his body, shock is written all over his face. Atsumu blinks a few times, having to process what the fuck just happened. He must have gotten it wrong, right? What did Sakusa just call him?

“You heard me,” he answers with venom dripping in his voice, and oh if that doesn't make Atsumu's blood boil.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” The blonde scowls, heartbeat ringing in his ears.

He’s pissed. God, he’s so pissed. What the hell does Sakusa want from him?

It's like Suna said: he looks at Atsumu as if he wants him so desperately yet as if that's exactly the worst thing in the world. He's holding back and yet he's jealous. Why? He doesn't have the fucking right to act like that toward Atsumu when he keeps pushing him away. So, why should he be feeling like that? Atsumu doesn't understand.

“You claimed to be so clever the other day. I bet you’ll figure it out.”

“What? ‘Cause ya got a problem with Sunarin and me?”

Sakusa scoffs and stands up, taking a few steps toward Atsumu. His dark eyes consume Atsumu's fire, his gaze so gloomy and cold it makes the assassin shiver. The aura Sakusa radiates is threatening and dangerous, but Atsumu isn't intimidated by it at all — quite the opposite. Sakusa's jealousy only frustrates him and makes him so incredibly furious.

“I wonder why Suna lets you even pull this shit.”

“What shit?!” Atsumu snaps, raising his voice furiously. If he really felt that way, then Atsumu needed to hear it.

Sakusa huffs a laugh, turning away and shaking his head. “You can’t be seriously playing dumb now of all times…” He mutters, his gaze bores back into Atsumu, his expression obviously upset. “I know you're not exactly mentally up to the mark, but not even you can be that stupid.”

“Sure, Omi. Go on and insult me,” Atsumu jeers. “But do ya ever hear yerself? Or is your head so far up yer ass that it's no longer possible?!”

“I’m not the one walking around hitting on everyone just because I've been a needy bitch in heat ever since my partner disappeared. Don't you realize how pathetic you are, Miya?”

“I am pathetic? You’re such a fucking lunatic, Omi… We were all drunk and wha–”

“Yes,” Sakusa snaps and shuts Atsumu up, stepping even closer. “Because you had the brilliant idea to pour us shot after shot! Don’t you dare blame the liquor for your fucking actions and wiggle your way out of this…”

“Out of what? Huh?!” Atsumu hisses. It will be a miracle if they actually don’t end up killing each other. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You think you’re better than me, judge each of my actions when ya should take a look at yerself first…  Holy shit, Omi, you’re fucking delusional!”

Atsumu wants to scream. He feels the desperate need to scream so loud that the ground underneath him trembles and every fucking building in Osaka starts to shake. There is so much anger within him. So much rage and fear and sorrow and grief.

Sakusa frustrates him. Every little part about him frustrates Atsumu so much, he wants to rip his hair, then Sakusa’s too, punch his face, and then kiss those stupid lips silly and fu–

“I don't think I'm better than you, it’s a fucking given that I am. Because unlike you, I know how to behave, Miya. Whatever your way is to pity yourself for your partner, that's not it. Right now you're a complete asshole who seems like he can’t keep it in his pan–” 

“‘Cause you behave like you have a stick up yer ass, that’s what you do! I’m not throwing myself around like some jerk, I never fucking did that, and even if I did… If it really bothered ya so damn much, ya could’ve done something about it, you coward!” 

Atsumu hates him. He wants to touch him. He craves him. But it's impossible. Not Sakusa.

The latter scoffs. “You can't even own up to your own stupid and thoughtless actions. Not only did you let your partner get lost, no… you decided that it's okay to enjoy yourself in the meantime until you pick up the dead body of your oh-so-loved one. Can’t you see it? Are you that mentally limited?”

“Watch it, Sakusa,” Atsumu grits. Sakusa hits him where it hurts the most and it stings. It's always easier to dish it out than to take it. Especially for those who are so easy to get hurt.

Atsumu knows just how provocative he has been. Of course, he hoped to elicit some kind of reaction from Sakusa, and now he's here getting just that. Sakusa may seem quiet and reserved most of the time but Atsumu knows that deep down he's seething at least as much as the assassin does.

And now that he gets his reaction, it pisses Atsumu off even more. Because this time he is the one who has to take it. He is the one who is confronted with words that reflect his fears and anxieties, which he has always pushed away because he never wanted to vocalize them.

Atsumu was hoping that Sakusa's walls would start to crumble, but all he has managed to do is strengthen them so now he's firing against him. This is no longer about what either of them might feel... or shouldn't feel. This is about something more profound, something that is none of Sakusa's business in the first place.

The latter continues, “I know what it's like to lose a loved one... acting like a needy bitch in heat was never on the list of things you do when you're grieving for someone. You truly are the worst, Miya. You probably don't even want to find your partner alive, just so you can get away with throwing yourself at everyone who's out of their mind.”

Atsumu scoffs and invades Sakusa's space. He presses his index finger into the latter's chest to emphasize his point, letting the rage in his eyes, in himself, unleash.

“You think you're so almighty, huh? You think the world revolves around you and your stupid little princess behavior.” Atsumu grits his teeth. “Fix yer fucking attitude Sakusa or I will fix it for you.”

Sakusa slaps Atsumu’s hand away and glares at him. “At least I don't fuck around with everyone with that princess attitude of mine, now do I?”

“What in God's name is your fucking problem?!”

“My problem?!” Sakusa snaps. “You are my fucking problem! You act like your partner means so much to you, like you'll do anything to find them when in truth you are just a selfish asshole! Why don't you stop pretending, Miya? In the end, you are just another narcissistic assassin that–”

“Me? Narcissistic?” Atsumu scoffs. “The fuck would you know, Omi? Huh?! I care about the people I work with. I would risk my life for all of them, okay?! You should just shut up if you have no idea what you're actually talking about. My… partner does mean a lot to me so back off with whatever bullshit argument you’re trying to use…”

“You sure seem to give a fuck about whoever he is. So much that you're here without him, drinking shots and grinding on other people's laps.”

“Oh fuck off, really.” Atsumu runs his hand through his hair as he turns away from Sakusa, shaking his head. He scowls at him as he faces him again. He is so damn close to losing it. “I’ve fucking had it with you.” 

For a moment they just stay silent, trying to kill each other with their gazes. Atsumu doesn't have to let this bastard bother him. He has no fucking idea what he's talking about.

Everything could have turned out differently if Sakusa had just gone back to watch Noriaki’s men, if they quietly completed the mission, and returned to Sendai without uttering another word. Everything could have been different if Sakusa hadn't decided to open his fucking mouth again.

“You risk your life for the people you work with?” Sakusa scoffs. “Do you even listen to the bullshit you’re saying?! You are so clumsy at your work, and it trails behind you like bloodstains that follow you wherever you go. Not only did you lose your partner Osamu, no, you almost cost us Hinata's life, too… You really are a sucker for repeated mistakes, huh?”

You haven't learned a thing, have you?

Suna's words echo in Atsumu's mind. Has he really learned nothing from the past? Is he really making the same mistakes over and over again? Is that the reason why he can't find Osamu? Because Atsumu might just be a failure? Someone who keeps screwing things up... who can't do anything right?

“It doesn't take a genius to see the gaps in your terrible work. You put everyone in danger except yourself, like the selfish asshole that you are.” Sakusa huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Oh Miya, at this point, I'm starting to think this is a personality trait of yours… letting allies slip through your fingers like fucking melted snow.”

Melting snow… red spider lilies unfurling around Atsumu…

His dream. Abandoning Rin. Losing Osamu. Atsumu frowns and closes his eyes.

Is it true? So far, nothing good has ever happened to anyone close to Atsumu. His mother passed away, Osamu was kidnapped, and he almost lost his best and maybe only friend Rin... Is it all Atsumu's fault? Would they all have been better off without him?

Doesn't Atsumu already know the answer to that?

“Do you really think he's missing, Miya?”

Atsumu’s eyes snap up, his frown still chiseled onto his face. “What?”

“You're so confident it wasn't your reckless way of doing things? You blame everyone else but yourself when there isn't a single soul here who deserves the blame more than you do. What if he tried to get away from you? What if he got sick of you? I could bet my whole life he's not even missing… if anything, it's escapism to get away from a ticking bomb like you.”

Atsumu feels so much anger and hatred at Sakusa's words that it almost tears him apart. He has absolutely no idea what he is talking about.

Since they were kids, they were always together. Osamu was always at Atsumu's side and vice versa. The inseparable twins. They were going to restart their goddamn lives in Osaka, so why would his brother want to leave him?

It was Osamu who saved Atsumu two years ago when he was shot. It was Osamu who told him just before he lost consciousness what an idiot Atsumu was and that he would handle the situation, that he wouldn’t let him die. It was Osamu who risked his own life for the one of his brother.

And now he's gone.

Gone, with no sign of life.

“What if he just couldn't stand being with you anymore and doesn't even want you to find him?”

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Atsumu grabs Sakusa's collar and slams his back against the wall. In the movement, he pulls Osamu's knife from the sheath on his belt and jabs it into the wooden panel right next to Sakusa's face. One wrong move and it would have cost his ear. Sakusa looks at him with wide startled eyes.

“I told ya to fucking watch it, Kiyoomi. I don't give two shits about what you think or say about me, but don't you dare claim my brother would abandon me because he would not. He would never.” The assassin grits his teeth.

It was Atsumu who begged him not to go. But how much could he do when his body was practically incapable of doing anything? He was sweating, he was bleeding, he almost died because he underestimated his mark.

Atsumu has never seen so much panic and fear in his brother's eyes. Never has it been so clear to him as it was then that Osamu is all he had. And Atsumu was all Osamu had. They would never have left each other voluntarily. Any idiot could see that. Anyone who knew them was aware of that.

“You don't know shit about me or my family and believe me, I won't hold back stabbing my twin's goddamn knife into your fucking neck if you keep talking that kind of bullshit,” Atsumu snaps, the grip on the handle of the knife is tight.

Sakusa must have been surprised by Atsumu's attack, he doesn't manage to move or utter another word.

He underestimated him. All this time he hasn't seen what Atsumu is truly capable of, and that's what's got him into this predicament right now. Because there's nothing he can do but let Atsumu's fist in his collar pin him against the wall and feel the metal of the blade next to his cheek as a threat not to add any more fuel to the fire.

His dark eyes are wide open, his pupils dilated, his face even paler than it already is. Atsumu knows his outburst came as a surprise, but he was tired of being treated this way by Sakusa. Tired of being constantly underestimated. Tired of hearing the truth.

Sakusa swallows thickly as Atsumu's fiery eyes begin to burn him. He is silent, as silent as if the whole argument hadn't happened before. Atsumu notices that something in his gaze has changed. Notices that he's trying to process…

“Your brother?” He finally asks, quietly, confused, and Atsumu snaps back. “Yes, my brother! D’ya have any fuckin’ problem with that too?!”

It's as if domino after domino were falling, as if they were revealing a picture that was unrecognizable before, as if Sakusa is starting to connect the dots.

Atsumu's muscles tremble from the firm grip and anger that he is now slowly, so slowly letting go of the longer he watches Kiyoomi. As if a door has been opened for him. As if everything suddenly made sense.

And now they are exactly where they were before. Now Atsumu starts to understand why Sakusa held back. Why he had been so hesitant.

Oh, how stupid they both are.

“Osamu is my brother,” Atsumu grumbles softly. It’s a chance. “And Rin was close to him... was something like his fuckin' boyfriend.”

Well, that’s not entirely true. Suna was in fact never Osamu’s boyfriend. But it's what Atsumu would refer to him as, considering how close his best friend and his brother always seemed to be. They were fooling around, yes. But it never became more than that.

Atsumu can see the confusion in Sakusa's gaze slowly begin to dissipate. Can see how new questions arise. Questions that only Sakusa himself can answer because for Atsumu each of them is already clear.

“I was mad at him, Omi. I was mad because he treated my brother like shit.”

I was mad because you were holding back. Please don't hold back anymore.

“That doesn't give you the right to behave like that.”

Sakusa didn't come up with anything better. He frowns, eyes darting back and forth between Atsumu's golden ones, his breathing shallow. It’s wrong. They are enemies. They both know that. And yet…

“This isn't anymore about how I behaved or what kind of shit I pulled.” Atsumu withdraws the knife from the wall and slides the blade along Sakusa's shoulder up to his throat. He murmurs, holding his gaze resolutely before his golden eyes dip to Kiyoomi's perfect red lips. “We both know I did this because of you.”

Sakusa stares at him with wide cautious eyes, a sliver of hunter-green glinting in the sun's evening glow. “To rile me up,” he states, and Atsumu watches his Adam's apple bounce up and down as he swallows thickly.

Of course, Sakusa caught on. Atsumu didn’t doubt that he would grasp things quickly.

“To rile you up,” Atsumu echoes, unable to take his eyes off those damn lips.

I wanna kiss you. I need to taste you. Please. Please let me–

“Atsumu,” Sakusa utters, causing his gaze to snap up.

His pupils are so blown out that Atsumu can't see where they blend with his black iris. His look seems just as frustrated as Atsumu has felt all these last fucking days. The furrow between his brows reveals that he wants Atsumu at least as much and yet he’s still hesitant.

Atsumu frowns and inhales sharply.

“Ya really do want me,” he says. “And ya hate it.”

He changes the angle of his knife, so it’s against Sakusa’s neck. He doesn’t look nearly as alarmed by the cold metal pressed against his skin as Atsumu might expect. Not nearly as alarmed as when Atsumu brings his mouth to Kiyoomi’s.

“Why?” Atsumu whispers, close enough so that he can feel Sakusa exhaling. “You can–”

“No,” Sakusa says, not very convincingly. He exhales shakily. It makes Atsumu’s head spin.

“Why not?” Atsumu wants. Oh, he wants him so badly.

“We shouldn’t–” Sakusa cuts himself off, eyes trained on Atsumu’s plump lips, mouth opening a little wider to pant out a single breath… To invite him for a kiss. “We–”

“I do–” Atsumu admits, impatient to close the gap. Kiyoomi’s breath is hot on his lips. He’s right there, so fucking close. “I do want you, Omi… Can I–?”

Can I kiss you? Please let me kiss you.

“I–”

He doesn't have a chance to answer Atsumu because just as they were about to feel each other, the door slams open, pulling them both out of their stupor. With their heads jerking in that direction, Atsumu yanks the knife away from Sakusa and prepares to throw it at the intruder while Sakusa's hands are instantly on his gun.

They pause, however, realizing that it’s Suna standing in the doorway, glowering at them.

Ah, shit…

“Geez, Rin…” Atsumu swallows hard, sheathes Osamu's knife again, and tries to calm his heart.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Suna snaps, irritated. Atsumu averts his gaze. He mutters, “Nothing.”

He glances to the side for a split second and can downright feel how tense Sakusa is, yet avoids his eyes. Suna scowls back and forth between the two but decides to let it slip. He doesn't have time for their bullshit right now.

“Noriaki,” he begins. “I found him.”

“What?” Atsumu asks, dumbfounded, whipping his head up. Suna turns around.

“He’s here.”

Noriaki is located in a warehouse next to the arcade. The view is limited and in fact only accessible from a skyscraper somewhat away. There, Sakusa guards and watches the back of Suna and Atsumu, his sniper rifle would do more at this range than Suna's bow and arrow.

Just before the two assassins arrive at their destination, however, Suna grabs Atsumu's collar and yanks him aside to push him against the wall of a side alley, hissing at him.

“You're cooperating with fucking Yakuza?!”

Atsumu's eyes widen, his heart slipping into the pit of his stomach. Well. This was unexpected.

“What?” He asks, a little taken aback, because how the hell would Suna– 

Oh, shit.

“Kita-san,” Atsumu then realizes, swallowing hard.

“Oikawa fucking Tōru? Have you lost your mind, Atsumu?”

“Kita-san knows.”

It's not a question. It's more like a statement. The realization that Atsumu is fucked.

“Of course, he knows! What did you expect?! That he wouldn’t notice? That he wouldn’t figure it out?! Fuck, Atsumu, what the hell is wrong with you?!”

Kita has a very select group of contacts who meet him at his bar, and through a series of coded comments, give him work that pays a hell of a lot more than getting pathetic alcoholics to sleep. He passes the work on to his assassins, making sure that they are never exposed to danger themselves if a client ever comes after one of them.

It's no wonder, then, that Kita is incredibly well-connected. Finding out who Sakusa Kiyoomi really belongs to must have been a piece of cake. How could Atsumu have been so naïve?

Suddenly, Kita's behavior toward Kiyoomi during their first encounter makes sense.

He knew. He knew it back then already.

“It’s–”

“Stupid!” Suna whisper-yells. “You’re so incredibly stupid! 

“Oikawa helps me,” Atsumu defends himself.

“At what cost?” Suna's grip tightens. “At what fucking cost, ‘Tsumu?! Do I need to remind you how that ended with your own mother? Getting involved with fucking Yakuza?”

“It's not the same, Rin.”

“She never managed to get away from them! She never did and look where it got her! Fuck…” Suna tears his hand from Atsumu and runs it through his hair while turning away. “No one manages to get away from them until they end up in a tomb. ‘Tsumu, you of all should know this as well as I do, and now you're here and all you can think of is to fall in love with one of them?”

A stab goes through Atsumu's heart. He narrows his eyes.

“What?” His voice is quiet. Shaky.

He’s not–

“I know the look you're giving Sakusa, ‘Tsumu…” Rin clenches his jaw, turning back to his best friend with a pained expression. “It's the same look ‘Samu gave me.”

Atsumu’s stomach is churning.

Sakusa is his enemy. He just wants to see him break. Right? They’re not–

“Stop it. Whatever you’re fucking doing or thinking or wanting to do, fucking stop it, ‘Tsumu.” Suna grabs his chin and forces Atsumu’s golden eyes up to him. The usually serene green of his fox eyes now rages with despair and fear and anxiety. 

Atsumu knows what Rin is thinking. They are both here. They are both looking for Osamu. They can do it without any help.

But he is wrong. He is so fucking wrong. Suna has no idea.

The latter sighs and loosens the grip on Atsumu’s chin, his gaze is still raging. 

“Now get into position and don’t fuck this up. I will search for Osamu, but I won’t look for you.”

I'm worried about you. I can't lose you too.

He has no idea that Oikawa isn’t the person Suna thinks he is. Has no idea that he didn't act selfishly for once. Has no idea that not all of Yakuza should be lumped together. Because they aren't all like the miserable pigs they usually have to deal with, no. Oikawa's gang is different.

But what if Atsumu is in truth the naïve one?

Because in the end he keeps telling himself: they are enemies.

So, who does he really want to defend? Oikawa's Yakuza? Himself? Or his denied crush on the hot guy he's only so obsessed with because Atsumu knows he can never have him? Because it could never work out? Because they’re enemies?

“I hate you, Rin.”

I'm worried about you too. You're the only one left.

For now, Atsumu doesn’t know.

“Kita-san is worried…” Suna looks around to make sure that still no one hears them. “He said I should keep an eye on you and Sakusa while we're here.”

Atsumu frowns, watching Rin get into position and peek around the corner. 

“I'm the last person he should worry about–”

“And yet you are always going to be the first.” Suna turns to him. “You know how much you mean to him. Both of you. You and Osamu.”

Atsumu stares at the ground, lips pressed into a thin line.

Kita has always had a soft spot for the twins and of course, he knows how fucked up Yakuza can be. And isn't he the one who must have known Oikawa's Yakuza best? Maybe they were all right. For sure even. And yet...

“It's not like I'm gonna join them or whatever... We use each other for our own purposes. I in fact more than they use me. So, there’s nothing to worry about. We'll find Samu and then I'll never see them again.”

“And what about Sakusa?”

Atsumu's chest feels tight, breathing becomes difficult.

“What should be about Sakusa? He's one of them.” Atsumu pulls Osamu's knife from its sheath and pushes himself in front of Rin. “Let's go.”

Talking about it further would mean that Atsumu would have to come to terms with his feelings, and that's something he doesn't want to do. So, he rather throws himself into what he does best: turn off his mind and fight.

He can't afford to think about Kiyoomi right now. About his perfect lips. About his hot breath on Atsumu's mouth. About this fucking deep desire to kiss him, to taste him, to devour him…

The assassin shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face, feeling Suna’s skeptical gaze drilling into his mind.

Focus, damn it. You’ve got a job to do.

They don't talk about it any further. It's something Atsumu appreciates so much about his best friend. That he knows when to shut up.

Adrenaline is beginning to drip into his veins, and his heart speeds up as he emerges from the alley and sneakily takes out one guard after another to clear his way to the warehouse.

Each cut, each knife thrown, is so precise that it doesn't make the slightest sound. Suna operates from behind, using his bow to eliminate those who could be dangerous to Atsumu, and somewhere... somewhere in the back, Sakusa must see them, too.

Look at me, Atsumu thinks. Keep your eyes on me and behold what I am capable of.

An arrow finds the chest of a henchman, a ribbed blade finds the neck of another before he has a chance to say anything. Lifeless bodies fall silently to the ground.

It's like a dance that only Atsumu and Suna know.

Their interaction harmonizes perfectly, taking out their opponents has never been easier. Anyone Atsumu didn't catch in time, Suna would take over. Anyone who got too close to Suna, Atsumu would finish off before they even had a chance to reach him. It's blind trust. A well-rehearsed team.

With Suna, everything is easy.

Almost everything.

There weren't many guards they had to get out of their way. Apparently not many decided to join Noriaki.

When they entered the warehouse, there was nothing inside except for a man who had placed himself on top of some boxes and looked like he was awaiting Suna and Atsumu. The two walk toward him with silent steps, tucking their weapons away when they notice the man is unarmed.

How foolish, Atsumu thinks at first. Then he frowns as a second thought pops up. Why isn’t he fighting us?

“What an irony,” Noriaki laughs humorlessly. “Aren't you Miya Atsumu?”

“Noriaki.” Atsumu stops just in front of him, gives him a down-up, and tucks his hand in his pockets. “Where is my brother?”

“So, he really sent you to kill me, huh?” Noriaki shakes his head and ignores Atsumu’s question, then looks back and forth between him and Suna. “Daishō wants me dead?”

Suna nods, furrowing his brow.

“What about my men outside?” Noriaki asks.

“Dead,” Suna states calmly, observing him with cautious eyes.

“And those across from the arcade?” Both Atsumu and Suna frown.

Those who could be with Kiyoomi.

Atsumu's stomach drops.

“Probably dead, too,” Suna replies, quite able to judge Sakusa's power correctly.

He's right. Sakusa is perfectly capable of handling anyone on his own, and Atsumu is pretty sure that even the number of opponents wouldn't matter to him. Still, he doesn't have a good feeling about it.

“I see…” Noriaki gets up and stands in front of Atsumu and Suna. “It's brave of them, isn't it? Unlike Daishō, they believe me and follow me even to the bitter end. We all knew it would hit us sooner or later. And yet they do not hesitate to defend me... You two haven't made the slightest sound, I'm really impressed.”

“Where’s my brother,” Atsumu repeats to cut his shit. He has no idea what Noriaki is talking about.

“Not with me.”

“No shit.”

“No,” Noriaki huffs a laugh. “Listen, Atsumu. You have the wrong man.”

“Rumor has it that Osamu is with ya.”

“Rumors spread fast if you start them right.”

Noriaki opens his jacket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He puts one between his lips and lights it, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke to the side.

“You're going to kill me. That's your job, it’s what my Kumichō ordered. My life was over the moment Daishō lost his trust in me, I am aware of that.” He takes another drag and smiles half pained, half relieved. “But let me finish this one, all right?”

“If Osamu isn't with you... then who the hell got him?” Atsumu asks confused.

Noriaki laughs bitterly. “Someone who wants me out of the way because I'm on their trail. Someone who probably truly wants to get his hands on Daishō. Someone he trusts more than he trusts me...”

Atsumu and Suna frown as Noriaki returns the pack of cigarettes and fumbles in his inner pocket. He pulls out a photo and gives it to Atsumu. The latter frowns and draws his eyebrows together. His stomach is churning, his throat is getting dry. Atsumu feels his heartbeat hammering in his throat, feels dizzy, feels his body starting to tremble.

He swallows thickly as he observes the photo closely. All he can see is a man with blond hair whom Atsumu doesn't know and a very lively Miya Osamu. His brother. His twin.

The blond man urges Osamu to get into a car while he checks his surroundings. Atsumu can't tell anything about his brother's condition.

“What the fuck?” he whispers, barely audible.

“Who’s this?” Suna asks, almost pissed. Atsumu's eyes are glued to the photo, searching for any clue.

“Terushima Yūji,” Noriaki snorts. “Daishō's right-hand man. I'm sure he's up to something but I couldn't figure out what. I've been on his trail for months ever since I noticed something was wrong. Now that I've found out he's dealing with one of your assassins, he wants me out of his way.” Noriaki laughs grimly and shakes his head. “He must have buttered up Daishō as quickly as he convinced him that I was plotting something against him.”

“And where is Terushima now?” Suna asks, definitely annoyed.

“Probably back in Fukuoka Prefecture. The picture was taken here in Osaka, but that was already a month ago.”

“And why should we trust you?” Atsumu asks skeptically. “Why wouldn't you mislead us? Who says you don't have something to do with this… Terushima?”

“Oh, trust me, Terushima is the last person I would team up with. You don't have to believe me,” Noriaki admits. “But right now I have nothing left to lose, and someone has to take this bastard down if I can't do it.”

Atsumu stares at the photo.

“If you choose to believe me,” Noriaki takes the last drag before flicking the cigarette to the ground and stubbing it out. “Then think about how you're going to finish him off. You shouldn’t blindly invade Daishō's territory, or it will end badly for you. My Kumichō won't tolerate you just like that.”

“Why didn't you just kill him yourself?” Suna asks angrily.

Noriaki snorts. “If I was capable of doing that, I would have done it long ago. Believe me.”

“You could help us,” it slips out of Atsumu's mouth.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Suna snaps and pulls out a knife.

“Why?!”

“Because he's fucking Yakuza!”

“And yet he just helped us find Osamu!”

“We were hired to kill him, ‘Tsumu!”

“No one needs to know that—”

“Inarizaki would be in fucking danger if word got spread.”

Right. Kita, Aran, Suna... everyone from Inarizaki would be in trouble. An assassin is hired to kill his target. Once he accepts the contract, he is obligated to do so. Atsumu knows the fucking rules.

“He is right,” Noriaki butts in and takes off his tie. “You know everything I know anyway; I wouldn't be any help to you anymore. And...” Noriaki swallows, his Adam’s apple jumping. “I know how to die with dignity. My time is over. My men are dead. And so should I be.”

Atsumu frowns, not able to take his eyes off Noriaki. They stand in tense silence. Atsumu’s spine tingles and his stomach twists – there’s no turning back, and everyone present in this room knows that, but he can’t find the words to put Noriaki on his knees and can’t bring himself to just raise his knife and be done with it.

Of course, he often spoke to his victims beforehand. Sometimes he just killed them. But never has one of his marks helped him get to his actual target. Never has a victim been so insightful, so resolute.

In front of them, Noriaki gets on his knees and stares up at Atsumu and Suna. “It's okay. I am ready.”

This is so fucked up. This is so wrong. He is none of the bad guys.

Since Atsumu doesn't move from the spot, Suna takes a step forward and holds Noriaki's gaze. Noriaki nods at him and not a second later the sharp blade in Suna's grip slices through his throat. A quick slit on the jugular. The quickest and most painless way.

Atsumu shuts his eyes, frowns, and turns his head to the side, fists tucked away in his jacket pockets. Noriaki bleeds and turns unconscious within seconds – he’s dead within minutes.

“You're fucking ridiculous, ‘Tsumu.”

Ridiculous to get involved with those he's always mistrusted. Ridiculous to put his own life in their hands. Ridiculous to think there are ‘good people’ among them.

“My ridiculousness has brought us here.”

“Your ridiculousness will get you killed.” Suna scoffs. “You will end up like your mother.”

“So what?!” Atsumu bites back and digs his fist into Suna's collar. Suna doesn't fight back.

“Don't be so stupid, ‘Tsumu.”

I'm worried about you.

Atsumu inhales and exhales in brisk, deep breaths. He remains silent, staring with fury into Suna's eyes. Eyes that seem to be nothing but worried.

“Guess you'll have to beat each other up if you don't get harmed any other way, huh?”

Neither Suna nor Atsumu has noticed that Sakusa has arrived at the warehouse and is walking toward them. Their surprised glances snap at him, Atsumu lets go of Suna and frowns. God, this guy really does act like a fucking assassin.

However, the closer Sakusa gets to them, the more Atsumu notices how disheveled he looks.

He looks paler than usual, his curls ruffled and Atsumu almost didn't notice but blood is trickling down his left temple, hardly visible beneath his dark curls.

Blood?

Something in Atsumu's stomach twists as he watches Sakusa. It's strange. Sakusa doesn't let anyone get that close to him, so he's always cautious enough to avoid that. Were there too many opponents after all?

“Omi, ya look…”

“Flawless, I know. Can we—”

Atsumu catches Sakusa just as his legs go weak and his head was about to kiss the ground.

“There, there, handsome. Where d’ya think yer goin’?”

“Let fucking go of me, Miya.”

“Yer fucking bleeding, Omi.”

Sakusa stares pissed off into Atsumu's eyes but doesn't bother to fight back and lets him hold him. Atsumu watches him, spotting a soft film of pink sitting high on his cheeks.

Maybe he caught a fever? Atsumu should patch him up.

“Rin,” he starts. His gaze is fixed firmly on Sakusa's. “Let Kita know about the news, and I'll take care of Omi.”

Atsumu would have expected some resistance from Suna, but all he gets is a bump against his shoulder as he walks past him and catches him mumbling 'do what the hell you want'.

Atsumu needs to catch their balance to avoid tumbling over together with Sakusa, shooting Rin an infuriated look before turning back to Sakusa.

“I'll drive us to yer apartment. Can ya hold on to me?”

“Miya, I'm fine.”

“Cut that bullshit, Omi. Can ya or can ya not?”

Sakusa's eyes dart back and forth between Atsumu's, a frown chiseled deep into his face. He sucks in a sharp breath before nodding and answering in an even voice. “I can.”

“Good,” Atsumu swallows. “Then let's fucking go.”

Atsumu dropped them off in Sakusa’s friend’s apartment in Osaka and helped him sit down on the couch. He throws him a bottle of water and stands in front of him with his hands in his jacket pockets while he watches sip after sip flow down Sakusa's throat. Atsumu gulps.

“How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine.”

“Still dizzy?”

Sakusa hesitates and blushes slightly. “No.”

Atsumu watches as he caps the water bottle with bare fingers and sets it aside. Watches as Sakusa's eyes immediately seek his own again. Watches as his gaze changes.

Atsumu gulps again.

“I washed my hands... is it okay if I take care of it?” He asks with a nod to Sakusa's wound.

Sakusa frowns and just stares at him for a few seconds. His look is anything but intimidating. Rather, he looks like he's appraising the situation. Because Atsumu is still his enemy? It would be stupid to act recklessly.

“Yeah.” Sakusa breathes evenly. “It’s okay.”

“Cool,” Atsumu breathes and holds his gaze for a while longer.

Something makes his stomach flutter disgustingly.

Atsumu vanishes into the bathroom and takes his time to calm his heart, gathering all the necessary utensils. It's not like this is the first time he's alone with Sakusa, so why is he so damn nervous?

Because this time everything might be different.

Atsumu returns with a disinfectant spray and some ointment and doesn’t quite know why his heart is beating so fast as he turns to face Sakusa. The long, lingering down-up Kiyoomi is giving him kicks right into his gut and makes the butterflies flutter wildly. Atsumu positions himself in front of him and swallows hard.

“Can I…?”

He looks down at him with a questioning look in his eyes, a request that shoots beyond all bounds. Atsumu knows how much Sakusa hates physical touch. He knows he would kill Atsumu without batting an eye if he just laid a hand on him like that.

But here he is, still very much alive, even though he's already risked it twice. And then he also keeps reminding himself that it was Sakusa who told Atsumu to join him on his bike, letting him hold onto him as he did so, snuggling up to him.

Sakusa Kiyoomi might hate physical touch, but maybe... maybe Atsumu's was fine.

Kiyoomi says nothing, nodding only once to permit him, not averting his onyx eyes from Atsumu's golden ones. His pulse throbs in his throat; Atsumu feels his cheeks heat up while blushes slowly creep and spread over his skin.

He breathes deeply and tries to keep his cool when he climbs onto Kiyoomi’s lap, grabbing the backrest of the couch for support as knees straddle thighs. Sakusa’s breath hitches, his eyes widen and his fingers twitch.

Atsumu examines him, making sure Sakusa is okay, that he's not overwhelming him. When his breathing calms down a bit and steadies, Atsumu brushes back his curls, takes the spray, and holds it to Sakusa's wound on his head, leaning in.

Their faces are close.

“Hold still… ‘s gonna hurt a little bit.”

“I'm not a sissy–”

Sakusa interrupts himself as Atsumu sprays the alcohol on his flesh, contorting his face until his pained hiss drifts into a surprised laugh. 

“What was that?” Atsumu mocks, lifting an eyebrow, and smirks.

“Fuck you,” Sakusa chuckles, and Atsumu's stomach drops. 

Oh, what a beautiful laugh… Has he ever heard it before?

Atsumu pats the spot clean and applies some ointment, trying to be careful not to hurt Kiyoomi even more. His face contorts as Atsumu's fingertips touch his hot skin, though the cooling cream quickly smooths away his wrinkles.

“Aran can take another look at it tomorrow,” Atsumu says as he carefully spreads the ointment. His gaze focuses on the spot to avoid Kiyoomi's dark eyes. “Akaashi might want to look over it too, just to be safe.”

“It's fine.”

“It's an open wound, Omi.”

“Nothing that will kill me.”

“Ya could get blood poisoning if it's not treated properly.”

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps to Sakusa's eyes. Black ones that no longer seem cold, no. Swirling with heat and lust and yearning, glinting with a hint of hunter green, revealing what Sakusa wants.

Atsumu's hand stiffens, he swallows thickly as he loses himself in these beautiful, captivating eyes. He feels his face heating up, feels the turmoil in his stomach, mesmerized by Kiyoomi's challenging gaze. Atsumu's eyes dip to his lips. His breath catches in his throat.

He wants to kiss him. Fuck, does he want to kiss him. 

He wants to know what Kiyoomi feels like, wants to know what he tastes like. Atsumu needs to know what it's like to devour him, what it's like to be devoured by him. He wants to run his hands into those disheveled curls, he wants to make them even messier, he wants to sleep with–

“I can feel your brain fuming…” Sakusa murmurs, and God, that raspy voice is going to be Atsumu's death. “What are you thinking about? You're usually not this tongue-tied. Talk to me.”

“I–” Atsumu stutters, slowly withdrawing his hand. His brows are knitted together, he wonders. “Can I touch you?”

Sakusa will kill him here and now. He will blow his head off. He will throw him out of the window with his own hands, followed by countless bullets that will find his body. He will let Atsumu die a painful death. He will–

“Yes.”

Yes.

Oh.

“Oh.”

Yes?

“Oh?” Sakusa quirks a brow and smirks in amusement.

“Shut up,” Atsumu snaps, observing Sakusa's face whether he truly won't kill him. He isn’t quite sure because he can’t read him. He gulps.

Atsumu smudges the bloodstain on Sakusa's temple and frowns, feeling his stomach drop at the thought that the situation could have been precarious for him. Sakusa may be a killing machine, but even he reaches his limits at some point.

“How many were they?” Atsumu asks curiously, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought that the situation could have ended differently for Sakusa. They look each other in the eyes.

“It doesn't matter,” Sakusa says, stalling.

Too many to count.

“Ya should’ve let us know.”

“You had more important things to do.”

They were no match for me.

Atsumu lets his thumb glide over the softness of Sakusa's skin, slowly bringing his forearms to each side of Kiyoomi's neck, laying them on top of his shoulders as he stares into his onyx eyes. Sakusa's big hands tentatively move to Atsumu's side, causing his breath to hitch.

Again, Atsumu's eyes drop to Kiyoomi's lips. He fights the urge to gulp nervously.

“Atsumu,” Sakusa murmurs again, tipping his head back to glance up. “What do you want from me?”

I need to taste you. I wanna kiss you. Please, let me kiss you.

“I…” Atsumu starts, blush tinting his cheeks red. 

Kiyoomi held back because he didn't know that Osamu is Atsumu's brother. He was angry, annoyed, jealous because he didn’t know Atsumu’s partner is his twin. All this time he couldn't read Kiyoomi, but this was unmistakable. Atsumu couldn’t be that wrong.

Sakusa looks at him with the same hunger in his eyes as Atsumu looks at him.

He could kill you. His fingers are so close to ‘Samu's knife, he could kill you so fucking easily. One stab and you are dead. You are so stupid. He is your goddamn enemy. Gosh, you’re so stupid, ‘Tsumu. How can you be so stupid?

“Fuck it,” Atsumu mumbles and dives in.

His fingers entangle within the short curls at the back of Sakusa’s neck – they are thick and messy from all the fighting and so easy to hold on to. Atsumu yanks him back gently to be able to close the distance between their faces properly and kiss him hard.

Sakusa's fingers dig into the meat of Atsumu's hip as his grip tightens, ripping a groan from the assassin before he can stop himself. His grip is so strong that it aches, making Atsumu's head dizzy because it's so unbelievably hot. Every instinct Atsumu has honed as an assassin screams at him to shove the man back and get the fuck out of here, but…

But.

Instead, he lets himself be dragged an encouraging fraction closer, lets curiosity get the best of him.

Sakusa opens to Atsumu’s kiss and lets himself be pulled in closer as Atsumu gently explores his mouth. Against his better judgment, Kiyoomi slides a hand onto Atsumu’s nape, digging into the short hair of his undercut as lips and tongues send Atsumu’s pulse into overdrive. Atsumu gasps into Kiyoomi’s mouth, then sighs a low, pleased sound as Kiyoomi starts to kiss him like he owns him.

His lips are softer and gentler than Atsumu has thought they could be, his mouth is sweeter and more addictive than Atsumu could have ever dreamed of. Kiyoomi is tentative and yet bold at the same time. The kiss is slow and exploratory, an intentional release of tension that has been pent up for far too long.

Eventually, Atsumu slowly breaks away when his lungs start to burn and lifts his head. Sakusa stares up at him and looks as surprised as Atsumu feels. They’re both out of breath and God, that look in Kiyoomi’s eyes sends Atsumu’s heart rate surging upward.

“Holy shit, Omi, yer gonna be the death of me.”

“Shut up.”

“Kinda expected ya to kill me when I leaned in, not gonna lie.”

“I will if you don't do as you’re told and shut the fuck up.”

“Didn't cha always wanna hear the sweet little sounds I ma–hmmppfff…”

Sakusa cuts him off as he pulls Atsumu down by his neck and crashes their lips back together. Atsumu quickly gives in, letting the kiss go from rushed to so soft it could almost be mistaken for tenderness.

And then he freezes.

Because this isn’t a kiss that belongs in here. With a man like Sakusa. In an encounter like this.

Foe. Foe. Foe. He’s your fucking foe. What are you doing, ‘Tsumu? What the fuck are you–

Kiyoomi draws back a little. “Did I finally manage to break you? Didn’t expect you to be so–”

Atsumu grabs him and pulls him back into a kiss, so, Kiyoomi holds him closer. He pushes Sakusa’s lips apart with his tongue, making his fingers twitch against Atsumu’s skin where big hands cup a flushed face. The kiss deepens.

Atsumu isn't even that much into kissing. Or at least he thought he wasn't. Probably because everyone he's done it with so far has been much more eager about getting him dicked down than giving him a real kiss. It’s different with Sakusa.

Because they don’t move, don’t rush, don’t push. They sit on the couch, Atsumu on top of Kiyoomi, arms around each other, lazily making out, kissing like no one has ever given Kiyoomi the memo about the difference between fucking and making love. The difference between kissing a one-night stand versus kissing a fucking boyfriend.

Something kicks right into Atsumu’s gut. He decides to ignore it.

He won't stop Sakusa. Atsumu can't remember ever having been kissed like that by anyone before, and he'll be damned if he's going to interrupt it. So, he gives in and takes what he wants, and lets Kiyoomi devour him.

Sakusa cradles the back of Atsumu's head in one hand, slides his other arm back down his side, and wraps it around Atsumu’s waist, pulling him another fraction in like no proximity could be ever enough.

It’s ripping a sweet little sound from Atsumu’s lungs. He’s feeling a very prominent bulge pressed against him as Kyoomi claws into the red fabric of Atsumu’s jacket, holding onto it for dear life as he’s kissing him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do right. Atsumu’s pulse goes crazy.

They go in for another deep kiss and Atsumu gets bolder, rolls his hips in a slow grind forward, dragging the bulge of his own clothed cock against Sakusa’s. 

“Fuck…” Kiyoomi gasps, breathing shakily in Atsumu’s mouth and resting their foreheads against each other.

Atsumu is hungry, wants to kiss him some more but Kiyoomi beats him to it and grabs his chin, wrenches his face to the side to be able to kiss his neck. He can’t stop himself from tilting his head back to expose some more as soft lips skate across his flesh.

It doesn’t make any sense, baring his throat to a man like Kiyoomi, but those devouring kisses are addictive and Atsumu needs more, more, more.

“We shouldn’t—” he moans as he feels Kiyoomi sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin on the side of his throat. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“As if you ever gave a shit about what you should and shouldn't do,” Kiyoomi pants against Atsumu’s neck, running the tip of his tongue over the hickey and sending Atsumu’s brain into a frenzy.

“Yer right,” Atsumu gasps, turning back to Kiyoomi and cupping his face to claim another hard kiss as he’s grinding down his hips. It rips another low groan from Kiyoomi’s lungs, the sound shooting straight into Atsumu’s gut.

His hands move to Kiyoomi’s shoulders, gripping them as the latter claws tighter into Atsumu’s side, both taking sharp breaths through their noses. He’s tugging at Sakusa’s jackets to push them off his shoulders, impatient to get these damn clothes out of his way. “Off–” he urges between kisses. “Off!”

Atsumu unzips Kiyoomi’s sweater and reveals a torso wrapped up in tight black fabric. His hands roam shamelessly over his warm body as a low groan leaves his lips. Of course, Atsumu has already caught a glimpse of Kiyoomi's appearance and he knows how athletic he must be for a job like they were doing but no one prepared him for how fucking ripped he actually was.

They straighten up a little; Atsumu lifts himself on his knees so Kiyoomi can shrug off his clothes. His hands are immediately back on Atsumu, on his thighs to hold him in place. Atsumu draws back with Kiyoomi’s bottom lip caught between his teeth, earning a hiss when he’s biting down as he lowers himself again once Kiyoomi is only wearing his t-shirt and rolls his hips over his clothed cock once more.

“Fuck…” Atsumu whispers this time, closing his eyes and biting his own lip when Kiyoomi’s hands land on his ass and pull him down harder. All he can do is rest his forehead against Sakusa’s and pant into his mouth as he unzips his own jacket to get rid of it.

Breathing heavily, Atsumu’s eyes dart from Kiyoomi’s half-lidded ones down to where black ink furls around his left arm. The dragon and single petals and blossoms of chrysanthemums curling around his pale skin reach up and hide beneath his shirt, Atsumu wonders where this damn tattoo finally stops.

It’s frantic when Kiyoomi grabs Atsumu’s chin to crash their lips back together. Then his hand slides to Atsumu's neck to hold him close.

Their kisses grow wet and sloppy and greedy and hungrier and fuck — these noises and devoted reactions he elicits from Kiyoomi make Atsumu light-headed. Sakusa breaks the kiss and marks his way down his jaw, starting on Atsumu’s neck again.

“I'm still waiting to get a proper lap dance from you,” he whispers against Atsumu’s skin, making the latter chuckle. “Ya have me in yer lap, don’t cha darlin’?”

“You’re not dancing.” Atsumu feels him smirking.

“Yeah, keep waitin’, Omi-kun. ‘S not gonna happen that soon–ahhh…”

Atsumu hisses a curse when Kiyoomi's teeth catch the skin on his throat, then releases another sweet sound when the latter playfully runs his tongue over the bruised skin. Atsumu’s stomach flips, his pants feel way too tight.

“Too bad I missed half of the show that you gave that asshole back when I took your brother's knife from you. All I could think was how good you were with your hips.” Sakusa kisses beneath his ear, making Atsumu shiver. Then he whispers, “Tell me you fuck as good as you dance.”

Tell me you fuck as good as you dance.

You fuck.

As good as you dance.

He’s killing him. Sakusa Kiyoomi is going to be his fucking death.

Atsumu licks his lips. “Only one way to find out, Omi,” he rasps, feeling dizzy.

Why am I shaking? What the fuck am I doing?

“Can I—?”

Atsumu is consumed by his gaze, drawn into the heat of glowing coals that ignite a fire of their own in his golden eyes. Kiyoomi looks at him as if he is the only thing he has ever longed for, and Atsumu is foolish enough to want to believe it.

His hands are on the hem of Sakusa's shirt, fingertips twitching impatiently to finally slip between fabric and skin. Kiyoomi frowns, but then nods slowly, cautiously, and lets Atsumu peel off his shirt. Both his and Atsumu's breath hitch as his torso is exposed and Atsumu’s hands meet the skin of his foe.

It's soft and gentle and as pale as the most expensive porcelain. So dangerous to break. Too beautiful to touch. Embellished with single moles; Atsumu wants to connect his lips with each one.

There is one above his collarbone. Two side by side on his chest. Another one just below his belly button, and Atsumu suspects more in places he couldn’t even dream of before.

“Fuck,” he whispers because truly, fuck, Sakusa Kiyoomi is beauty, is art, in itself.

Heat must rush into Kiyoomi's cheeks, the hue of his skin changes to a soft purplish pink.

Atsumu's gaze burns into Sakusa's tattoo. The ink's contrast of the dragon encircling his arm is stark against the pallor of his skin, its head ending on his shoulder blade. The petals of chrysanthemums form into full blossoms toward the dragon's head, gracing a path down his body’s side to his V-line.

Atsumu is stunned, never before has he seen a man as beautiful as Kiyoomi.

“If all it takes to shut you up is to undress me, I would have done it sooner,” Sakusa murmurs.

“Ya don't want that,” Atsumu remarks, his gaze snapping back up into dark orbs. “Ya don’t want me quiet.”

“How would you know?”

“‘Cause I’m observant, Omi. I think ya want the exact opposite.”

“I don't give a damn about what you think.”

“Ya like every sweet little sound I make. Don't think 'm not aware of it.”

“Shut up, Atsumu.”

He smirks. “Make me.”

Sakusa pulls him in for another kiss and drags Atsumu’s chest against his own. His hands are on Atsumu’s ass, kneading and squeezing his clothed cheeks while rubbing his own clothed hard-on between them, seeking friction. It sends shivers down Atsumu’s spine, his dick is twitching in his pants.

“Mhmmm—” Atsumu hums and breaks the kiss, dropping his forehead to rest against Kiyoomi’s. He wants to taste him more, but all they both manage to do is to connect and pant into each other's open mouths.

Kiyoomi’s palms roam to Atsumu’s thighs, pushing him back a fraction before dipping two fingers beneath the elastic of his pants. Atsumu’s eyes roll back as Kiyoomi’s hand wraps around his dick, stroking it lazily to spread the beads of precum that emerged ever since they started making out. Atsumu bites his lip.

“Fuuuck...” he exhales shakily into Kiyoomi’s mouth, shuddering once he opens his eyes and meets onyx eyes that burn, burn, burn.

His whole body is inflamed, Kiyoomi's bare fingers cause goosebumps to break out on Atsumu's skin. His hands are soft and warm, the touch so much more intense than Atsumu was used to.

With his free hand, Sakusa tugs down Atsumu’s pants and briefs far enough to stroke him easily, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the underside of his cockhead where he’s most sensitive.

“Ahhh—shit...” Atsumu pinches his eyes closed, moaning shamelessly into Kiyoomi’s mouth as he’s circling the spot.

“You like that?” Sakusa murmurs.

“Very,” Atsumu pants.

“Of course, you do,” Kiyoomi smirks, teasing the slit of Atsumu’s cock, pressing in just enough to make him squirm. “You’re not the only one being observant, Atsumu.”

Oh, shit… oh shit.

He’s going to die.

“No fair,” Atsumu gasps, fluttering his eyes open and grinding down on Sakusa’s dick. “Wanna touch you, too...” Can I?

“What's holding you back?”

Sakusa's gaze is so intense and determined that for the first time in his life, Atsumu feels overwhelmed. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what he's allowed to do, doesn't know when he's crossing a line that he suddenly doesn't want to strike at all.

The redness on his cheeks deepens, and heat rushes through his whole body. He is seated in the lap of an outrageously hot man who has just permitted him to do more than Atsumu would ever have expected he's allowed to do.

Touch me and you’ll burn.

But I’m burning right now, aren’t I?

Kiyoomi doesn’t stop him when Atsumu unzips his pants and pulls down his briefs enough to free his cock. He sighs into Atsumu’s mouth as he let him stroke him experimentally. He’s eager to connect their lips but is not able to kiss properly because both Kiyoomi and Atsumu are too busy to steady their breaths.

The next minute, Kiyoomi wraps his free arm around Atsumu’s waist and pulls him closer again. He bats Atsumu’s hand away to press both of their cocks against each other, holding them tightly in his own grip. Atsumu’s moan is swallowed up as Kiyoomi slammed their lips back together, gripping his ass tightly while licking into his mouth.

Atsumu burns under his touch. Heat pools in his gut as Sakusa's warm hand and dick press against Atsumu's own, working them both in tandem. He can feel Sakusa’s cock pulsing, feels how he’s getting harder and harder and Atsumu thinks he is going to lose it.

“Feels good?” Sakusa breathes hotly into his ear, nibbling his lobe and sending shivers down Atsumu’s spine. His muscles are on fire, his body tensed up to keep himself from coming too soon. He doesn’t want it to be over yet, wants to enjoy whatever this is some more.

“Really fuckin’ good…” Atsumu slurs and shit – he’s so fucking close.

He groans when Kiyoomi flicks his wrist and picks up the pace, coming nearly when Sakusa moans right into his ear. It shoots straight into Atsumu’s dick. This blissful sound, so sweet and addictive. Atsumu needs to hear it, again and again and again.

Kiyoomi’s lips glide down his throat, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses to the blue-purplish bruise he left on Atsumu’s skin. He sucks on it again, hips jerking a little, seeming to be so lost in what he’s fucking doing to Atsumu.

Shit… shit.

All Atsumu manages to do is claw into Kiyoomi’s curls with both hands, scraping his nails against his scalp and yanking his head back. He leans down to force him into a bruising kiss, letting Kiyoomi jerk them both faster. The grip on his ass tightens and Atsumu is sure it will leave some marks and God, he can’t help and moan at how incredibly hot that is.

Pleasure is settling heavily at the base of Atsumu’s dick and Sakusa must feel the same way as his hand creeps to Atsumu's side, gripping tightly to hold him in place. He’s building them both toward the edge even faster, harder. Atsumu moans loudly into Kiyoomi’s mouth, keeping his face close and tensing up his whole body.

“I’m, ahh, real fuckin’ close, Omi…”

“Yeah?” Kiyoomi pants, killing Atsumu with his devouring gaze. “Me too,” he admits, the sight of his flushed face hitting too deep in Atsumu’s gut.

Yes. He’ll die. Sakusa Kiyoomi will be his fucking death.

“Omi—” Atsumu gasps, almost daring to beg. He won’t. But he’s so fucking close it hurts.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi replies like he understands what Atsumu wants. Maybe he does. Atsumu shouldn’t care.

He shifts in Kiyoomi’s lap and changes the angle a little. The tip of Kiyoomi’s cock is now pressed against Atsumu’s frenulum, letting him massage the spot to build up more pressure. Atsumu’s legs start to shake, he breathes in Kiyoomi’s air and takes everything he’s willing to give.

The sensation increases the more Atsumu lets himself be consumed. Kiyoomi focuses on the heads of their cocks, his grip tightening, then twisting his hand as he strokes up and down and they both nearly choke on their own breaths.

“Ahh…!” Atsumu gasps, thrills shooting to his gut when Kiyoomi releases a low moan. He pinches his eyes closed, arches his brows, and tightens his grip on Kiyoomi’s curls. His chest is heaving with heavy breaths, waiting for pleasure to take over.

“You wanna come?” Kiyoomi asks and the question hits him like a slap in the face.

“Yes,” Atsumu chokes out. Only now does he realize that he was waiting for Kiyoomi's permission, that he was holding back the whole fucking time. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck… wanna—mhmmm… wanna come so bad… Omi—”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi breathes, smiles, flitting the tip of his tongue over his and Atsumu’s bottom lip. “Let’s come together, okay? Be—ahh… be a good boy and come, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi strokes them faster. His voice is low and raspy. “Come—ahh, shit… Come for me…”

Atsumu lasts a few more seconds before everything turns blinding white and he shoots his hand down just in time to catch his and Sakusa's release. They’re both teetering over the edge, and it tears a loud moan from Atsumu’s lungs. He’s arching his back, contracting every tiniest muscle in his body so hard it hurts as he comes together with Sakusa, feeling the most intense orgasm of his life.

Kiyoomi captures Atsumu’s lips and kisses him as he strokes them through it. Atsumu hisses when overstimulation hits him before it hits Sakusa, signaling the latter to slow down. So, he does, resting their sweaty foreheads against each other, catching their breaths, coming down from their shared high.

“Fuck…” Atsumu breathes heavily, staring into Kiyoomi’s dilated eyes. The black infinity of the universe consumes him, lets him lose himself in it, and makes him never want to escape. A spark of hunger still flickers in them, a battle of want and reluctance in which the latter tends to lose.

Once again, Atsumu is surprised as Kiyoomi takes his hand and brings it dangerously close to his mouth. He inhales sharply as Sakusa sucks the mix of their releases from Atsumu's fingers, not taking his eyes off him for even a second.

Oh, fuck.

Atsumu snaps as he lets go of his index and middle finger with a ‘pop’. Immediately, he crashes their lips together, slipping his tongue inside his mouth and swirling it against Kiyoomi’s to taste the saltiness of them both.

The kiss is slow and deep and makes Atsumu’s head spin. Sakusa should be grossed out by something so obscene, and yet he was the one who couldn't help himself and initiated the exchange. Kiyoomi of all people.

They both swallow and pant into each other’s mouths once they break the kiss. A string of spit mixed with cum connects their lips, making Atsumu feel lightheaded and dizzy. Slowly and carefully, he runs his thumb over Sakusa’s swollen bottom lip, eyes flitting from his mouth, up to his eyes. Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath, then frowns.

“Don’t do shit on your own anymore, Omi.”

Atsumu doesn't know exactly what he means by that. Maybe that he's screwed if anything happens to Sakusa because Oikawa would kill him without batting an eye. Maybe that he doesn't want anything to happen to him in the first place. Maybe that he cares about him even when he shouldn't.

“I won’t,” Sakusa agrees, not taking his eyes off Atsumu.

They're both playing with fire, with a flame that is too powerful for them to handle. It won't be long until it burns one of them, leaving a scar deeper than any gunshot or knife wound could ever do. The only question is, who will it be first?

Kiyoomi?

Or Atsumu?

Chapter Text

Atsumu didn’t stay the night.

He went home when Sakusa jumped into the shower, figuring it would be best to go back and spend the night alone. Anything else would have been weird. Too friendly. Too close. Too intimate. Nothing that Atsumu needs right now. Nothing he should feel with his foe in the first place.

They passed the information about Osamu and Terushima to Oikawa and are now waiting for the Kumichō to get back in touch. At the same time, Kita is trying to find out more about the matter without attracting Daishō's attention. They don't know if he is involved in this shit or if Terushima is actually plotting something against his leader. Therefore, utmost caution is required. Anything can be possible.

A few days pass until Oikawa finally contacts Kiyoomi. In the meantime, Sakusa kept his agreement with Meian and took care (aka got rid) of the troublemakers in Dōtonbori. Atsumu and Suna used the time to catch up, practice with each other, be a little bit selfish and finally have a teeny tiny bit of fun.

Atsumu never told him, but Suna knew things happened between his best friend and Sakusa on that fateful night a few days prior. He isn't dumb, knows Atsumu too well. Suna never brought it up, though. Probably for the sake of both of them and Atsumu is grateful for that.

It's early in the morning as Suna sits in front of Kita's house and Atsumu stands next to him, nervously fidgeting with Osamu's knife while watching the sunrise. They are waiting because Kita wanted to talk to Kiyoomi in private before they set off for Sendai, which left Atsumu with a queasy feeling.

What did he have to tell him that he couldn't say in Atsumu's presence? He wouldn't harm him, would he?

Shit... would he?

“Kita-san would put you in a predicament if he were to hurt Sakusa, and that's the last thing he wants, so calm down.”

Suna doesn't even glance at him, but he knows what Atsumu is racking his brains about. It's too easy for him. Atsumu frowns and watches the first rays of sunlight color the rice fields in warm shades of red and gold. It's tranquil, calm, and peaceful. Atsumu misses seeing Osamu's face coated in the hue of amber.

“We will find him soon.”

Suna angles one leg and casually rests his elbow on top of it while playing with the sun charm of Osamu’s necklace, nuzzling around his neck. He has been wearing it since Atsumu gave it to him. Suna’s gaze is somewhere far away, taking in the sun.

“Yeah,” breathes Atsumu. His eyes flicker to Suna. “We've almost got him... I know we do.”

Suna’s gaze snaps up as Atsumu steps beside him and lowers himself to sit down. He watches him as golden eyes mingle resolutely with the crimson of the rising sun. Suna recognizes the determination and the concern about everything that awaits them.

“Whatever you do,” he swallows the lump in his throat. “Watch out.”

Watch out. Be careful. Don’t get hurt.

Don’t fall in love.

Atsumu's gaze wavers. Then, he turns to Rin. “I will.”

There is too much meaning in Suna's words. None of them can be misinterpreted.

Suna gives him a smile that doesn't reach his eyes and lightly ruffles Atsumu's hair, trying to lift the mood.

“It's a lighter blond than it was back then.” Rin withdraws his hand. “Wherever he is, I hope ‘Samu didn't get the idea to dye his hair gray again.”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu laughs and gives Rin a gentle jab in his ribs. It elicits a genuine laugh on his part from his lungs. Oh, it’s been a while...

“Could be one of those twin connection things, you know?”

“Yer jus’ scared you'll fall madly in love with him all over again.”

Suna's smile slowly fades, his gaze is everywhere Atsumu's eyes can't catch it. Atsumu swallows thickly, his smile is similarly washed away in a split second.

Suna stares back at the sunrise and remains quiet. Atsumu drops his head on Suna's shoulder, his cheek touching the soft fabric of his jacket, and follows his gaze. For a moment, no one dares to break the silence. That is until Suna takes a deep breath and rests his head against Atsumu's.

“I never stopped loving him, ‘Tsumu. Never…”

Now Atsumu is the one swallowing thickly. His arms are wrapped around his legs.

“D’ya think that will change when ya see each other again?”

“Two years is enough time to get over a guy.”

“He loved ya too much for that to happen, Rin.”

Atsumu tilts his head so that he can peer up at Suna. Rin is already glancing down at him.

“I wish you were right, ‘Tsumu,” Rin's gaze drifts back to the sun. “I hope so.”

“He would always want you.”

Rin's body tenses, he forces a pained smile onto his lips but doesn't bother to look at Atsumu.

He can see it, though. The desire to get Osamu back. The longing for him. The urge to wrap his arms around him. Suna isn't someone who's particularly easy to read, and yet it's always been a breeze when it comes to Osamu.

“I'm sorry, Sunarin.”

For accusing you that this was all your fault. For leaving you just like that. For reminding you of Osamu.

“Me too.”

For putting the blame solely on you. For pushing you away from me. For reminding you of your brother.

Atsumu hooks his pinky around Suna's and holds it just like that. No matter what may come, Atsumu will always have Rin by his side, because he will always be the only one who truly understands what he's going through. He can rely on him and vice versa.

“Let's hope, ‘Tsumu.” His voice is raspy, his throat is dry. “It's the only thing stronger than fear.”

Whatever might come, they would always have each other.

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathes. “Let’s hope.”

Leaving Inarizaki feels just as weird as when Atsumu was coming back home a few weeks ago. Of course, he’s going to miss his friends, and leaving Suna alone all over again doesn't feel right either. But if they want to find Osamu as soon as possible, they need to split up. That's the most reasonable thing they can do.

So, as long as Atsumu is going to check the area around Miyagi prefecture, Suna will take care of the west of Japan; Atsumu will return to Oikawa while Suna digs into Daishō's territories. It's a dangerous game, but they're sure it will be worth the risks. It must be.

Atsumu wonders if everything Kiyoomi has learned in Inarizaki over the past few weeks has been for nothing after he has traded his motorcycle back for his car and his combat gear for turtlenecks and slacks. He looks good in a suit, that's a given, but there was something about the assassin style on him that fueled Atsumu's hunger a bit more.

Or it was simply the fact that for a brief moment, he forgot that Sakusa still belonged to Yakuza. Atsumu wished he wouldn't.

With the sniper rifle and his clothes in the back seat, Sakusa drives them back to Sendai. A black mask is hiding half of his handsome face, but Atsumu nevertheless catches a mix of tension and irritation settling in Sakusa's expression.

His eyebrows are scrunched together, his gaze is grim. If Sakusa were to remove the mask from his face, Atsumu is sure he would once again encounter that foolish pout he is so eager to kiss stupid.

He hasn’t gotten the chance yet to ask Sakusa what Kita wanted to discuss... which doesn't mean that Atsumu’s curiosity isn’t starting to swallow him whole. Because Kiyoomi is acting differently after their conversation. Kind of thoughtful and… fed up?

Then again, Atsumu recalls that Sakusa is always fed up.

Still, something about him felt… off.

“Frown a little harder and ya might actually pop it.”

Sakusa, in fact, frowns even harder, his expression now consumed by confusion. He chances a glance in Atsumu's direction, then immediately refocuses on the road. He mutters something under his breath sounding suspiciously like “When am I finally going to get rid of him” and Atsumu can't stifle a grin.

“Nah… that ain’t gonna happen too soon, sweetheart,” Atsumu says nonchalantly and leans back.

For a moment he contemplates kicking his feet up on the dashboard just to piss Sakusa off but decides against it because Kiyoomi is kind of intimidating.

On the other hand, Atsumu is curious whether he would actually kill him for doing so or not. Atsumu decides he would. For sure actually.

“Shut up. I wasn’t talking to you.”

“C’mon Omi-kun!” Atsumu kicks up his feet anyway and smiles. “Do you always gotta be all prickly ‘bout everything?” He swears the vein on Sakusa's forehead is about to pop. “What are you, a sea urchin?”

His grip on the wheel tightens, the look directed at Atsumu's crossed legs is deadly. Atsumu knows if Sakusa were to slam the brakes right now, neither of them would survive, given how fast they were currently driving and how busy the road is.

What he doesn't know, however, is whether he would reach for his gun any second and melt bullets into Atsumu’s legs. Atsumu knows he shouldn’t risk it but something about riling Sakusa up is so incredibly amusing that he just can't help himself.

For the sake of his life and because he still has to find out about Sakusa’s conversation with Kita, he removes his feet from the dashboard. Sakusa's body relaxes significantly. Atsumu chuckles.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yers, hm Omi-Omi?”

“I'm trying to think of a way to shut you up.”

“Oh, I can think of many ways,” Atsumu smirks as Sakusa faces him, the frown now back on his face. “Preferably the one where ya remove your mask and—”

“No.”

Atsumu licks his lips and fixes his gaze on Sakusa's hidden mouth. He wouldn't mind tasting it again. Kissing Sakusa is like a drug and Atsumu is too weak to resist.

“Yer no fun, Omi.”

“I never intended to be.”

“What a shame,” Atsumu's voice drops. He shifts in his seat. “‘Cause I know ya can be.”

“Miya.” Sakusa exhales audibly annoyed. “You managed to keep your mouth shut until now and everything was perfectly fine. What changed your fucking mind?”

“Guess I'll have ta make sure ya don't get any wrinkles.”

“You shouldn't give a shit about me.”

Yeah well, he has a point...

“Nah...” Atsumu's mischievous grin slowly fades. “I care about my partners, Omi-kun.”

That seems to bother Sakusa even more. Skeptically, he stares back at the road ahead and clutches the steering wheel a little tighter again.

“You're an assassin... Shouldn't you give a damn about other people’s lives?”

“That's not how it works in Inarizaki.”

Atsumu glances to the side. Sakusa scoffs.

“Right…”

He rests his elbow beneath the window and his head against his fist while steering the car with his other hand. Now Atsumu is the one looking at him with skepticism. Something in him tells him this is about Kiyoomi's conversation with Kita.

“What did he want from you?” Atsumu gulps as Sakusa glances briefly in his direction. “Kita-san,” he adds, although it's clear who he means.

Atsumu feels Sakusa hesitate. He feels his head fuming from all the thoughts that are running through his mind. He feels something doesn't sit right with him.

And Sakusa already said it: he shouldn't care. Atsumu really shouldn't inquire further. But he's too curious, and for some fucking reason he feels the need to reassure Kiyoomi that whatever Kita said, he shouldn't let it get to him.

For some fucking reason, Atsumu does care about Sakusa.

“You are important to him...” Sakusa hesitates. “He's worried about you.”

“What did he say?” Atsumu frowns.

When their eyes meet, Atsumu shudders. Confusion and anger are engulfed by the endless night in Sakusa’s iris, envy and jealousy dance on a razor-thin thread. His gaze drowns in want and hesitation. Oh, that damn hesitation...

But Atsumu could be wrong about all of this. After all this time he has spent with Kiyoomi, he still has trouble deciphering him. What if he's just imagining things?

Sakusa tears his gaze away. He takes a deep breath as if to compose himself and clears his throat. At this moment, Atsumu knows he won't get an answer. Perfect bait for his insatiable curiosity.

What the hell were Kiyoomi and Kita talking about?

“We were in the library,” Sakusa distracts. Atsumu's gaze snaps toward him. “You own a katana.”

It wasn't a question, but rather a respectful acknowledgment. Atsumu grins proudly.

“You've seen my darlin’?”

“The blade is sharper and longer than what I’m used to, yet it’s exceptionally well balanced… The details are subtle, the craftsman undoubtedly had a clue in what he was doing.” The corner of Sakusa’s eyes crinkle slightly, his voice is challenging. “Are you even capable of wielding it?”

Atsumu snorts. Oh, Sakusa offends him.

“I'm an assassin, silly, what do ya think?”

“That doesn't mean you're good at it.”

“You underestimate me.”

“I'm realistic.”

“‘Realistic’,” Atsumu mocks a little bit mortified.

“I've seen you fight, Miya.” Sakusa shifts down a gear and accelerates when there are no more cars in front of them. “You suck.”

Atsumu snorts. “Funny, I thought so too until I met you.”

“Ah,” Sakusa chuckles. “And now you’re finally realizing your thoughts were true? I'm glad I could help you with that. Thinking has never been your forte.”

Atsumu laughs. “Yer an asshole, Omi-kun.”

“At least I don't suck at what I do.”

Atsumu shakes his head and bites his lips to stifle his stupid grin. Sakusa is a dick. An obnoxious and pretentious jerk. But geez, it's too amusing to mess with him. Teasing him and responding to his taunts. To never give in. He is one of the few who is a match for Atsumu.

Besides, Atsumu himself can't really claim to be better in any way.

“What the hell does someone who only has a clue about squandering metal even know about katanas?”

“Squandering metal?” Sakusa quirks a brow.

“Yer a sissy for usin’ guns, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa snorts. “It's fast and effective. A legitimate way to kill your victims.”

“It’s total bullshit,” Atsumu says, stretching his body. “Only someone who doesn't know how to use traditional weapons would say that.”

Atsumu smirks mischievously and stares at Kiyoomi from the corner of his eye. The latter huffs a laugh and shakes his head slightly but doesn't tear his gaze from the road. He remains quiet.

Atsumu knows he is doing him wrong. He's seen Sakusa handle a knife before, Osamu's knife to be precise, and he knows Sakusa had a perfect idea of what he was doing. No one without experience would be able to make such a precise cut as he did. No one without experience would be able to wield Osamu's knife with such ease.

And Atsumu refuses to believe that Sakusa simply has a talent for it. No. It absolutely can't be. Not even he could be that good.

“My previous partner used a katana,” Sakusa says after a while and keeps his gaze glued to the road.

“Yer tellin’ me that you, of all people, used to work with someone?” Atsumu huffs. “Ya wanna take me for a fool, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa frowns.

“I'm currently obliged to do it again, aren't I?”

“Oh, so he was forced into yer partnership? Geez, what a poor guy… but yeah, obviously… ‘cause anything else wouldn't make sense,” Atsumu chuckles. “What happened to him? Was his blade so sharp it killed him? Or did he just not put up with you anymore?”

For a moment, Sakusa ignores him and seems lost in his thoughts. His expression is distraught, his gaze fills with guilt and anger. His frown deepens, his hands claw once again tightly into the steering wheel.

Atsumu realizes he must have said something wrong. Was it something about his comment? Did he really...?

I know what it's like to lose a loved one...

Oh, Atsumu is so fucking stupid.

“Sorry,” he gulps, frowns, and turns his head to the side to look out of the window. “I didn't mean to...”

“He was shot.”

Atsumu jerks his head toward Kiyoomi and stares at him, aghast. All Atsumu did was make a silly comment without thinking about it. Oh, he is so stupid. So incredibly stupid.

“Fuck, Omi... I—”

“He's alive, though.” Sakusa doesn't give Atsumu a single glance. “But he's in a coma.”

Don't be too hard on Kiyoomi.

Oikawa's words echo in Atsumu's mind. The Kumichō knew about both circumstances and immediately noticed how similar they both were in truth. It must have been why Oikawa told Atsumu about Sakusa’s personal life... why he teamed them up in the first place? Are they that similar?

Atsumu has never seen him with a partner before. Which would mean he's been in a coma for quite a while. Whether he was important to Kiyoomi? Does he blame himself for these circumstances? What happened?

“Tell me about him.”

Kiyoomi's gaze snaps to Atsumu for a split second, trying to seek something in his golden eyes. Atsumu feels skepticism creeping through Sakusa's body, sees him hesitate, and witnesses him cave in because, in the end, he must indeed feel like Atsumu.

He's alone.

And it’s good to talk about your worries with someone who truly understands you. With someone who knows what it’s like to lose that one person that means the world to you. Even if that someone is your foe.

“He’s my best friend...” Sakusa looks at Atsumu deadly. “You will never tell him that.”

Atsumu blinks away his stupor and then lets a laugh wash over his face. Sakusa may be intimidating and scary, but in the end, he worries about those he loves, too.

And he may claim that no one is that important to him, but at the latest with Hinata's incident, Atsumu could see how much Kiyoomi cares about his partners as well. After all, he and Atsumu aren't even that different.

Atsumu chuckles and pretends to lock his mouth. Then he beams at Kiyoomi.

“My lips are sealed, Omi-kun!”

The corners of Sakusa's eyes crease as he breathes out a smile. “Good,” he says and kicks the gas pedal, letting Atsumu sink into the seat as he accelerates. Kiyoomi really drives like a maniac.

“What was his katana like?” Atsumu asks because he’s genuinely interested.

There aren't many people who choose this kind of weapon because it’s as Sakusa has already indicated: wielding a katana is an artwork itself. It requires years of training and a lot of knowledge.

“Actually, he used to have two. They weren't really special blades... they felt good in the hand, but I wouldn't call them extraordinary.” Sakusa chuckles a little. “He takes a lot of pride in his abilities and is very confident, but he sucked at using katanas.”

Atsumu laughs. “Well, it's not made for everyone.”

“Why do you think I asked you if you could handle yours?”

Atsumu catches Sakusa's gaze and something in his stomach kicks in. He can't help the mischievous grin, can't stop responding to his teasing.

“Ask me again when my blade stains with yer blood.”

“You're a big talker, Miya... My partner would have liked you.” He rolls his head to the side and stares deeply into Atsumu's eyes, his gaze is playful. “Which is why I like you all the less. He clearly used to have a bad taste.”

Atsumu chuckles. “I'm a natural charmer, Omi-kun. I'll get ya wrapped around my finger, too.”

“You'd be the last person I'd fall for.”

“Mhmm...” Atsumu's eyelids drop halfway, his voice is low. “Sure.”

He has witnessed other things. Atsumu was able to see how much Sakusa wanted him when they were supposed to be on the lookout for Noriaki. How much he wanted him, and how much he hated himself for that. Because it goes against his principles? Because Atsumu is his enemy?

It shouldn't matter to him.

And Atsumu wouldn't care if he didn't want him, too. Because what they had was just a taste. Something that wouldn't be enough for Atsumu. Nothing that would satisfy his hunger.

“Is there a chance he’ll wake up soon?”

Kiyoomi frowns and swallows thickly. He shakes his head before he begins to speak. “No,” he says then, his expression growing back to seriousness. “It will probably be a miracle if he wakes up at all.”

“Are things that bad for him?”

Sakusa shakes his head.

“He’s fine, considering the circumstances. Him falling into a coma wasn't unusual at first, because he was severely injured... but the doctors were talking about two weeks at the most, and not about...”

Sakusa’s voice dies down and exhales deeply. Atsumu notices his body trembling lightly, sees how he tries to compose himself. This is strange. Sakusa, of all people, who never let his guard down?

“He has been in a coma for too long and no one can explain why.”

“Shit...”

Atsumu can only imagine what it must feel like to be so close to your best friend and yet so far away. The guilt that haunts you... the thought of why it didn't happen to you.

I should've been in your place, Samu. Me and not you.

“What happened?”

Atsumu doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn't expect an answer. There's no reason why Sakusa should tell him. They're not even close.

“The job was messy, he got shot in the spleen in a moment of carelessness... I shot back but I don't know if I hit the culprits or not.”

“You had to take care of him...”

“I wouldn't have forgiven myself if he had died there...” Kiyoomi’s grip on the steering wheel is tight. “He's the little bit of family I have left.”

Atsumu closes his eyes and swallows thickly. The images of that night in which Osamu disappeared replay in his mind. When Atsumu was the one who got shot. When he was the one who fainted and woke up missing his twin.

Atsumu turns to the side and exhales somewhat shakily, trying to breathe away the welling tears.

“He's close to ya,” he says quietly, keeping his eyes closed.

“He's my cousin,” Kiyoomi replies, clenching his jaw. Atsumu's eyelids flick up, he slowly turns his head back to Sakusa. “Of course, he's close to me.”

This has to be a fucking joke.

Oikawa knew about this. He knew how much Atsumu and Sakusa are alike. He knew they shared a similar fate. He knew that only they would truly understand each other.

And it pisses Atsumu off. It pisses him off so much, because…

Because.

Because what is Oikawa trying to accomplish?

“I can have anyone…”

Atsumu glances at Sakusa in confusion when he suddenly comes to a halt in front of Semi and Shirabu's guesthouse, his gaze now merging with golden fire. Atsumu breathes evenly, waiting for Kiyoomi to elaborate.

“I can have anyone but you.” Kiyoomi frowns. “That’s what Kita-san told me.”

It doesn't make sense. None of this makes any sense.

I know the look you're giving Sakusa…

“Huh,” Atsumu scoffs, opening the door while his confusion drifts into annoyance. Why does everyone think they can judge what's good for him and what isn't? “What a load of bullshit,” Atsumu says, steps out of the car, and smashes the door shut.

What the fuck is going on…?

Atsumu decides Semi and Shirabu are good people... and they're incredibly stupid. He can't believe that at least Semi still hasn't caught on to him and wonders if he's just really that great of an actor, or if Semi is just that naïve.

Atsumu hopes for the former.

They're good people, probably the best landlords Atsumu could have asked for. What would happen if they realized they were allowing an assassin free access to their house? When they realize that a killer is living with them?

To be honest, Atsumu feels a little bit sorry.

If it's up to him, he'll never tell them about it. Once he has Osamu, he packs his things and lies to them about being taken out of the case and returning home. It's better if they never see anything of him again.

However, it has yet to come to that. Osamu is still gone.

When Atsumu opens the black double door on the highest floor of Oikawa's headquarters, he has been expecting to see the Kumichō’s annoying visage. What he gets to see, however, is a much more handsome look; two figures that couldn't have been more stunning.

“Atsumu,” Iwaizumi's teeth are gleaming white. He gestures to the couch. “Sit down. Oikawa is running a little late… he was visiting Hinata at the hospital.”

Atsumu nods and hides his fists in his burgundy jacket pockets, glancing at Kiyoomi for a split second before settling on the couch. He is in his usual spot next to Oikawa's desk. With his back leaning against the window, he can look over the entire room. His gaze, however, settles on one particular person.

“I'll get straight to the point,” Iwaizumi begins as he crosses his arms in front of his chest. How the fuck can they be so beefy? And his chest! Oh God... “Terushima being involved in all of this complicates things significantly.”

Ah right, this isn’t about simping for hot men. This is about rescuing Osamu. His twin. What the hell is wrong with Atsumu?

“We couldn't find out if Daishō has anything to do with Osamu's disappearance or not and unfortunately, we don't know yet how exactly Terushima is linked to all of this. The problem is that we can't get the information we need without drawing too much attention to ourselves.”

“So ya want us ta go to Daishō's territory?” Atsumu asks with a frown.

“That would cause a lot of unnecessary turmoil... possibly even a war between Miyagi and Fukuoka Prefecture,” Sakusa replies, his eyes not straying from Atsumu for a second.

“Then what?” Atsumu asks, confused. His heart beats faster, stronger the longer he is caught in Kiyoomi's gaze.

Iwaizumi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His eyes are closed as he releases an exasperated huff, guilt and annoyance can be traced in the creases of his brow.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and lights one, releasing another deeper sigh as he puffs out the first breath of smoke. Whatever they have planned isn't sitting right with him. He doesn't like it at all, and the longer Atsumu observes Iwaizumi, the less of a fan he is of whatever he's about to propose.

“There's someone who's good friends with Daishō... who knows more about him than we do.” Iwaizumi lifts his gaze and turns to Sakusa. Atsumu frowns. “I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't our only chance, Kiyo.”

Don't ask him what?

“Where is he?” Sakusa asks, obviously knowing whom Iwaizumi is talking about. Kiyoomi’s gaze strayed and is now fixed on a spot in front of him.

Atsumu can't read whether there is uneasiness or indifference on Sakusa's face. Can't interpret if he is uncomfortable or if he is perfectly fine. Atsumu has no idea what this is about, but whatever Iwaizumi is referring to has caused Sakusa to tear his steely gaze from Atsumu's figure to avoid letting him witness how Kiyoomi might really feel.

“Where is who?” Atsumu asks confused, glancing at Sakusa who’s now obviously more interested in the wooden floor than the enemy before him. That was quite different a few seconds ago.

“Ushiwaka-chan,” Oikawa croons as he flings the door open and struts into the meeting room with a pissed-off grin.

The doors hit the walls with a bang, catching everyone's attention. Oikawa draws everyone's gazes to himself as he marches up to Iwaizumi and picks the cigarette out of his hand to take a drag. Iwaizumi glares at him.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Oikawa explains as he turns around to lean his ass against his desk next to his right-hand man.

He presses his shoulder against Iwaizumi's, leaning against him like he's all he needs right now. Iwaizumi's glare mingles with concern. He isn't the only one who notices that something is wrong with Oikawa. Atsumu can see it, too.

“He's in Shiratorizawa,” Iwaizumi replies, snatching back his cigarette as he continues to close the gap between himself and his Kumichō.

Oh, something is definitely off. Atsumu knows something is going on between the two of them. He knows Iwaizumi would lay down his life for Oikawa without batting an eye, but he would never make it that obvious. Atsumu knows he can be very perceptive, but this is just too easy.

“Isn't that the leader of the Adlers?” He wonders and earns a snort from Oikawa.

“Exactly,” he replies, turning his head to the side to grin at Atsumu in annoyance. Brown waves bristle from falling into his flawless face.

“What is he doing in Sendai then?”

“Shiratorizawa is a free district,” Sakusa points out, still staring at the ground. Atsumu frowns.

“Yeah, sure, but Miyagi belongs to Oikawa.”

“Not all of Miyagi,” Oikawa replies through gritted teeth, turning his head to the other side and glaring at Sendai through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Right. Atsumu has already forgotten Ushijima caught Seijoh a while ago. Is that why he’s here? To check up on things? And what the hell does this have to do with Kiyoomi?

“You already know the festival hall of Shiratorizawa,” Iwaizumi points out and takes the last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out. Then, he adds, “He’ll be there for a charity event.”

“Must keep up his bullshit image,” Oikawa grumbles and crosses his arms in front of his chest, pouting.

Iwaizumi chuckles. “He’s going to help fix up some buildings in Shiratorizawa… You should be able to meet him there before the actual event starts.”

“You’re not going?” Atsumu asks with raised eyebrows. Oikawa huffs.

“I would rather kill myself than cross paths with this bastard.”

Iwaizumi sighs somewhat exasperated. “He's not as bad as Kawa makes it seem to be.

Oikawa gasps. “Not as bad? You offend me, Iwa-chan!”

“Don't make such a fuss about it.”

Oikawa presses his fingertips against his chest, looking at Iwaizumi in shock and feigning being hurt.

“You must’ve gotten delusional Iwa-chan,” he turns back to Atsumu. “Ushiwaka is the worst!”

Atsumu chuckles as Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. Oikawa snaps his head toward him and squints his eyes, but Iwaizumi innocently raises his hands and stares deeply into his Kumichō's eyes. Atsumu sees Oikawa blush.

“Whatever,” Oikawa averts his gaze from Iwaizumi, closes his eyes, and sighs deeply. His fingers claw into the wood of his desk. “You're going to hate him, Atsu-chan. Believe me.”

“Oh, how nice of ya to send me there anyway,” Atsumu snickers, kind of amused by the situation.

“I'm selfish, sweetheart.” Oikawa's lips twist into a grin. That nasty one that Atsumu knows wouldn't mean anything good. “I need someone to be on my side... someone who'll join me in bitching about Ushiwaka. Because these two jerks,” Oikawa is pointing at Iwaizumi and Sakusa. “These two morons just keep admonishing me.”

Iwaizumi slaps Oikawa lightly on the back of his head. “Shut up, Crappykawa.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

Atsumu chuckles again just as the two of them fall into banter and simply forget the world around them. His smile fades, however, once his gaze settles on Sakusa.

Still lost in thought, he doesn't tear his gaze from the spot in front of him and seems somehow... tense? Atsumu really can't tell.

He flinches as black eyes suddenly catch his gaze and engulf him. Dark pupils are looking up from under perfectly curved thick lashes, almost smothering the fire in Atsumu's eyes. It's that side of Sakusa that Atsumu still has the most respect for. The unpredictability of Kiyoomi.

“Wear a suit,” he says with a reprimanding voice.

Iwaizumi and Oikawa hush, blinking as they stare at him, somewhat confused. Then the Kumichō clears his throat and turns to Atsumu, starting to ramble.

“Yes, Kiyo-chan is actually right this time Atsu-chan. We can't risk drawing attention to ourselves. You can stop by my tailor's and—”

“He already has one,” Sakusa mutters, smothering Atsumu with his gaze.

“Oh?” Oikawa raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Atsumu grumbles, trying to make sense of Kiyoomi's look. He doesn't succeed.

“Okay then,” Oikawa claps his hands together. “Since Kiyo-chan is joining you, I don't think it should happen but just to be sure: don't screw this up.”

Atsumu snorts. “Oh, I know how to behave, don't worry.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow and grins mischievously. Oikawa chuckles.

“I wish I could see that.”

Atsumu can't believe he banished his tech wear for... this.

He wears a plain white shirt that hints at the contours of his muscles but never entirely reveals them. It's tucked into a pair of gray, lightly plaid slacks that hug his thighs and ass tightly in just the right places. He wears a jacket over his shirt in the same pattern as his pants, the crescent moon charm of his golden necklace still clearly visible over the white shirt.

Atsumu wears a black leather belt, not exactly because it's necessary, but because Sakusa must have thought it would look neat – and he was in fact right.

Various knives are hidden beneath his clothes, Osamu's within reach attached to a leather shoulder holster underneath his jacket. His outfit is made perfect with his beloved white sneakers, shining as bright as on their very first day.

To be honest, Atsumu looks impossibly hot. Sakusa definitely knew what he was picking for him.

Still, he misses his baggy jacket beneath which he could definitely fit more knives. His cargo pants, which aren't quite as tight and allow him to hide a lot more weapons than underneath the slacks while still showing off his ass. Atsumu misses the little extra weight on his back. The long and sharp blade he knew wouldn't miss anyone.

“Miya Atsumu.”

Atsumu's gaze snaps up as he turns and looks into ocean-blue eyes.

“Tobio-kun,” he smiles. “I never told ya my name.”

Kageyama takes a seat next to him at the bar and orders a brandy. He eyes Atsumu from head to toe, then smirks, but doesn't elaborate.

“I guess I never really thanked you for saving Hinata.” He takes a sip and then looks at Atsumu sternly. “Thank you. He wouldn't have survived without you.”

Atsumu stares at him, kind of startled, not really able to accept his gratitude when he was the one who put Hinata in that situation in the first place. Besides, Atsumu still doesn't understand why Kageyama cares. He is Hinata's rival, shouldn't he hate him? Shouldn't he want him dead?

Shouldn't you stop caring about Kiyoomi, too?

Atsumu gulps.

“Nah, this whole thing was kind of my fault... No need to thank me. Also, I should be thanking you for takin’ the blame for Youko.”

Kageyama chuckles and shakes his head. “Hinata mentioned you would react like that... That was a matter of course. No need to thank me.”

Atsumu stares at him skeptically.

“So ya two did talk?”

“Only once… I sneaked up to him at night and he was too tired to give me a hard time.”

Atsumu's eyes widen, he has mixed feelings about this.

Kageyama doesn't seem like someone who would hurt Hinata, really, but Atsumu doesn't know him. He could be an outrageous killer, and everyone would fall for his charm. The fact that he can just sneak up on Hinata at night doesn't necessarily reassure Atsumu.

“He told me it will take him a while to fully recover and get back to work.”

Atsumu nods. Oikawa told him the same thing when he returned from visiting Hinata. So, Kageyama must have stopped by just a few days ago.

“You're very close, ain't ya?”

Kageyama breaks his gaze and focuses on the brandy in his hand instead. He swallows thickly but doesn't answer. Although isn't that already an answer itself?

“Why are you here?” Kageyama asks instead and manages to glance back at the assassin. Atsumu watches him from the corner of his eye, looking down at him with an observing gaze.

“Lookin' for yer Kumichō. Wanna tell me where he is?”

Kageyama takes another sip, then nods his head in the direction behind them.

“He’s with Sakusa.”

With Omi?

Atsumu whips his head around and spots Sakusa standing with an attractive man about the same height as Kiyoomi – if not a little taller. Dark olive-brown hair and matching olive-colored eyes sparkle at Atsumu's rival in a way that makes his stomach twist.

He is pretty. Handsome. Dressed up in his deep purple suit and his charcoal gray shirt underneath, he is definitely one of the good-looking people in the room. He stands out with his beauty.

Ushijima Wakatoshi has a stoic expression on his face, looks rather intimidating while his gaze tells a completely different story. He seems to be lost in the man before him, drowning in that deep night that’s supposed to be meant for Atsumu only.

And God, he hates it. Atsumu hates how Ushijima is allowed to look at Sakusa and hates even more how Sakusa stares back at him. Like he hung the stars. Like he has known him forever. Like he’s the only person he trusts.

“Excuse me.”

Atsumu clears his throat, rises from his seat, and leaves Kageyama alone to walk in their direction. They seem to be deeply involved in a conversation, listening to each other as if they were telling the most secretive stories. Maybe they are? Atsumu doesn't know.

And he doesn’t care.

As he approaches them, he manages to catch both of their eyes. Of course, he does. The way he's dressed, Atsumu practically has to draw attention to himself.

“Omi-kun,” he forces a smile. “I didn't realize ya were already here.”

“Miya.” Kiyoomi's voice is even, staring into his golden eyes for a moment before turning back to Ushijima. Atsumu can't read him. For fuck’s sake he just can’t. “This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, the Kumichō of the Schweiden Adler. Wakatoshi-kun, this is Miya Atsumu.”

Wakatoshi-kun.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miya.”

He offers his hand and waits for Atsumu to shake it. Atsumu peers down but keeps his hands in the pockets of his slacks, staring back up into the man's olive eyes.

“Likewise,” he fakes a grin and tilts his head.

Atsumu doesn't mean it at all. Ushijima huffs, like he knows Atsumu doesn’t.

“I just told Ushijima about your partner and that we have a picture of him and Terushima.”

Oh, so they were talking about Osamu? Why would Kiyoomi seem to be so invested in that? As if he'd throw himself into it for Atsumu...? Sakusa Kiyoomi would never do that for him. What the hell is Atsumu thinking?

“It's indeed a precarious issue. I know a lot about Daishō, but he never confided anything to me about kidnapping someone of high importance... so, I'm afraid I can't help you much,” Ushijima explains, and Atsumu catches himself listening intently to this bastard.

“Why should he? Yer his rival after all.”

“We have many common interests. There's a reason why our territories are that huge.”

“And there's also a reason why people split off from you.”

Youko. Ushijima’s men. Some of the men in Dōtonbori who definitely belonged to him as well. He doesn't have a hold on them.

It may be that he controls Tokyo and some more places… It may be that he has a close circle that he trusts blindly... but the more people he brings in, the more different people he has to unite. It's obvious that not everyone is pulling in the same direction. Especially not with the way Ushijima operates.

He may seem like a good leader to some, but to many others, he is not. After all, he is exactly one of those whom Atsumu despises so much. He is one of those who remind Atsumu of what he hates so much about Yakuza.

It's exactly the kind of people like him.

“Miya,” Sakusa warns, but Ushijima raises his hand, indicating that he doesn't mind Atsumu being so flippant. No, instead, he chuckles.

“They didn't know their place, Miya. Many of them resembled you in a way.”

“No one from Yakuza would ever resemble me,” Atsumu spits, noticing Sakusa's eyes widen.

Well, shit. So much for not getting busted.

“Alright, so if we're at that point,” Ushijima takes a glass of red wine from a tray of one of the passing waiters and swirls it lightly before taking a sip and savoring it slowly. Then he turns back to Atsumu, his gaze almost making him shudder. “For all I know, Daishō isn't exactly too fond of assassins.”

Both Kiyoomi's and Atsumu's eyes widen. Atsumu's mouth drops open, and he furrows his brows, gazing at Ushijima somewhat dumbfounded. How does he know that...?

“So, it's quite likely that my dear old friend has something to do with the disappearance of your... partner,” Ushijima raises his eyebrow. “However, guessing won't do you any good at all. If you want to take action against Daishō, you need proof.”

“We have the picture of Terushima and 'Samu,” Atsumu blurts out. Ushijima obviously knows more than he's letting on.

“That won't be enough. From the picture alone, it's not clear if Daishō is involved or not since it only shows Terushima.”

“They are certainly keeping Osamu in Fukuoka Prefecture because they know no one would attack them there,” Sakusa points out.

Atsumu nods, his gaze merging with his onyx eyes. “The chances are high that he's there.”

Ushijima slips his hand into the pocket of his slacks as he swirls the wine in the glass in his other hand and takes another sip. Then he resumes explaining.

“Once you find his location, you have exactly two options: The first one is to attack Daishō out of the blue. I'd say that's not the smartest decision, but it's definitely an option.”

By now, Atsumu knows at least as well as Sakusa that this would be suicidal. Oikawa doesn't have nearly as many men as Daishō, this fight would be settled too quickly. Ushijima continues.

“The second possibility would be for Atsumu to declare Inarizaki as Oikawa's partner. That way you would have a reason to fight Daishō or force him to return your partner.” Ushijima stares at the wine in his hand for a few seconds before glancing back at Atsumu from under his curved lashes. “But from what I can tell, Kita isn't exactly a friend of Yakuza either.”

Atsumu's heart slips into the pit of his stomach.

Of course, Ushijima knew.

He's one of the people who definitely had contact with Kita more than once. He must have run into Atsumu before, seen him somewhere around... must have recognized him somehow.

Horror is written all over Atsumu's face. Sakusa looks at him at least as stunned. Neither of them had expected this. Each of them should have, though.

They are dealing with Ushijima Wakatoshi. With one of the big three. The one who currently has most of Japan's prefectures under his wing. Even Oikawa knew immediately who Atsumu was, so why shouldn't Ushijima know?

How could Atsumu be so naïve?

“You're a little strange, you assassins... aren't you? To think that the world belongs to you...”

Atsumu clenches his jaw and swallows thickly, clenches his hidden hands into fists, and glares at Ushijima as he’s narrowing his eyes. He feels heat crawling through his body, feels his blood starting to boil, knows his face is slowly reddening from anger.

There’s a burning feeling in his chest, a sensation worse than hatred.

“It's not us assassins who wanna take over all of Japan.”

Ushijima grins wickedly.

“Maybe that's exactly your problem.”

Oikawa was right. Oh god, he was so right. Atsumu can't stand Ushijima. He can't stand him at all. No, he hates him and even that is an understatement.

“There's no way in hell Inarizaki would team up with any kind of Yakuza.” Atsumu's eyes are fiery. His fingertips twitch for the knives within reach. “We'll just kill Terushima ourselves, whether Daishō has anything to do with it or not.”

“If he has nothing to do with it, then he could easily punish his men himself. If you kill one of his men and his right-hand man at that, then you will start a war.”

“We're going to start a war either way,” Sakusa mutters, scrunching his eyebrows together.

Ushijima chuckles. “Seems like Daishō is quite sophisticated.”

It's frustrating.

No matter what they do, it won’t end well for anyone. Atsumu doesn't even know how far Oikawa would go for Osamu, let alone what he even wants from him. If Atsumu ends up alone against Daishō, he has absolutely no chance.

How is he supposed to save his brother?

“Is there any way that you could help us?”

Atsumu's gaze snaps to the voice that had become so comfortable to him over the past weeks, months, and if there is one thing he hated more than Ushijima, it is the way Kiyoomi is looking at him.

Ushijima glances at Sakusa, startled at first, then closes his eyes and chuckles away his bewilderment. He takes a step toward Kiyoomi and places his palm on the small of his back, leaning in and grinning as he draws in a breath and drops his gaze down to Kiyoomi's lips.

“Daishō might have a lot of people working for him... but Oikawa has you.”

If what Atsumu felt a few minutes ago was supposed to be anger, he doesn't know how to describe the feelings he's having right now. Sakusa didn't even flinch when Ushijima touched him. Didn't make a face when he leaned into him. Didn't even consider pulling his gun when his eyes fixed on his mouth.

Why?

Why does he allow this to happen to him?

Why Ushijima, of all people?

Atsumu frowns hard and doesn't get it. He doesn't get why Kiyoomi is so obedient to this bastard. He doesn't understand why there is a blush crawling up his cheeks when all he should be feeling is hatred.

Atsumu doesn't get it and it makes him angry. So. Fucking. Angry.

“The moment we set foot in there, we’ll lose… Not even Omi could handle so many men.”

“He's right Wakatoshi-kun. I'm flattered you think so highly of me, but—”

“You made your choice back when you could. If Oikawa is the Kumichō you wanted, then Oikawa will be the Kumichō you will go down with.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. Kiyoomi gulps.

Ushijima takes the last sip of his red wine and sets the glass down on another waiter's tray. Then he tilts his head and looks down at Sakusa somehow maliciously.

“There's another option. If Oikawa decides to work for me, we'll have a deal... Because I doubt there's any other way to get you on my side, is there?”

Kiyoomi swallows thickly while his pupils dance back and forth between Ushijima's eyes. Now he's certainly uncomfortable, Atsumu can feel it. And the nails digging into the flesh of his palms would start to hurt if it weren't for Ushijima's infuriating behavior.

Kiyoomi stares at him for a moment longer until his gaze suddenly drops to the ground between them, and he starts mumbling.

“Thank you for the information, Wakatoshi-kun. We hope you enjoy the night.”

Then he grabs Atsumu's arm just as he was about to grasp a knife and stops him in his tracks as if he had known. He pulls Atsumu away from Ushijima, dragging him towards the exit, breaking off the conversation right there before the situation can escalate. Ushijima, however, doesn't seem to have enough.

“Miya,” he says loud enough for the two of them to stop. Atsumu turns around to face him, glaring at him somberly. “At least now I understand why they chose the more mature one of you two.”

Osamu.

He's fucking referring to Osamu.

“You son of a—”

“Let's go,” Sakusa says before Atsumu can cause a massacre and drags him out of the building and into his car.

By now, at the latest, it's clear that Daishō has had his brother kidnapped and that Ushijima knows a lot more about it than he's pretending to. Now at the latest, Atsumu realizes that one day he will kill every Yakuza member in Japan, and he will start with Ushijima.

He says nothing when Sakusa drives them back. Says nothing when Kiyoomi's gaze keeps catching on him over and over again. Instead, he gets lost in his thoughts... Thoughts about Osamu, about Daishō, about Ushijima, and about how he can bring them all down to save his brother.

For once, Atsumu doesn't know.

He doesn't have a fucking clue.

Atsumu frowns as Kiyoomi parks the car in front of the all-too-familiar hotel. Sakusa takes a deep breath as he kills the engine, his hands still lingering on the steering wheel.

“Omi?” Atsumu asks confused, but Sakusa doesn't reply.

Instead, he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door to get out. Atsumu hurries and does the same, looking at Sakusa in confusion as he circles his car and walks into the lobby with his gloved hands shoved in the pockets of his slacks.

What the hell are they doing here?

“You’ve been… awfully quiet ever since we left Shiratorizawa.”

They sit down at the bar, one of them completely lost in thought while the other observes the bartender, waiting for her full attention. Sakusa orders something that Atsumu doesn't catch, and it doesn't take her too long until each of them gets a glass of whiskey. High-end shit that Atsumu would’ve never ordered because it’s way too expensive.

“Figured you could need a drink…” Sakusa adds and observes the way the bartender is working smoothly.

Atsumu stares down at his own glass, wondering if what he’s actually feeling is worry or at this point just pity. Both assumptions piss him off, making him feel like a child throwing a tantrum only to be held back by a parent.

He lost control, he knows that. He almost killed Ushijima if Kiyoomi hadn't stopped him. Geez, what is wrong with him? That shit was embarrassing.

Atsumu scowls at the glass before him, then tilts his head back to let the liquor melt on his tongue.

Oh, it’s a good one. Velvety. Probably the best he has ever tasted.

An explosion of flavor fills his mouth, mixing with his saliva before slowly burning down his throat in a pleasant way. Hazelnut, toasted oak, sandalwood, and tobacco merge on his tongue, a successful blend worth every penny in the world.

Kiyoomi definitely has taste.

But it doesn’t really help Atsumu ease his mind.

Lingering thoughts and unspoken frustration sit deep inside him, but Atsumu tries to drown them. He knows it's better not to end his evening on a sour note. Today is just not his day. Tomorrow will be better.

Hopefully.

“Ya know me so well, Omi-kun, it's almost as if ya know my every move...” Atsumu says as he stares at his drink and swirls it around in his glass. Then he turns to Kiyoomi, trying to eye him up. “Yer admiring me that often?”

“I tend to recognize the behavior of lunatics quite fast… I'm surprised you haven't spent some time in an asylum.” Sakusa raises his eyebrow, taking a sip. “Or did you?”

Atsumu scoffs.

“Yer a sore loser Omi-omi… Just admit this was the greatest chance you've ever had to get rid of that ass along the way.”

“Your brain is as toasted as the aftertaste of that whiskey,” Sakusa deadpans. “That was by far the worst timing I've ever seen.”

“Hey, you definitely would've done it if you were me, darlin’.”

“And make a fool of myself? To have my brains blown out within two seconds of trying?” Sakusa scoffs. “No thanks, that's just your one brain cell being delusional.”

“If ya say so…”

Atsumu huffs, glancing down at his own drink before taking another sip, making the loudest annoying sound possible. The way Sakusa grimaces, Atsumu can tell how much he's pissing him off. He can’t help but chuckle.

“Do that again and I will rearrange your insides with your brother’s knife.”

“Huh,” Atsumu smirks. “Yer flirting with me?”

“Miya,” Sakusa sighs. “Shut the fuck up.”

They sit in silence once again, both letting their thoughts drift. Atsumu is busy with his half-empty glass, while Kiyoomi downs his in one go and asks for a refill. The silence continues for a few more seconds until Atsumu opens his mouth again. Sakusa whips his head around, ready to shut him up yet... he doesn't.

“Thanks…” Atsumu mutters as he nervously slides his own glass back and forth between his hands, catching Kiyoomi off guard. Then he adds, “For stopping me from actually killing him.”

Atsumu glances up, staring hard at the shelf of alcohol behind the counter to avoid Kiyoomi's gaze at all costs.  However, he senses that something is wrong with Kiyoomi. That he's watching Atsumu with a frown. Atsumu manages to trigger something in him.

“Sure,” Kiyoomi mutters, prying his gaze from Atsumu. “Don’t mention it.”

Sakusa takes a sip of his refilled whiskey and frowns, doesn't add anything more to that.

They just sit there and drink their liquor. Slowly. Savoring. In silence. And again, Atsumu's thoughts spiral, revolving around the one thing that still matters to him the most, driving him insane.

Maybe, an asylum doesn’t sound too bad.

He frowns and sighs in frustration. Frustrated about everything and at the same time not knowing about what exactly. Should he bring it up? Does he let it go? What the hell should he do?

Yeah. What the hell should he do…

He should stop thinking about Kiyoomi when all of this is about Osamu.

He should stop letting it all get to him.

He should stop whatever having a drink right now is leading to.

“I just wanna get him out of there in one piece, Omi.”

Kiyoomi scowls at his whiskey and takes a deep breath as if understanding Atsumu. The assassin risks a glance, circling the rim of his glass with his index finger as he watches Kiyoomi. Even he seems to be lost in thought.

An asylum for two? Sick.

“What's wrong with a partnership between Inarizaki and Miyagi?”

“That is probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said aside from your half-assed broken humor.”

Atsumu snorts, but Kiyoomi's frown deepens.

“Kita-san clearly cares about you and your brother… You don’t think he would do that?”

“And put everyone in danger? This isn't something that Kita-san alone would get to decide.”

“Everyone else is also worried.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean they'd team up with Yakuza…” Atsumu sounds exasperated. “Shit, Omi, that's not how it works! Inarizaki… is all about freedom. No Yakuza, no one telling you what to do, no obligations… no sacrifices.”

Atsumu's eyes seem so... pained, filled with sorrow and guilt.

“And ‘Samu and I didn't even plan on staying there! I can't get them into shit and then run away... I know I'm an ass but not such a big one.”

Sakusa meets his gaze and Atsumu shudders. He seems like he gets Atsumu’s point, like he’s seeing some kind of guilt or pain of his own reflecting back at him while he’s holding Atsumu’s golden fire.

His gaze darts back and forth between Atsumu's eyes like he’s searching for a reason to not feel what he’s currently feeling. His hand keeps a tight grip on the glass, he looks kind of frustrated... But why? Because of Atsumu?

No way...

“You need to talk to Oikawa,” Kiyoomi starts. “It's also in his interest to get to Osamu... maybe he has a plan. Something like a short-term alliance or... I don't know. Just something. I'm sure he'll figure it out.”

Atsumu scoffs and breaks his gaze, returning to stare at the drink in front of him, brows furrowed. 

“Right, ‘cause Oikawa isn't selfish at all.” 

“He cares deeply for the people who matter to him.”

Atsumu chuckles bitterly and turns back to Kiyoomi in disbelief. 

“And you think I am one of those people?”

“Yes.” Kiyoomi frowns. “You are.”

Atsumu scoffs even louder. “Now yer just talkin' bullshit, Omi.”

Sakusa isn't fazed by Atsumu. He pushes his glass aside and turns his whole body to face him, looking at him with a riveting gaze. He seems determined, serious, not at all as if he was about to joke around.

“I used to think the same way as you do now, but I've been taught better. Oikawa helped me with my cousin when I wasn't even part of his team. He didn't have to, but he didn't hesitate a second to do it anyway.”

Atsumu stares at Kiyoomi with wide eyes. Then he frowns.

“And at what cost?” He asks in a low voice because he already suspects the answer.

“He didn't want anything. He did it for Iwaizumi-kun… because we were good friends.”

“And why did you end up on his team anyway?”

“Because I offered.”

“‘cause ya felt guilty.”

“No,” Sakusa scoffs. “Believe me, I wouldn't care.”

Atsumu does believe him. He really does. He knows he and Kiyoomi are similar in many ways. If Oikawa were to selflessly help Atsumu for nothing in return, there's no doubt he would accept that offer in a heartbeat. He feels like Sakusa is no different in that regard.

“I ended up working with him because I saw how he operates and how he treats his team, Atsumu.” Atsumu's gaze snaps to Kiyoomi, his face feeling warm. Kiyoomi then adds, his gaze never straying from the assassin. “He wants control and power, yes. But not at the expense of others.”

If Oikawa is the Kumichō you wanted, then Oikawa will be the Kumichō you will go down with.

The longer Atsumu is holding Kiyoomi’s gaze, the more he realizes that he's not the only one needing some distraction tonight. He has no idea what happened between Sakusa and Ushijima, but he could see, feel, the way meeting the Kumichō has upset Kiyoomi.

He might be giving Atsumu words of encouragement right now, as unusual as that is, but Atsumu senses that Kiyoomi seems like he is reassuring himself too, wanting to hear his own words said back to him.

Assuring himself that joining Oikawa was the right decision.

Assuring himself that Ushijima could have never been the better choice. 

Atsumu swallows.

“Yeah,” he breathes, refocusing his gaze on the glass in his hands. He lets out a weak chuckle. “Can’t believe yer comfortin’ me, Omi-kun… you kinda suck at it.”

Atsumu glances back at him as he downs the last sip of his whiskey and meets a startled expression. Then Sakusa scoffs closing his eyes, turning away from Atsumu again, shaking his head.

“Shut up.”

“Ya wish…” Atsumu smiles and notices Kiyoomi trying to hold back a weak smile of his own. It works out only semi-well, making Atsumu's heart leap.

He stares at Sakusa a little longer, simply because he can't take his eyes off him. Kiyoomi is without a doubt a really handsome man. An eye-catcher. Too beautiful for this world. 

His hair is so perfectly imperfect, so messy and neat at the same time. His soft curls are accentuating his gorgeous twin moles above his eyebrow just right. His lashes are so thick and long, letting his eyes appear so beautifully unique.

They’re filled with puzzles waiting to be solved. So deep and dark, leaving Atsumu speechless every time he looks at them. And then there are these lips... These sinful lips that feel so good on Atsumu’s own.

Is there a chance...?

“What?” Sakusa snaps partially annoyed and partially intrigued as Atsumu doesn't bother to take his eyes off him. He watches the assassin out of the corner of his eye, casually holding the glass of whiskey.

What do you want from me?

So many things that Atsumu should not.

I do want you, Omi.

He was already stupid enough to say it out loud once. And here he is, about to make the same mistake all over again.

How foolish.

Atsumu pushes his empty glass aside and stands up, drawing Kiyoomi's gaze as he slowly puts his own glass back down on top of the counter. Sakusa peers up at him with wide skeptical eyes, frowning as Atsumu approaches him and takes the drink out of his gloved hand to down the last sip himself.

“You,” Atsumu says then out of the blue, his heart is beating way too hard. “I want you,” he adds, making a fool of himself a second time.

Sakusa scowls at him, burning coals that keep Atsumu's fire blazing. He stands up and glares down at Atsumu but the latter doesn't care, not breaking his gaze for a second.

“Miya—”

“And as much as ya hate me…” he interrupts. “As much as ya hate me, I know ya want me too.”

Sakusa grasps the glass in Atsumu's hand so that their fingertips touch, making Atsumu's whole body shiver with every bit of attention Sakusa is giving to him.

Atsumu's free hand trails to Kiyoomi's chest, but he bats it away, only to be pulled down to the blonde a second later when Atsumu has abandoned the whiskey glass to seize Kiyoomi by the collar of his jacket.

“So?” Atsumu leans in, licking his lips that are almost brushing the shell of Kiyoomi’s ear. He’s blushing. “What are ya gonna do ‘bout it, Kiyoomi?”

They look at each other out of the corner of their eyes, knowing that they are about to engage in something that is not so easy to escape. There is still a chance to bury it. This unspoken sensation that doesn't belong between them.

But getting rid of it isn't something they want, no.

Instead, it's a game of who will cave in faster. Of who succumbs sooner. Of who's going to be too weak.

And the look Atsumu receives is answer enough.

It's both of them.

Atsumu barely shut the hotel room door before he and Kiyoomi are tangled up in a deep, hungry kiss. Kiyoomi couldn’t wait to remove his gloves, couldn’t wait to strip off his jacket and shoes and neither did Atsumu – he had his hands all over him as they kissed up against the door.

“Fuck,” Atsumu gasps between kisses, hazy by the way Kiyoomi is devouring him.

The firm grip on his hip dazes Atsumu, letting his blood rush in places that don’t necessarily help him think straight. It tightens, ripping a low groan from his lungs as his own hands move from Kiyoomi’s shoulders up to his neck, knotting with the curls at the back of his head and pulling them slightly, earning a sweet hiss.

Atsumu smirks smugly when he’s no longer able to kiss Kiyoomi properly, panting against his mouth as he’s staring up at the scowling figure before him, satisfied. He’s sure Kiyoomi’s fingertips would eventually leave bruises as much as he claws into his meat and Atsumu can’t deny how hot that is.

“Stole your breath away, buddy?”

Atsumu grins amused and quirks an eyebrow, staring deeply at how disheveled Kiyoomi already looks. God, it’s so unfair how attractive he is.

“I’m pretty sure, I’m not the one who’s panting, and…” Atsumu chases Kiyoomi’s lips but the bastard backs away. “I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me buddy when I’m about to fuck you.”

Fucking is a reward, Miya, but you haven’t been good.

So, has he been now?

“Alright, alright,” Atsumu chuckles. “What about ‘mate’?”

Kiyoomi gives him pointed a look.

“Pal?”

“Miya.”

“I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddin’, Omi-kun, geez…”

Before Atsumu can make any more stupid remarks, Kiyoomi forces their mouths back together, crashing his lips onto Atsumu’s like it’s everything he needs. It feels right. Perfect. Like it’s also everything Atsumu was always craving for.

Maybe it was.

Atsumu slides his tongue along Kiyoomi’s bottom lip so Sakusa parts them, making way for it to collide with his own. Kiyoomi lets go of his tight grip and skims his hands around Atsumu’s waist, grasping his ass and dragging him closer. Atsumu hums at the touch, can feel Kiyoomi growing hard against himself.

“Aaahh... ‘s that a pistol in yer pants, or are ya just really happy to have me here...?” Atsumu grins into the kiss, a smug smirk never leaving his face.

“I prefer you talk less,” Sakusa says, claiming another deep kiss that’s leaving Atsumu breathless.

Fuck. He’s so good at kissing.

“But ya like it when I’m loud,” Atsumu pants, a grin still plastered onto his face. He might be a little full of himself.

“Not in that way.”

Atsumu blushes somewhat annoyed, the fire in his eyes kindled as this time it’s Sakusa who’s giving him a smug grin. He fists his hand into Sakusa’s turtleneck and pulls their lips back together, forcing Kiyoomi’s mouth open and kissing him hungrily. He feels Kiyoomi’s gaze on him, bearing want and lust of his own.

He squeezes and kneads Atsumu’s ass, working one hand up to slip beneath his shirt and slide up the dip of his spine. It sends Atsumu into a full-body shiver, making him moan when Kiyoomi slots his thigh between his legs and squeezes one of his cheeks again, forcing him down to get some friction.

“Nnghh–ahh... fuck...”

“Mhmm,” Kiyoomi murmurs. “That’s more like it.”

Bastard, Atsumu thinks, his flushed skin is burning and tingling with arousal.

Kiyoomi manages to elicit things out of Atsumu like no one else... it’s terrifying and exciting and most of all it feels too fucking good. To avoid showing how weak he actually is for him, Atsumu’s palm settles at the back of Sakusa’s neck, dragging him as close as possible and kissing him harder.

Yeah, that won’t do it.

He grabs the back of Kiyoomi’s shirt with one hand and threads the other back into his curls, pulling their bodies even closer so their chests bump together. Kiyoomi tilts his head, licking further into Atsumu’s mouth and pressing his thigh upward to rip another sweet and raspy moan from Atsumu. It’s impossible to muffle when he’s kissing him with an open mouth.

“Ahh… Shit, Omi–”

Sakusa removes Atsumu’s jacket and shoulder holster, letting the knives slip carefully to the ground until they drop down with a dull sound. Atsumu gyrates his hips slightly, creating more friction and rousing Sakusa’s length beneath his pants. He sighs into Atsumu’s mouth, keeping their lips together as if he needs them to survive.

Maybe Atsumu needs his too.

The next thing to leave Atsumu's body is his white shirt. Kiyoomi takes it off and throws it on the floor, reconnecting their lips as soon as possible. He is hungry and desperate, and Atsumu cannot say he feels any differently.

Kiyoomi's hands are moving all over Atsumu's chest and flitting his nipples slowly, eliciting another sweet sound from Atsumu's lungs. Kiyoomi hums in satisfaction.

“You're so sensitive,” he inhales deeply through his nose, kissing Atsumu hard before he can answer anything and running his thumbs over Atsumu’s perked-up nipples.

“Fuck—nnghhhh…”

Kiyoomi smiles, rubbing tight quick little circles around the buds, earning another whimper. “So fucking gorgeous, Atsumu…”

It clouds Atsumu's mind, making the butterflies in his stomach go into turmoil. Atsumu feels his cheeks flush even more and the heat spread through his whole body. He feels his heart beat faster, beat harder, as he melts under Kiyoomi's touch.

His long and slender fingers slide through the seams of muscle like he was graphing them and Atsumu can't pretend he doesn't enjoy the attention.

Kiyoomi’s hands are back on his hips, encouraging the small undulating motions of Atsumu’s body. The assassin hums, his own hands trail down Kiyoomi’s chest, shamelessly enjoying the hardened muscles that move beneath his touch.

He’s so fucking ripped and so perfect and God, Atsumu needs him right now.

Atsumu's fingertips slide further down to Kiyoomi's belt, playfully skimming around the edge until they reach his gun. Atsumu hesitates, then smirks and can't help but put his hand on it. The pleasant feeling lasts only a second, however, until Sakusa swats his hand away and breaks the kiss. His eyes are dark, making Atsumu shudder.

Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath, but the next moment Kiyoomi grabs him by the arm, harshly twisting it and Atsumu’s whole body around so he is in charge of the situation. He pushes Atsumu against the wall, gently enough to not hurt him but hard enough to force a moan from his lips.

“Got a little too excited there, hm?”

Kiyoomi’s lips skim over Atsumu’s neck, blowing kisses on his skin, down to his shoulder, feeling his body shaking against him. Atsumu cranes his head back and puts an arm around Kiyoomi’s neck, pulling him closer and risking suffocation just for the feeling of having their lips against each other.

It’s intoxicating… exhilarating, exciting, delirious, and most of all, it makes him feel alive.

Atsumu thought he hated Sakusa. He wanted to kill him, was sure that one day he would. And yet he always hesitated, always pulled back, never really went for it…

Just for the sake of kissing him?

Osamu would laugh at his brother as soon as he found out.

Kiyoomi pulls back and for a moment they just stare at each other, chests heaving heavily, faces burning like fire. Atsumu feels his warm breath against his lips, he's confused about the look Kiyoomi is giving him.

Atsumu can't read him, he probably never will be able to.

Convincing himself that Kiyoomi would harbor any kind of affection for him would be foolish and dangerous. He can’t betray his heart into something that will never work out. This is just sex. Meaningless, casual sex to get pent-up energy out of Atsumu’s system.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

“Have you finally realized your little knives won't get you far?” Kiyoomi’s gaze drops from Atsumu’s eyes to his lips.

“Nah Omi-kun,” he chuckles and lets go of his neck, slowly turning around so he’s facing him properly again, leaning his head against the wall and staring at the beautiful man before him with hazy eyes. “I'm just havin’ fun messing with ya.”

“You forget who you're facing.”

“You forget yer not scarin’ me.”

“Is that so?”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow and crowds closer to Atsumu, caging him in as he places his palm right next to Atsumu’s face against the wall. He’s hovering over him and Atsumu’s heart is hammering against his chest. He’s taking in the scent of Kiyoomi’s cologne.

Oh God, he’s losing himself in him. Kiyoomi smells so good, and he tastes even better and God, he feels So. Fucking. Amazing.

Atsumu is burning, skin bursting with heat with every little touch and every look Kiyoomi’s offering to him. His heart beats so fast it feels like it's going to break out of his chest. A useless fluttering, forgetting its rhythm as soon as Kiyoomi is around. Atsumu wants... He wants—

“And yet you always seem so breathless when we're together,” Kiyoomi murmurs with his lips brushing the shell of Atsumu’s ear, making him shiver. Kiyoomi’s leaning in, the touch so hot Atsumu knows he’s going to get burned. “I wonder why...”

He’s so close, so damn close…

Yet not close enough.

A shaky exhale leaves Atsumu’s lips as Kiyoomi’s hot breath clashes with his skin. His teeth pinch down on Atsumu’s lobe before Kiyoomi lightly sucks, causing Atsumu’s cock to twitch in his pants. As if he knew, Kiyoomi palms it over the fabric of Atsumu’s slacks, earning a hiss from the blonde that makes him smirk.

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, their faces are so fucking close. “Is that a pistol in your pants or are you just really happy to be here?”

Kiyoomi smirks smugly and Atsumu wants to wipe it off his face. He wants to tell him he should go fuck himself, wants to tell him how much he hates him.

But it would be a lie.

It would be a lie because Atsumu doesn't feel the slightest that way. Instead, his heart beats faster whenever he sees Kiyoomi. Instead, he enjoys his company. Instead, Kiyoomi is one of the few reasons Atsumu still makes it through the day.

Everything about this was supposed to be for his benefit, getting rid of some pent-up energy and clearing his mind. But the deeper they get involved, the less it feels like charity.

So instead of answering him, he grabs Kiyoomi’s face and kisses him hard. Needy, in a way. Desperate. Hungry.

Every part of his body vibrates underneath his foe, greed dripping dangerously in his veins. Atsumu digs his fingers back into Kiyoomi’s hair, making it even messier. He grasps his curls lightly, arches his back as he opens his mouth, and allows a sweet exchange of tongues to caress each other.

Being with Sakusa might be dangerous but it’s also real.

Kiyoomi urges them back from the wall and turns them around, never detaching their mouths as he pulls Atsumu close to himself, stepping forward. Atsumu follows his lead, tipping backward and letting Kiyoomi unbuckle his belt while moving further into the hotel room. He's sliding his palm beneath the fabric of Atsumu’s briefs and squeezing his round ass.

As they stumble onto the couch, half-dressed and fully hard, Atsumu decides he loves the way Kiyoomi kisses – or that actually everything the man is doing is driving him insane.

Atsumu falls onto the couch, staring up at Kiyoomi with big and hungry eyes as he scrambles in the corner between the backrest and the armrest. Kiyoomi grabs the backrest for support, pressing his knee between Atsumu’s thighs as he leans down to kiss him deeply, passionately.

Atsumu is going to lose his fucking mind if Kiyoomi keeps doing that.

Kiyoomi kisses him all over – down his throat, his chest, his abs. Every touch seems genuinely appreciative, pressing a soft kiss to Atsumu’s skin and waiting for a response. Be it a hitch in his breath or a quiver of muscle, Kiyoomi takes it all and then he’s moving down a little, nipping gently or flicking his tongue, again waiting for a response.

He continues down, down, down and Atsumu can’t breathe as Kiyoomi kisses his way along the ridge of his hipbone. Warm breath. Soft kisses. All inching toward Atsumu’s dick.

Fuck, you wouldn’t… would you?

Kiyoomi undoes Atsumu’s slacks and pulls them off along with his briefs and the knives that were attached to his thigh and ankle, gently kissing his way down his inner thighs over his calves. Atsumu is a blushing mess, he knows it. His heart flutters wildly and his stomach flips and the way Kiyoomi is peering up at him from under his thick black lashes doesn't exactly make the feeling go away…

No, instead the sight hit him like another punch to the gut, his legs are already shaking from how excited Atsumu is.

And then Kiyoomi comes up, wraps his big and warm hand around Atsumu's cock to stroke it once, then licks a large stripe from the base up to the tip.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Kiyoomi breaks his gaze to golden eyes and focuses instead on the cock in his hand, his gaze hungry and greedy. Atsumu moans as Kiyoomi's tongue flicks over his slit, teasing him and daring to smile at Atsumu's response.

But before Atsumu can snap that he should cut the crap, his lungs freeze, and his brain short-circuits because Kyoomi’s mouth is wet and soft and hot and wrapped around Atsumu’s fucking cock. It’s just the tip at first, tonguing at the precum beading at Atsumu’s slit. Then he looks up and encourages Atsumu with his hungry gaze to—

Oh. Oh, now he understands.

Atsumu hesitated at first because he didn't know if he was allowed… but now his hands are flying down, grabbing fistfuls of Kiyoomi’s soft hair to hold onto them and Kiyoomi sucks a little hard at the head just before Atsumu thrusts inside his mouth for the first time.

Yes. Like that. Holy shit. Holy…

Atsumu stares up at the ceiling with watering eyes. He can’t remember the last man who’d been so into giving head. Kiyoomi groans with pleasure, his breath hot on Atsumu’s skin and his voice vibrating against sensitive nerve endings.

“Oh fuck—o-oh my God…”

Cheeks hollowed and face flushed, Sakusa pulls back a little, his tongue sliding along the underside of Atsumu’s cock. Then he goes back down, down, down, hitting the back of his throat and Kiyoomi’s mouth feels almost too hot around Atsumu.

The soft muscles of his throat flutter around Atsumu’s cock, taking him like he was made for it. Shivers run down Atsumu’s spine as he stares down, meeting the overwhelming sight of Kiyoomi swallowing him down on his knees on the floor of some shitty hotel room.

“Fuck…shit—”

It’s barely a whisper. Atsumu curses and squeezes his eyes shut thinking he might lose his mind if he’s staring any longer at Sakusa covering every bit of his dick with fleeting touches of his tongue.

Atsumu thrusts unintentionally, his grip is tight in black curls. And he does it again and again and again, falling into a deadly rhythm that makes his precum come faster and faster.

Oh, he’s close. So fucking close.

He combs his fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair. This is definitely not what he expected tonight. Not even the slightest bit.

Just when he is about to chase that intoxicating heat a little more, Kiyoomi stops abruptly and pushes himself up.

“If I keep doing that,” he pants, “I’ll come too soon.”

“You’ll come?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow and reaches for Kiyoomi. “Yer not the one gettin’ sucked off.”

“I think you underestimate how you sound.”

Atsumu looks at him somewhat startled, tries to blink away his stupor, and lets his face heat up even more. Kiyoomi leans in and kisses him deeply, tenderly, hungrily and Atsumu can’t help but get completely lost in that kiss all over again.

So addictive…

Kiyoomi breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting their lips. His cheeks are flushed when he stares down at Atsumu, his eyes are burning again. Hot coals that would keep Atsumu's fire glowing forever. His gaze is so intense it makes Atsumu shudder.

“You’re a hell of a distraction, you know.” Atsumu’s eyes are wide open. “Kind of hard to concentrate when I just want to come back here and fuck you.”

Is he talking about earlier?

“Come back and fuck me?” Again, Atsumu raises a brow and can’t help but smirk.

Kiyoomi mirrors his grin and leans in, his gaze never leaving that golden fire. His lips touch Atsumu's as he speaks, his breath far too hot.

“That suit that I picked out for you didn't exactly help with my restraint.”

Atsumu’s smirk widens and so does Kiyoomi’s.

“In fact, speaking of…” He grasps Atsumu's thighs and encourages him to wrap his legs around his narrow waist. “Hold on to me. I want to fuck you right.”

Atsumu bites his lips and stares at Kiyoomi as if he’s some kind of deity. His heart leaps, throbs in his throat, excitement and anticipation coursing through his whole body. He doesn’t have to tell him twice. Atsumu drapes his arms around Sakusa’s neck and wraps his legs around him just like he’s been told.

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu as he lifts him up, desperate fingers clawing tightly into his shirt at the small of his back. Sakusa’s strong hands are kneading Atsumu’s ass as he’s carrying him to the bed and lays him down gently. Atsumu is out of breath once his back meets the mattress, his mind somewhere lost in a trance.

This must be a dream.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous…” Kiyoomi murmurs as he admires him a little longer. Atsumu is speechless, the sweet words are like poison to him.

Kiyoomi forces his gaze from him, almost not making it. He stands up and walks to the nightstand, digging around in the drawer, and Atsumu slides back, leaning against the pillows on the headboard.

Sakusa returns with lube and a condom, letting the mattress sink in as he kneels between Atsumu's legs and places his palms on each of Atsumu's kneecaps. His touch is electrifying.

“Prepare yourself for me, Atsumu,” he murmurs, scowling at his own hands before he adds, “Will you?” 

He could make a stupid remark... or he could just let it go. Atsumu knows what Kiyoomi is getting at; even if he's incredibly filthy in bed, Kiyoomi has his limits. Working Atsumu open without a decent pair of gloves is one of those he won't cross, and the assassin respects that.

Even if it kind of bruises his ego that Kiyoomi is still hesitant with him while Ushijima is supposedly allowed to do anything.

His hands on Kiyoomi’s waist still make Atsumu's blood boil...

He pours some lube on his fingers and lays back, spreading his legs to keep them apart. He reaches down and presses one fingertip against his ass, rolling back his eyes as his hole starts to relax so he can slide his finger inside.

“Hmmmm…” He moans at the sensation, the stretch feeling just right.

The way Kiyoomi was looking at Ushijima. The way Ushijima was looking at Kiyoomi, at his goddamn lips… The way Kiyoomi let him touch him.

Atsumu inhales deeply, curling his finger to make himself forget.

The anger, the shame – it’s gone.

Temporarily maybe, but he’d take what he could get and pushes a second finger inside just so the stretch and burn would erase even more of his mind. And oh. It did. And it feels amazing finally being able to just let go.

“Hnngh—ahh…”

Atsumu moans as he pushes his fingers inside himself, his toes curl and he’s getting unbearably hard. Goosebumps rise on his arm as Atsumu opens his eyes, not realizing he has closed them in the first place. Sakusa stands across from him, leaning against the back of the couch with his arms folded, watching him with hungry eyes.

“Now that’s something I could watch all night.”

And it shouldn't turn Atsumu on like that. Having Sakusa watching him is risky and dangerous and… who is Atsumu kidding? Geez, it’s nothing he hasn't done before, but somehow, doing it in front of Kiyoomi makes it a million times more intense.

“O-Omi…” Atsumu slips his fingers free, he needs something else.

Kiyoomi smirks knowingly, taking off his shirt and tilting his head. “Did I say you should stop?”

Atsumu blinks, startled.

“Well?”

He groans and starts to fuck himself with his fingers again, working himself open. A whimper leaves Atsumu’s lips when Kiyoomi strips off his tight black slacks and briefs, revealing the thick cock that Atsumu has been craving.

He’s already hard, most likely from giving Atsumu head earlier. Kiyoomi puts on the condom, then strokes himself slowly, hissing at the touch and bringing his cock to full attention. Atsumu’s mouth waters. He would beg if he wasn’t too proud.

“Like what you see?” Kiyoomi smirks and oh he’s giving him a déjà-vu.

“Very…” Atsumu bites his lips as Kiyoomi climbs onto the bed.

He gently nudges Atsumu’s hand out of the way and then came down on top of him, his cock pressed against Atsumu’s. And he kisses him and Atsumu is sure he’s finally going to lose his mind. Kiyoomi is aggressive, but not overly so, and the kiss intoxicates Atsumu.

Kiyoomi pushes himself up on his arms and then moves back to his feet in a motion that is way too graceful and coordinated for a man with such a hard-on. He nods to Atsumu. “Turn around.”

And God, Atsumu’s heart jumps up to his throat.

He does turn around on his hands and knees and then Kiyoomi stands behind him and all Atsumu can do is hold his breath. He grips the sheets, ready to lose his mind from the sheer anticipation, especially as the head of Kiyoomi’s cock teases him.

Atsumu is already slick and stretched and Kiyoomi takes full advantage – one hard thrust and he’s buried to the hilt. Atsumu moans, eyes watering and elbows shaking beneath him. Kiyoomi is definitely not lacking below the belt.

“God…” Kiyoomi groans. “You feel so perfect.”

Yet he doesn't even know how perfect he himself feels.

“Nnghhh—ahh, Omi…”

Atsumu just moans again. Words don’t seem important anymore.

Kiyoomi forces him all the way down until his face is pressed against the sheets, and he holds him there with a painful but pleasant grip on his hair, picking up some speed and fucking Atsumu harder.

Atsumu doesn't waste any more thoughts on any Yakuza rascals or about worrying how he can manage to save his brother. Right now, all that matters in the entire universe is Kiyoomi forcing his cock deep inside, again and again and again.

He feels nothing except being fucked and it’s the best feeling in a while. The hand in his hair, the thick cock inside him, the thrusts that don’t quit.

Please, please, please do this all night…

“You’re so gorgeous, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, releasing the grip on Atsumu’s hair and running his hands all over his back. “God, you’re so fucking—” Kiyoomi’s breath hitches, he’s picking up speed, and whatever he said after that didn’t make it to Atsumu’s brain.

Kiyoomi leans forward, urging him down with his body weight, sinking to the bed. It should’ve set off every alarm bell in Atsumu’s mind – being underneath a bigger, stronger Yakuza prick is dangerous as fuck.

But all he can do is melt beneath Kiyoomi’s hot skin and slow, rocking strokes as he’s riding him into the mattress. Getting lost in that greediness that’s starting to take over Atsumu as well.

His impending climax is so deliciously intense, that Atsumu decides he doesn’t fight it. As much as he can in this position, Atsumu rolls his hips as Kiyoomi thrusts deep and hard. He lets him drive him closer, his breath catching as the sheets beneath him add the most amazing friction.

All the anger, all the sorrow, all his worries...

Atsumu doesn’t care.

He only cares about the orgasm that Kiyoomi is pushing him toward with every deep, breathtaking thrust. Atsumu gasps. Every muscle in his body tenses up. He’s almost there. Almost there. Almost—

He hears himself curse, falling apart while Kiyoomi just keeps right on fucking him that way. And then Atsumu is coming, shuddering, moaning into the pillow as Kiyoomi keeps him coming and coming and coming.

So hard that it's almost painful. As mind-blowing as Atsumu has never experienced. So insanely intense.

Kiyoomi groans behind Atsumu’s ear, his rhythm becoming sharp, uneven thrusts, each knocking the breath out of Atsumu. He tries to drive himself a little deeper, overstimulating Atsumu just as he shudders, swears, and comes as well.

“Ahh… Atsumu—”

Atsumu blinks a few times and for a moment neither of them moves. He’s panting as hard as Kiyoomi, and God bless this man because Kiyoomi has the presence of mind to keep his weight off Atsumu’s ribs so he can breathe.

Has Atsumu blacked out? Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He feels great.

Kiyoomi presses a soft kiss on the back of Atsumu’s shoulder.

“I’m right back,” he whispers and pulls out so he can get up.

“’kay,” Atsumu slurs and rolls onto his back to get away from the mess that he made.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to regain his composure. God. Atsumu can’t get enough of this man.

As he comes back to bed with his legs not quite steady beneath him, Atsumu grins up at him. Kiyoomi eases himself down beside him and drapes an arm over him, featherlight fingertips skimming Atsumu’s tanned and sweaty skin.

They face each other on their sides and for a long moment, they just lay there in silence. Kiyoomi is watching his own fingers draw lazy loops and swirls on Atsumu’s body as Atsumu is observing him. Kiyoomi starts frowning and Atsumu realizes he's getting lost in thought again, so he breaks the silence.

“Yer not like the usual Yakuza people I know.”

Kiyoomi’s fingers stop.

“Is that a compliment, or…?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu smiles lazily. “Definitely a compliment.”

Kiyoomi chuckles faintly, sliding his hand over Atsumu’s waist.

How can someone be that beautiful?

“We’ll think of something…” Kiyoomi says and Atsumu frowns. “To save your brother,” he adds and Atsumu’s heart beats a tad faster.

“Yeah…” he breathes and stares down between their bodies, focusing his gaze on Kiyoomi’s tattoo instead of his eyes.

Kiyoomi has different plans, though, settling his palm beneath Atsumu’s chin and forcing his gaze back up so their eyes can meet.

“Now let’s take a shower, you’re gross.”

Atsumu blinks at him, then smiles somewhat pissed off, sliding closer and running his hand over Kiyoomi’s hip just to annoy him – it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

“That didn't bother you five minutes ago.”

“It does now.”

“How come you changed your mind?”

The look Atsumu gets is making him shudder. It's as if he asked Kiyoomi the wrong question. As if he would reopen old wounds.

No...

“Omi,” Atsumu breathes and draws his gaze back. “Can I?” His eyes drift to Kiyoomi's hair.

He takes a deep breath and nods, letting Atsumu's fingers comb through his curls, and stiffens only briefly before exhaling a deep relieved breath.

“Thanks,” Atsumu whispers. “For helpin’ me get through th—”

Kiyoomi kisses him. Not just a light kiss, or an attempt to shut him up. He kisses him hard – forcing his lips apart, curving his hand around the back of Atsumu’s neck, pulling the breath right out of him.

Atsumu doesn’t protest. Screw talking if this is the alternative. He wraps his arm around Kiyoomi and opens to his kiss without any resistance, taking everything that Kiyoomi is offering.

He draws back enough to murmur against Atsumu’s lips. “Shower. Now.”

Then pulls back and gets up to get to the bathroom.

“Together?” Atsumu asks a little startled, raising one eyebrow and watching Kiyoomi disappear. He doesn’t turn around when he’s answering Atsumu. “I’m not waiting for you.”

Atsumu scrambles out of bed and joins Kiyoomi on shaky legs.

Whatever this is between them, this sort of no strings attached, it's okay if it means they'd both get their heads straight. It's okay if it helps them feel better momentarily. It's okay... as long as it's not okay anymore.

Only that this will be soon.

Chapter Text

One thing is becoming abundantly clear: Kiyoomi loves kissing. It doesn’t matter if they’re dressed or naked, standing in the cramped hotel shower or sprawled out on the bed – it seems like Kiyoomi takes every chance he gets to connect his lips with Atsumu’s.

Frantically. Gently. Deeply. Softly.

So much kissing…

And Atsumu can’t get enough either. He loves the way Kiyoomi kisses him, loves practically everything the man is doing to him.

Orgasm still tingling along his spine, Atsumu collapses onto the bed and Kiyoomi drops beside him. This is the… fourth night they had met up? Maybe the fifth? Atsumu is losing track. He doesn’t care.

Oikawa is out of town to settle some things, so Atsumu has to wait until he returns, and what could be a better pastime than fooling around with the most handsome man in the world? As long as they keep burning up the sheets like this, Atsumu doesn’t care what day it is or how much longer he has to wait for Oikawa to come back.

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu’s temple, then gets up to get rid of the condom. Atsumu knows they will eventually hop into the shower but right now, he doesn’t dare to stand up – his head is still spinning, and his legs would give out immediately. There’s no way he will move with his knees still shaking like this.

If anyone from Inarizaki found out what he is doing here, he would probably be banished for life. Not that Suna doesn't already know… but Atsumu is rather thinking about Kita, or Aran, or Ōmimi, or just… someone.

Osamu…

He wipes his hand over his sweaty face and pushes his blond hair back.

Let them find out. Don’t fucking care. Feel too fucking good.

Atsumu knows damn well this can’t and won’t last long. He’ll eventually find his brother and they will head back to Inarizaki… maybe straight up start a new life in Osaka. And Kiyoomi would stay back in Sendai where his cousin is, waiting for him to wake up. Would stay with Oikawa’s Yakuza. Would return to his life without Atsumu.

He wouldn’t join him in Osaka… Would he?

Atsumu rolls to the side to check the time, squinting his eyes as the brightness of his screen blinds him. He has received a message from Oikawa and snorts as he reads it on his lock screen outside the app.

Oikawa (today, 12:28 am)

Back in town, meet me in the morning at 9

Bring Kiyo-chan with you ¬‿¬

Kiyoomi returns from the bathroom and Atsumu’s heart flutters. He puts his phone away as Kiyoomi climbs back into the bed, his movements graceful and smooth even after he’d just finished fucking Atsumu for the second time tonight. He lays beside Atsumu and props himself up on his elbow, his gaze is melting in golden fire.

Atsumu stares up at him, watching his face, his eyes, his curls. His gaze skirts his cheekbones, arrives at his beautiful inviting lips, and finally back at his onyx eyes. That's how he likes it. Without a mask, free, curls disheveled. A view meant for him alone.

“Can I...?”

Atsumu hesitates as he raises his hand and brings it to Kiyoomi's face, not daring to touch him without permission. Kiyoomi studies him, his black eyes intense with scrutiny. But then he nods, and Atsumu's fingertips twitch as he feels the softness of Kiyoomi's skin, slowly, delicately tracing the contours of his face, watching himself as if trying to burn all of this into his mind where it would never get lost again.

“You always ask,” Kiyoomi frowns. “Why?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“You don't exactly seem like someone who cares.”

Atsumu snorts and withdraws his hand. “You wound me, Omi... ‘f course, I care! Wouldn't want ya to feel uncomfortable.”

Kiyoomi swallows, his frown deepening. “Why?”

“Don't know…” Atsumu exhales deeply and rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Then he turns his head back to Kiyoomi and smiles faintly, shrugging his shoulders. “Guess I'm biased.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow and looks at Atsumu in confusion. “In what way?”

Atsumu holds his gaze and feels his heart pounding high up in his throat. His smile fades as a blush rises to his face. Is this really something he should confide in his enemy?

He takes his eyes off him and entwines his hands over his stomach. Atsumu fidgets with his fingers, frowns, and swallows. Then he stares at the ceiling again and takes a deep breath. It's been a while since he's actively talked about it.

“My... mother had this germ thing.” Atsumu frowns a little more. “She had many good days but also some really bad ones... Excessive hand washing, rubbing her skin raw in the shower, sometimes not even leaving the house…” He raises an eyebrow and sneaks a peek at Kiyoomi. “Guess I don't have to elaborate.”

Kiyoomi swallows and knits his eyebrows together. “No,” he whispers, averting his gaze from Atsumu's golden eyes. Of course, Atsumu knows this sounds familiar to Kiyoomi. He found out as soon as he set foot on Oikawa's team. With all the knowledge that he had from his mother, it was easy for him to realize.

Atsumu turns back and Kiyoomi’s gaze snaps up, so their eyes meet. It's intense, prying. Atsumu gave a quiet laugh to lift the mood.

“Wasn't always that easy for me and ‘Samu, but we made the best out of it.”

“You both held back for her…” Kiyoomi sounds somewhat stunned.

Atsumu nods, smiling a little wider. “We had each other, after all.”

They were both full of love and affection. Emotions they never had to suppress despite their mother's illness.

It was always easy for the twins to give free rein to their feelings. They had each other, were due to the lack of physical touch of their mother perhaps even more connected than siblings, twins, would normally be. They had this close bond that no one would ever understand.

Which is why it hurts Atsumu even more now to be without Osamu.

“Didn't she ever... feel bad about it? Pushing her children away?”

“She never did that,” Atsumu corrects. “She just showed us her love in a different way...”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I see...”

His gaze drops down to something between them, seeming kind of lost in thought. Atsumu would like to know what he is thinking about. Would like to know what he’s worrying about.

“She was the best mother I could've ever asked for.” Atsumu pauses and smiles faintly. The kindest soul that ever existed in the world...

“She... was?”

“Yeah...” Atsumu clears his throat. “Was killed when ‘Samu and I were sixteen. My father was part of a smaller Yakuza and apparently, they had unfinished business with him.”

Sakusa frowns. “Then why did they go after your mother?”

Atsumu laughs mirthlessly. “It's Yakuza, Omi, what d'ya think?”

He takes a deep breath and brushes blond strands from his sweaty face. Atsumu stares up at the ceiling, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. It's been years since all this happened and he can only tell things about his father from his mother's tales.

“I didn't know my dad. He died when ‘Samu and I weren't even born yet...” Atsumu frowns. “Our mom did everything she could to keep the Yakuza he was part of from finding out that we were his kids, so she went back to Inarizaki before it was obvious that she was pregnant.”

Atsumu turns to Kiyoomi, seeing him listening intently.

“They didn't know where she was from, didn't know anything about her true background, so she was able to escape and protect us. She trained us so we could defend ourselves, taught us everything we needed to know about the assassin's life. We were safe… until these bastards found her and well...”

“They eliminated her.”

“We’ve been with Kita-san when it happened...”

Kiyoomi presses his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

Atsumu stares into his eyes and can tell he means it. Kiyoomi knows when to choose the right words and which ones to say, knows when it's better to just keep quiet. He remains distant and yet Atsumu feels so close to him in moments like these.

Being on the same wavelength as his enemy.

How foolish.

“So yeah...” Atsumu smiles faintly and pushes his thoughts aside. “Guess I'm a little biased.”

Both, in terms of you and in terms of my opinion about Yakuza.

Eventually, the moment would come when Atsumu would melt under that gaze. Kiyoomi's eyes are wide and curious, the black night engulfing him again, not letting go. His eyes are beautiful, Atsumu thinks. Probably the most beautiful ones he has ever seen.

He turns to the side so he can get a better look at Kiyoomi, gazing up at him while onyx eyes burn down at him with brows drawn together. Atsumu carefully lifts his hand and brings it to Kiyoomi's cheek, waiting for his reaction before brushing his fingertips feather-lightly over his bones, feeling his heart jump when Kiyoomi doesn't flinch.

“But here you are...” Atsumu almost whispers. “And let me touch you.”

The intensity in Kiyoomi’s eyes fades in favor of some actual warmth. He slides a hand up Atsumu’s chest, burning him with his soft touch and gently playing with the crescent moon charm of his necklace. Atsumu’s eyes are wide open.

“We've both been around long enough by now that I know how you tick. You keep your hands to yourself most of the time... So, there's almost nothing that could bother me about it.”

It's actually a habit from the past. Atsumu keeps his hands hidden in his pockets most of the time to prevent touching something poisonous, to prevent showing his next move, to prevent getting exposed.

By now, maybe also a little bit to prevent Kiyoomi from feeling uncomfortable because of him.

But he would never admit that to himself.

“I’ll make a note of that,” Atsumu says, brushing his thumb over Kiyoomi’s bottom lip.

Kiyoomi gently swats it away, letting go of Atsumu's charm. He leans down and presses their lips together, kissing Atsumu as if it could be mistaken as a sign of sympathy or gratitude.

He forces his mouth open as he rolls him onto his back, gripping his hips tightly so that it almost hurts. Atsumu moans, low and deep, allowing the hot spill of tongues over their lips as Kiyoomi hovers over him.

Atsumu sighs into Kiyoomi’s mouth, smiling as Sakusa pulls him close and grinds their cocks together, hard as if they hadn't just finished fucking for the second time tonight. No way in hell does he have enough for another go-round… right?

“One day yer gonna be the death of me, Omi.”

“That's what I told you,” Kiyoomi smirks and Atsumu's already quick heartbeat moves faster.

“Tell me,” Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath as Kiyoomi lunges for his neck. “Tell me how ya plan ta kill me.”

Kiyoomi flashes a grin against Atsumu's sensitive skin and licks it before sucking in a hickey and letting Atsumu wriggle underneath him, throwing his head back and obviously enjoying what Sakusa is doing to him.

“I'll break you.”

Kiyoomi works his way up Atsumu's throat with open mouth kisses, abandoning his grip on his hips and digging his fingers into short blonde hair.

“And then I fuck you until all you know is my name,” Kiyoomi murmurs on his way up to his chin. Atsumu's lips automatically fall apart, deep breaths leaving his mouth.

“And then I will fuck you again,” Kiyoomi says as he kisses Atsumu's jawline. “And again.” Another kiss. “And again...” Atsumu closes his eyes. “Until you pass out and there's nothing left of you.”

Kiyoomi's hot breath collides with Atsumu's sensitive skin, shivers running down his spine as he whispers in his ear. Atsumu opens his eyes once their lips almost meet again, looking into Kiyoomi's smug face as he asks, “So?” He smirks and cocks a brow. “What do you say?”

Atsumu chases Kiyoomi's mouth and kisses him, arching his back to press himself closer, to hold each other tighter. Kiyoomi's grip on his hair grows stronger, he doesn't pull back though, making Atsumu shiver as he starts to move his hips.

Screw if he's sore tomorrow, every minute he can spend longer with this man is a gift.

Atsumu catches Kiyoomi's lower lip between his teeth and tugs playfully as they break their kiss. He smirks back and stares deeply into Kiyoomi's eyes, is proud to see that he's not the only one so flushed and aroused.

“Well,” Atsumu starts and brings a hand between their bodies, eliciting a glint in Kiyoomi's eyes, biting his lips. “I’d say: what a way to go,” he murmurs, wrapping his hand around their cocks to give them an encouraging stroke.

Yeah. Maybe he had enough left for a third round tonight after all.

Atsumu enters Oikawa's office twenty minutes late and bursts into the middle of a heated discussion between the Kumichō and Iwaizumi. He stops in his tracks for a second, then discovers Sakusa has turned away from the two and is gazing down at Sendai with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a pensive look on his face.

They must be bickering over some minor thing that Sakusa clearly doesn't want to be involved in.

“I don't give a shit if it starts a war! I'll kill Ushiwaka!”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and tilts his head.

Okay, so maybe it's not a minor thing...

With his hands in his jacket pockets, he walks to his usual spot on the couch and sits down, watching the disputants with curious eyes, but not daring to say a word. He would rather die than interrupt them right now.

Ah, now he gets why Kiyoomi turned away.

“And then you're about to be killed as well! Come on, Kawa, be smarter than that... Matsukawa isn't even part of our team.” Iwaizumi sounds desperate.

“Ushiwaka knows he's one of my best friends! Who's next? Am I supposed to twiddle my thumbs here until it hits Makki? And then? Yahaba maybe? Kindaichi? Kunimi?”

Iwaizumi swallows thickly, his expression very much pissed-off. “That's what will happen if you just attack him out of the blue, so calm the hell down!”

He tries to speak in a level voice, but Atsumu can tell Iwaizumi is at least as upset and fed up as Oikawa. He continues to watch the two.

“Out of the blue?! That bastard has already taken my home, I won't let him harm my family too! Am I supposed to just... take it every time he finds a new way to screw me? Should I never fight back just because it might start something bigger?”

“Kawa—”

“I don't fucking care, Iwa! This is about my friends!” Oikawa points a finger at him. “And your friends too by the way! I—”

“Tōru,” he says more forcefully, fists clenched beneath his crossed arms.

“What?!” Oikawa snaps.

He stands in the middle of the room staring at Iwaizumi with desperate eyes, chest heaving as he lets the frustration out of his system.

His hands are tied. No matter what he tries, his hands will always be tied unless he manages to score a critical hit on the Schweiden Adlers. Iwaizumi doesn't exactly look like he has a solution to that problem, he just somehow tried to calm Oikawa down.

There's no point in dragging his team into a losing battle, Oikawa is the one who should know that best. And yet he lets his emotions get the better of him and is about to start something that he knows he couldn’t win.

It's a good thing he has Iwaizumi at his side.

“You're right,” Oikawa mutters, running his hand through his perfect hair and seeming to realize his reaction might have been too impulsive. He braces his hand on his hip and exasperatedly huffs out a breath, a desperate smile reaching his lips. “You're right… sorry.”

Atsumu can tell Oikawa is annoyed by whatever happened and frustrated that he can't do anything about it. Oikawa takes a deep breath and seems to have calmed down, smiling now at his little outburst, though his smile seems distressed. He turns to Atsumu and nods at him.

“Thank you for coming Atsu-chan.” He forces that smile on his lips, but it's fake. So so fake. “Sorry for the little outburst… Ushiwaka still manages to drive me insane.”

Atsumu snorts and then mutters under his breath, “Not just you,” but no one catches it except for Kiyoomi maybe, who briefly squints in Atsumu's direction after the words left his lips. “What happened?” Atsumu then asks, a tad louder.

Exhausted, Oikawa sighs and pulls a cigarette out of his jacket, lights it, and walks over to Iwaizumi to hand him the pack. He doesn't hesitate to take one as well.

“One of my best friends got shot in an argument with one of Ushiwaka's men.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen.

“Shit, is he okay?”

Oikawa nods. “Yeah... yeah, he's okay. He was lucky it was only a graze on his arm, but still... it could have been much worse.”

Atsumu hums sympathetically. He would be furious if this had happened to one of his friends.

“Ushiwaka knows about the incident and doesn't exactly plan to do anything about it,” Oikawa continues. “Seijoh is no longer mine and my friends are not part of my Yakuza so that bastard thinks there is no reason to punish that son of a bitch.”

Atsumu can tell how frustrated Oikawa is. He would be too.

Oikawa laughs humorlessly, then mutters, “Although he knows exactly how much they mean to me.”

“Is that why you were gone for so long?” It wasn't meant to sound reproachful, even if it just did. Oikawa nods.

“Yes... Matsukawa had some information for me, then the incident happened, and I've been dealing with Ushijima ever since.”

“And what d’ya want from me and Omi now?” Atsumu raises a brow.

He already suspects where this is going. Oikawa wouldn't have called them here just to tell them this story. At best, he wants Atsumu and Sakusa to kill Ushijima, and honestly, Atsumu wouldn't hesitate for a second.

The Kumichō squints his eyes and watches Atsumu from head to toe. He blows the smoke out of his lungs and stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray of his desk. Then he crosses his arms and turns his attention back to Atsumu.

“The guy’s called Okamura. Actually, I wanted us both to teach him a lesson, but Ushijima is still in Seijoh and Iwa-chan is scared I'll mess with him.”

“I'm not scared, I just know that you’ll definitely do it.”

“Whatever,” Oikawa waves him off. “Since you're not part of our team Atsumu, I'm asking you to take the job and since Iwa-chan doesn't trust me or you, Kiyoomi will make sure that our only target remains Okamura.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes and Atsumu snorts. “I wouldn't mind gettin’ rid of Ushijima as well.”

Oikawa grins wickedly. “And that's exactly why I wanted the both of us to go.”

“I'd still rather you just call it off and let it be, Kawa.”

“And look like a sissy? I won't let him treat me like that, Iwa-chan. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that.”

Iwaizumi sighs, probably having realized that Oikawa can't be stopped from his plan. He is a stubborn man. Once he has set his mind on something, he must follow through. Atsumu is amazed that Iwaizumi even managed to convince him not to kill Ushijima because Atsumu could absolutely understand the desire to do so.

“So?” Oikawa asks, raising one eyebrow. “What do you say?”

Atsumu stares up at him.

“What's in it for me?”

He knows he is not in a position to ask this question. Up until now, Atsumu was the only one who benefited from their deal. Oikawa has not once demanded anything from him, while Atsumu has been showered with hints and information about his brother that he could only get from Oikawa.

Yet again Oikawa has something to offer him.

“Matsukawa had information for you, Atsu-chan.”

The statement is enough for Atsumu to know this is about his brother. He nods, looks at Oikawa with wide and unwavering eyes.

“So, what’s the plan?”

Oikawa grins. This time satisfied and excited.

If there was one thing Atsumu and Oikawa had in common, it was their mutual hatred for the one and only Ushijima Wakatoshi.

The plan is to rough up Okamura, to show him that Oikawa's friends are not to be messed with, to teach him a lesson. Atsumu is not supposed to kill him, but he doesn't need to be gentle with him either.

And since Atsumu is the one who does the job, Ushijima can't hold Oikawa responsible for whatever will happen to Okamura. Atsumu isn’t part of his team. He can do whatever he wants.

So, if the Adlers’ Kumichō were to intervene, then this incident has as much to do with Oikawa's Yakuza as Okamura and Matsukawa's dispute has to do with Ushijima's Yakuza. And since Kiyoomi will accompany Atsumu, it is guaranteed that nothing will happen to him.

Oikawa Tōru is one sly fox.

After going over the plan, Oikawa dismissed Iwaizumi and Sakusa so the two could discuss other important details. Meanwhile, Oikawa told Atsumu to stay so he could pass on the information from Matsukawa. But instead of coming up with it right away, they first lapse into gossip about Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“I can’t believe what a fuckin’ asshole he is,” Atsumu grumbles.

“Oh, I do.” Oikawa snorts. “He thinks he's the greatest, like everything he does is the best...”

“Like everything he says is right,” Atsumu adds. “Like he owns the world...”

“Right?!” Oikawa agrees in a high-pitched voice. “Cocky bastard,” he mumbles and leans his ass against his desk, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Do you know what he said to me when I lost Seijoh?”

Atsumu stares curiously at Oikawa and raises an eyebrow, indicating that he is waiting for him to answer.

“That this is what I get for my worthless pride... just because I never wanted to ally with him.”

“Oh my God,” Atsumu smiled. “Why didn't cha kill him?”

“Oh,” Oikawa laughed. “Believe me, if Iwa-chan hadn't been there, I would have.”

“So why did he stop ya in the first place? Seijoh was just as much his home as it was yers, wasn't it?”

Oikawa chuckles and puts his hands on his hips. “Because Iwa-chan is the more reasonable out of the two of us.“

Atsumu now stares at him with both eyebrows raised, giving him a look that indicates that this does not explain at all why Ushijima Wakatoshi is still very much alive. Oikawa chuckles again and lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag.

“He wanted to screw me over,” Oikawa starts, exhaling the smoke. “Ushiwaka wanted us to share Japan, to operate together in all districts that are important for the likes of Yakuza. He wanted us to work together so that we would be the strongest...”

“But allying with him would mean havin’ to work for him and not with him,” Atsumu concludes, and Oikawa nods, flailing his hands. “This man is a literal ass... There is no way in hell I would work with him, let alone for him.”

“He knows yer good at what ya do.”

“Ushijima especially knows how to use people in his favor.”

Oh, he fucking does.

“How come ya really never killed him? I bet ya had more than just one chance to do that.”

Oikawa shrugs, squints his eyes, and releases the smoke from his lungs in one drawn-out breath. His gaze lingers for a moment on the view over Sendai before turning back to Atsumu. He smiles pissed off, huffing a laugh.

“As much as I hate him,” Oikawa's expression turns sour. “As much as I loathe him... Ushijima is a good leader. There's hardly anyone who can handle as many kinds of people as he can, and yes – I know what you're thinking; Youko, the turmoil in Dōtonbori... of course there are mavericks, but that's nothing compared to how many of his men remain loyal to him... even outside his Yakuza.”

Hell, everyone in Shiratorizawa tolerates him without batting an eye. Oikawa doesn’t need to tell him twice. Semi. Shirabu. Goshiki. Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi...

“He wants to be the strongest,” Atsumu mumbles absentmindedly. “Is that why he wants Omi so badly?”

Because shit, Kiyoomi is definitely one of the best.

Oikawa looks at Atsumu like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, his movements freeze, scrutinizing Atsumu's face as if trying to find something. Seemingly having done so, he takes the cigarette from his mouth and blows the smoke aside. The light mood, while they were complaining about Ushijima, has long since faded.

“I already mentioned to you Kiyoomi has family in Tokyo... that his mother still lives there, remember?” Atsumu nods. Oikawa continues. “While he grew up over there, Ushijima grew up with his father in Miyagi... in Shiratorizawa to be more specific.”

Atsumu remembers that. Hinata told him about it when Atsumu visited him in the hospital. He didn't go into much detail, but at least he clarified why Ushijima is wordlessly tolerated by so many people in Sendai, even though it's Oikawa's territory – or at least most of it.

“Sakusa's and Ushijima's family have always been close... Their mothers were good friends, which is why they saw each other pretty often as children and practically grew up together.” Oikawa stubs out the cigarette. “Ushiwaka's mother was the Kumichō of Tokyo's Yakuza, but he used to live only partly with her and partly with his father, Takashi Utsui, because they had broken up.”

Atsumu frowns. The name was too familiar to him.

Takashi Utsui... Takashi... Utsui...

Utsui.

Wasn't that the name of Kiyoomi's ‘friend’ in Osaka?

“Ushiwaka’s father was shot when he was seventeen and two years later his mother was hit too, so he took over at a young age.” Oikawa scoffs. “Of course, that bastard had to earn some respect,” the Kumichō tapped his temple, smiling somewhat pissed off. “But he was good... smart. He had the Schweiden Adlers under control faster than anyone had ever managed before and united multiple prefectures in the blink of an eye… there’s a reason why he has so much power these days.”

If Ushijima's father had been dead for years, that meant the apartment, the underground garage, and the fancy cars in Osaka had to belong to the Kumichō himself. That he allowed Sakusa to keep things... clothes, a motorcycle, a fucking sniper rifle at his place and granted him to come and go as he pleased, even though Kiyoomi is part of Oikawa's Yakuza.

Atsumu leans forward and spreads his legs. He props his elbows on his knees, clenches his fists in front of his face, and deepens his frown.

Kiyoomi had never really stayed in Osaka, and yet the apartment was spotlessly scrubbed down to the tiniest bit. Kiyoomi rarely operated beyond Miyagi or Tokyo and yet knew the pin to Ushijima's apartment.

Atsumu closes his eyes and sees images he thought he had long since suppressed. The palm on the small of Kiyoomi's back. The way it didn't bother Sakusa in the slightest. The faint blush as Ushijima stared at Kiyoomi's lips.

Ah, shit…

“A few years ago, there was an incident in Tokyo in which most of Kiyoomi's family died. The only ones surviving were Kiyo-chan and his mother.” Oikawa props his palms on the edge of the desk behind him and glances at Atsumu with slightly raised eyebrows. “That was the first time Ushiwaka asked him to join him.”

Atsumu scoffs and squeezes his fists a little tighter. He opens his eyes. His blood boils.

You made your choice back when you could.

“Kiyoomi considered it but in the end, he refused. There is hardly anyone he would work with, not even Ushiwaka could convince him.”

“Then why did he join you?” Atsumu mutters and scowls at Oikawa.

“Why shouldn’t he?“ Oikawa answered with a smirk, tilting his head back to stare down at Atsumu haughtily.

“‘Cause he obviously hates yer guts?”

“That applies to you too and yet he fucks you, doesn’t he?”

Atsumu’s eyebrows shoot up so high they almost meet his hairline. Well. That caught him off guard.

Oikawa grins, stretches his neck to bare his skin, and taps it twice. Atsumu feels the blush rise to his head and unconsciously places a palm on the spot Oikawa hints at.

A hickey. A very obvious one at that.

It's not that he would be embarrassed if someone found out he was hooking up with Sakusa. Hell no, Kiyoomi is hot as fuck and definitely a jackpot.

It just feels... forbidden. After all, they're nowhere near anything that they could call friends. No, they’re enemies. That's probably the only label that suits them. And yet Atsumu can't shake off certain feelings he shouldn't harbor for someone like Kiyoomi.

I want you and as much as you hate me, I know you want me, too.

“Do you know the reason why I lost Seijoh to Ushiwaka?” Oikawa asks and Atsumu stares at him with wide golden eyes, shaking his head no. Oikawa crosses his arms in front of his chest. “There was a time when assassins were almost mightier than any Yakuza in Japan. A time when, in addition to several independent assassins, two particular ‘groups’ caused doubt among people who were already suspicious of them.”

Oikawa stares at Atsumu with a raised eyebrow. The latter leans back and crosses his arms in front of his chest too, legs remaining spread.

“Yer talkin’ about Inarizaki.”

“On the one hand, yes.” Oikawa nods. Then, “Ever heard of Itachiyama Institute?”

“Sure thing. They’re like… S-tier assassins,” Atsumu answers and frowns. “Or rather used to be.”

“So, you heard about the incident?”

Atsumu nods, thinks, The one where practically all of them were eliminated? and then huffs, lifting one eyebrow. “Of course... Who hasn't?”

It was years ago. Atsumu must have been just seventeen at the time when shit went down... Assassins fighting their own kind. Atsumu remembers vividly how disappointed Kita reported about it.

It was an attack on the renowned Itachiyama Institute, the place where probably the best assassins in all of Japan had been trained. They grew stronger and stronger until someone ambushed them, fearing that they would wreak havoc on Japan. Someone as in people who were assassins like them.

Atsumu never understood how anyone could do that to his own kind until he found out that they were acting on behalf of several Yakuzas.

“They say there are hardly any of ‘em left... if at all.”

Oikawa huffs at that. “What if I tell you Kiyoomi is one of them?”

And for a good minute, Atsumu’s world stops.

His eyes widen as he stares deeply into Oikawa's eyes. He huffs out a laugh, thinking Oikawa must be fucking kidding him, and it’s seriously one of his worst jokes. Then Atsumu gulps as he realizes Oikawa is not messing with him at all.

His stomach churns, his heart drums in his ears, all he could get past his lips is a quiet “What?” that was barely a whisper. Shock was written all over his face.

He must be kidding him, right?

“Kiyoomi used to be an assassin at Itachiyama Institute. The incident that happened back then killed his father, his brother, and his sister.” Oikawa crosses his arms. “His mother must've suffered from some sort of traumatic shock, so she's currently staying in a nursing home... Ushijima and his mother immediately offered their help.”

Atsumu blinks a few times. He can literally feel himself turning pale.

It makes sense. It explains so much that Atsumu had previously put off as Kiyoomi's luck.

No one who wasn't an assassin could move as quietly and gracefully as Kiyoomi, even Atsumu could learn a thing or two from this man. No one who wasn't an assassin could have used Osamu's knife with such ease, much less made such a clean slice to the throat. No one who wasn't an assassin would be so good at keeping a low profile while doing a flawless job.

And then Atsumu remembers Kiyoomi's clothes when they were in Osaka.

He looked like an assassin because he fucking used to be one. The neon green matched the colors of Itachiyama... Atsumu should have known. The combat gear, that could store so many weapons, the easy way of wielding knives... He must have been a natural with a katana as well.

And now Atsumu's blood starts to boil, a spark of anger is about to become a blazing flame.

Assassins are all the same. Only ever thinking of their own interests.

Weren't those Sakusa's words?

How could he say such a thing when he himself was one of them? How could he despise assassins so much when being one was also a part of him? How could he think Yakuza were so much better when they were the ones to blame for Itachiyama’s downfall?

Atsumu doesn't understand and it makes him angry.

“She suffers from some kind of amnesia... I guess she's mostly repressing her memories. She thinks her family is still alive... often confuses Kiyoomi with his brother.” Oikawa sighs. “Atsu-chan, I meant it when I told you not to be too hard on Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu cannot answer Oikawa. He cannot even look him in the eyes.

He knows that everything Kiyoomi experienced must have been terrible. He can even somehow better understand why he is the way he is. But why does all this annoy him so much? Why does he feel somehow... betrayed?

He shouldn't care, right?

He shouldn't care about any of this.

So why...?

“Kiyoomi had to eventually walk a lone road after once again almost losing the last remaining family member.”

The only one left must have been that bastard of a Kumichō.

"Ushijima?" Atsumu asks pissed off.

“No,” Oikawa replies. “A cousin of his... ever brought him up to you?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu's gaze is still averted. “He mentioned him once… told me he got shot and that he’s in a coma or whatever.”

Oikawa sighs.

“You should know his cousin never liked Ushijima. He was the reason why Kiyoomi refused to join him.” This made Atsumu look up, his eyes still wide open. “He advised Kiyoomi not to join, because he could see through that bastard, could see that he had bad intentions with him... you can imagine how much that pleased Ushiwaka.”

Atsumu huffs. He thinks about Kiyoomi telling him he would get along well with his cousin and Atsumu starts to understand why. He's grateful to him in a way... that he at least warned Kiyoomi not to join that prick.

All of this is still confusing, though. Atsumu doesn’t know if he’s upset or angry.

“When Kiyo-chan's cousin was shot, they were on a mission in Seijoh upon Ushijima's request... Kiyoomi let me know about it, he had been good friends with Iwa-chan for a long time and wanted our consent first,” Oikawa explains.

Atsumu frowns. “Why did they take the job in the first place? I thought Omi didn't work for Ushijima?”

“He felt obligated to him. For everything he did and still does for his family… especially for his mother.”

Atsumu's stomach churns; he doesn't like Kiyoomi's dependency on Ushijima at all.

And then he has those images in front of his eyes again. The faint blush on Sakusa's cheeks. The look he gave Ushijima. He sees it over and over and over again. It makes him want to punch a wall.

“Atsu-chan,” Oikawa starts. “His cousin is in a coma because he got shot.”

Atsumu frowns. “Told ya, I know.”

“And if I remember correctly, there were some missions in which even you picked up a gun.”

“Hardly any,” Atsumu swallows thickly. “What are ya tryna tell me?” His heart throbs.

Oikawa scrutinizes his face. “That very wound his cousin got admitted for… was a bullet shot straight out of your own gun.”

Atsumu stares with unblinking eyes and the seconds pass…

One.

Two.

Three…

“That shot was fatal.” Atsumu looks Oikawa dead in the eye. There wasn’t a gap in his ability to fill it with doubt.

Atsumu hasn’t forgotten a single one of his targets. All of them have been and will be special enough in their own way, making it easy for him to remember each of them. However, his brain cannot recall a single memory in which one of his targets escaped with his life, except his last big one maybe.

The one in whose mission Osamu got lost.

His body goes rigid, remembering an icy, cold blue gaze. The vision had been blurred by the heavy fog that had settled around them, but Atsumu would never forget how miosis pupils stared right back at his very own dilated eyes, both seeming hungry to kill.

Oikawa couldn’t possibly be talking about the last target Atsumu laid his eyes upon… the last person he pierced his very last bullet through.

He can count the number of times he has favored a weapon over his katana on one hand. And hardly anyone may know, but he is good... damn good at handling a gun.

Atsumu doesn't miss and he certainly doesn't leave any job unfinished. Even if he had been knocked out ice cold afterward, Osamu would have stepped in and finished the job for him right away. Kiyoomi’s cousin can't possibly be any of his previous targets, Oikawa must be blatantly wrong.

“So, the name Komori Motoya wouldn’t ring a bell?” Oikawa questions menacingly, tilting his head.

Atsumu’s blood turns cold. He mutters, “You’re shitting me.”

It’s him.

“You’ve heard of him.”

There’s no fucking way…

“Yeah, I have.” Because yes, Atsumu knows that name well.

As he fired the shot, he was hit by Komori's partner at the same time, a grazing shot that left him with the only visible scar on his body, a very open wound. Osamu dragged his brother to a side alley as Atsumu passed out. When he woke up, Osamu was gone.

Atsumu could not tell who Komori's partner had been at that time. He knew he had someone in tow; Kita had warned them, after all, and it was the reason he traded his katana for a gun. The fact that Kiyoomi is supposed to have been the one who shot Atsumu pulls the rug out from under him.

Kiyoomi, of all people, who got so close to him. Kiyoomi, of all people, for whom Atsumu's heart beats faster even if it’s against his will.

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

It could have been anyone... why did it have to be Kiyoomi?

“The fact that four assassins fought each other in Seijoh didn't exactly ease my people's minds,” Oikawa explains further and lights a new cigarette.

Atsumu gets up and brushes a slightly shaking hand through his hair. He walks to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stands on Sakusa’s usual spot, looking down on the city of Sendai and taking another deep breath.

There's a lump in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe. His heart is beating way too fast, and he can't get it under control. A sinking feeling spreads through Atsumu's stomach, his mind struggling to keep a cool head. It would be so much easier to just start panicking.

This is not good.

Atsumu scoffs.

This is a fucking disaster.

“Fuck…” Atsumu mutters under his breath, his eyes are burning.

All that comes to his mind is Kiyoomi’s face. The pain and clear hurt expression he had while squeezing the words out for Atsumu, explaining the state of his cousin, hospitalized. It was obvious Kiyoomi missed him. It was obvious he would take revenge.

Atsumu is the reason why Kiyoomi's cousin is in a coma.

His eyes widen, he feels incredibly sick as he realizes what exactly this means.

Atsumu is the reason why Kiyoomi's cousin hasn’t woken up for two years. The reason why his own twin brother went missing. The reason why Kiyoomi is all on his own. The reason for all their misery.

Just how much blame can a person shoulder?

You’re so gorgeous, Atsumu.

Oh, he’s not. He’s anything but that.

Atsumu’s chest tightens, his body starts to tremble.

A missed shot from the very gun he swore he won’t ever use again, making a full circle to ruin what Atsumu spent months building between him and Kiyoomi. Don't fall in love, Suna put in his words, but what if it was already too late for Atsumu? 

He’s such a fool.

“And it is what it is... it's exactly those who deserve it the least, those who are loudest, that get the most attention.” Oikawa flicks the ash from his cigarette. “Those who were already skeptical became even more so and oh Ushiwaka the knight in shining armor promised to help them get rid of the assassins if only they would join him.”

Atsumu clenches his hands into fists. His body doesn't stop shaking.

“I'm not the type to keep people in my territory against their will, so I offered them to split off from me and the wrong people saw fit to join Ushiwaka.”

It's obvious Oikawa only did that because Seijoh means too much to him to let a riot start that he would eventually not be able to control and that could mean he would lose his friends and family.

Atsumu gulps. “You can't tell Kiyoomi about this.”

He doesn't have the right to ask this. The thought of Kiyoomi finding out, however, eats him up. The possibility of having to fight him in earnest makes his stomach twist. This is the worst possible outcome for carrying out a mission.

Oikawa's look changes to something more sympathetic. As if he can sense Atsumu's fear.

“And what will you do when you find your brother? You assassins are obliged to carry out your missions or you will pay with your own lives... and we have no idea how Osamu is doing. What if he is too weak to defend himself?”

Atsumu's fingers are trembling. Every cell in his body is about to explode.

“Let me make this clear, Atsumu… I’m not the one you have to worry about,” Oikawa starts. “To rub salt into your gaping wound, the reason you're losing your sanity over Kiyo-chan finding out is none other than Ushiwaka.”

Atsumu frowns. “What does he have to do with this?”

Oikawa sighs.

“No one wanted Komori's death more than he did. The only reason Kiyo would refuse him was solely his cousin,” the Kumichō elaborates. “Wakatoshi became greedy for Kiyoomi... an assassin who fit perfectly between his fingers to control and use in his favor. No one but his cousin could sharpen Kiyoomi's brain enough to reject the obvious trap of being used like a killing toy. So what better way to get rid of him? Instead of making himself suspicious, he hires Inarizaki, hires you, to kill Komori.”

He's the little bit of family I have left.

Atsumu grits his teeth.

“Ya could’ve told me all of this a little bit earlier, don't cha think?”

He can never tell Kiyoomi that he is responsible for his cousin's condition. He can never confess to him that they fought each other two years ago. He can never tell Kiyoomi that he’s the one responsible for Atsumu’s scar.

Atsumu swallows thickly.

Kiyoomi has just begun to trust him, to open up to him. Atsumu puts everything at risk if he ever finds out about this. And he shouldn't care, right? But he did.

Shit, he totally did.

And the thought of hurting Kiyoomi makes him sick to his stomach.

They had something. Whatever this is between them, means something. Something that neither Kiyoomi nor Atsumu would show to anyone else. A blind trust even though they come from two different worlds. Showing themselves so vulnerable is not an option for anyone else anymore.

Kiyoomi can't find out about this.

He can’t…

“Matsukawa told me about this just a few days ago.”

Atsumu nods. He’s fucked. The day Sakusa finds out about it is the day Atsumu is going to die.

“Ya don't need Osamu at all,” Atsumu mutters quietly because he’s starting to understand what the Kumichō is getting at. “Ya need evidence against Ushijima to get Seijoh back and ya were hoping to find it while searchin’ for my brother.”

Atsumu glances at Oikawa, his eyes are swimming in molten gold. The Kumichō nods, his expression serious.

“After all, the incident happened in Seijoh, Atsu-chan.”

That's what he gets for it now. Atsumu should have kept his hands off Kiyoomi. It should never have come this far between them.

“Fuck…” Atsumu whispers exasperatedly, a tinge of frustration lacing his voice.

He can never tell Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi must never find out.

As the two make their way to Seijoh, they talk about how to proceed with the mission. Sakusa updates him on what he discussed with Iwaizumi, but Atsumu can hardly listen to him properly.

The conversation with Oikawa is stuck in his head. Looking Kiyoomi in the eyes is a difficult task as guilt washes over him, combined with a lot of pent-up hatred for Ushijima in every possible way. Atsumu has no idea if he will be even able to pull off this mission with Kiyoomi without screwing it up.

“I think it would be best if we split up,” Sakusa explains.

Atsumu scoffs absentmindedly. “Tryna get rid of me, Omi? Rude.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes but focuses on the road ahead. “The area is vast, Miya. It would be advantageous if we could cover it completely.”

Atsumu musters up the courage to stare at Sakusa’s side, questioning his decision to keep the secret that they have met before, that he is responsible for his cousin's condition, locked to his heart but deciding that he has no other choice than doing so.

His gaze glides over a handsome face that is covered by a black mask. Over long black eyelashes that curl upwards, twin moles over a perfect eyebrow, over dark eyes that are so, so dangerous.

There’s no way he would forgive him.

Not Atsumu.

He doesn't know exactly how to label whatever this is between them, he can't exactly define it. Atsumu knows that he shouldn't care about Kiyoomi at all, that he's his enemy, that he'll probably have to kill him one day.

But for some reason, just the thought of it makes him nauseous. For some reason, Atsumu is afraid to tell him about the conversation he had with Oikawa – not because he fears for his life, no. But because it would mean he might lose Kiyoomi and that's something he doesn't even want to imagine.

He wants to argue it's better if they stick side by side, but the words seem to die in his throat and don't get any further. Atsumu is quieter than usual, he knows that. He knows he's not acting like his usual self. But every word he squeezes out of his lungs feels like he’s lying to Kiyoomi. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away.

He can hardly look at Kiyoomi. How is he supposed to work with him?

“Okay…” Atsumu breathes, managing to keep his voice steady. “We can do that,” he forces himself to say, clearly bothered by the idea for more than just one reason.

Then again, maybe he won’t screw up the mission if he doesn’t have him anywhere close.

Kiyoomi watches him out of the corner of his eye and notices his quiet demeanor.

“What? Scared that you’re going to miss me?”

Atsumu snaps his head toward Kiyoomi, wide golden eyes glancing into onyx ones. Oh, if he only knew...

If he only knew how much Atsumu fears missing him. If he only knew what these words trigger in Atsumu. If he only knew what Atsumu had done.

“Don't worry, it won't be long before we meet again,” Kiyoomi teases in a poor attempt to lift the mood.

Atsumu swallows again and forces his gaze out to the window. He needs to stare anywhere but at Kiyoomi. He can't look at him. Not when he is so conflicted. Kiyoomi might find out.

Kiyoomi will find out.

“Sure,” Atsumu replies in a clipped tone, words now finally daring to spill.

It feels wrong. All of this feels so wrong.

Kiyoomi frowns but doesn't comment further. Skeptical glances keep landing on Atsumu, but Sakusa remains silent, not pushing it. The car ride is eerily quiet, except for the purr of the engine and the glide of the wheels over the smooth road. Atsumu's thoughts spiral endlessly, the question of 'why' never seems to be answered.

Atsumu knows the minute he finds Osamu, they will have to finish the mission to kill Komori Motoya or it will backfire on them. Especially with the knowledge that Ushijima is responsible for this job. He will not let the twins rest, even less so ever since he saw Atsumu with Kiyoomi.

And Oikawa is right. Atsumu has no idea what kind of condition his brother is in. If he would be perfectly fine, he would have broken free long ago. Osamu has always been a monster in that regard.

So Atsumu will have to decide sooner or later... Will he choose his brother? The little family he has left? Or does he choose Kiyoomi? The man he should hate to the marrow of his bones.

Isn't it ridiculous to even ask himself this kind of question? The answer should be obvious.

Except it’s not.

“If, while searching for Okamura, you run into Ushijima, you contact me immediately. Got it?”

A twinge runs through Atsumu's chest. “Why?” he asks, voicing only one of the many questions that are running through his mind.

“Do I seriously need to answer that for you?”

Atsumu huffs and turns back to Kiyoomi. “Worried 'm gonna kill him?”

“You know that you’re easily provoked by Wakatoshi and Oikawa instructed me that nothing can happen to you as long as we are looking for your brother. So yeah, I'm a little worried, but it’s rather about you screwing things up and me having to fix them.”

“What? ‘Cause ya two think Ushijima has even the slightest chance to harm me?” Atsumu laughs mockingly, his blood is boiling. Kiyoomi has seen him fight. How can he still underestimate him?

Kiyoomi frowns harder. “If you even try to lay a finger on him, his men will kill you, Atsumu. We are in their territory; your life doesn't matter to them.”

“And so what exactly are ya gonna do ‘bout it anyway, huh?” Atsumu crosses his arms in front of his chest and turns his body to Kiyoomi, the fire in his eyes starting to flare up. “Please, Omi. Enlighten me. Why is yer presence supposed to stop ‘em, hm?”

Why does everyone tolerate you? Why is he allowed to lay his fingers on you?!

“Because I know Ushijima would be willing to negotiate with me—”

“Negotiate?!” Atsumu interrupts Kiyoomi and scoffs, huffing out another humorless laugh. “Why would he even consider that?”

“He's my friend.”

Atsumu’s gaze turns dark, the mocking tone now changes to pure irritation. “Yer what?”

Kiyoomi can't be that naïve.

How can he not see that Ushijima is just using him? How can he not see that Ushijima is only acting in his own interests? How can he not see that Ushijima doesn't care about him? That this isn't what friendship should look like?

How can he call him his friend when that bastard almost killed his cousin? When he almost took away the last bit of his family?

How can Kiyoomi be that naïve?

Atsumu balls his hands into fists.

Why did it have to be Kiyoomi?

Why...?

“He treats ya like trash, and yer tellin’ me he’s supposed to be yer friend?”

Kiyoomi frowns and glares at the road. The car slows down until it eventually stops. Although he is visibly raging inside, he parks his car calmly and quietly on a side street. Kiyoomi kills the engine, then mutters under his breath, “He doesn’t treat me like trash.”

“Bullshit, Omi! He's using you and you're letting him!”

“We do each other favors, so what?!” Sakusa’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “That's the basis of any friendship.”

“You're fucking delusional…” Atsumu drops back into the seat with a scoff and shakes his head, turning away from Kiyoomi. “You don't take shit from anyone, but when it comes to Ushijima, you act like a fucking lapdog.”

Atsumu rips the door open and gets out of the car. He has to leave this place. He has to get out of here before he ends up doing anything, saying something, that he better shouldn't.

“The fuck is your problem, Miya?!” Kiyoomi's tone is frustrated. He slams the door shut as soon as he, too, is standing outside. A cold wind sweeps through the alley.

“My problem?!” Atsumu tears his gaze to him, stops for a moment but then circles the car, and approaches Kiyoomi. He fists a hand in the collar of Kiyoomi's turtleneck and the latter lets him. Blazing flames meet hot coals. One look angrier than the other.

You are my problem, Kiyoomi.

You and your rotten attitude. Your fucking looks. Your stupid personality.

That you let people treat you like that, even though you're worth so much more. That you feel like you have to return something to Ushijima even though you don't fucking have to! That you stick up for him because of whatever reason, calling yourself his friend even though the bastard doesn't deserve you.

And it frustrates me! It fucks me up even though it shouldn't. Even though I shouldn't care about you.

But my problem is that I'm drawn to you over and over again. That I can't escape you even though we both know that this between us would only lead to a disaster. My problem is that I have so many mixed feelings about us that I know I should get rid of.

But I can't.

And I don't know if I ever can.

And it doesn't make any sense, you know? Because I'll find ‘Samu again and maybe Komori will wake up too and then what? Will we be enemies again? Will you try to kill me then?

Because who knows... 

I might let you.

‘Cause I don’t think I could ever harm you.

Atsumu's eyes dart back and forth, searching for something they would never find. His breathing calms, but the anger is still sitting in his bones.

The words build up, unspoken thoughts that have been spiraling Atsumu down rabbit holes. He can’t find the courage within himself to even utter a single sentence of what he thinks, of what his actual problem is. He for once chooses the silence that Osamu has always advised him of. 

“Practice shuttin’ yer trap from time to time, it pays off…” Atsumu mutters weakly, using Osamu’s own words.

He lets go of Kiyoomi and shoves his hands back into his jacket pockets. Atsumu huffs and shakes his head, turning and walking away from Kiyoomi. He feels Sakusa's confused gaze boring into him, but he can't bring himself to meet his eyes.

Guilt swallows him up.

“Where the hell are you going?!” Kiyoomi calls out when Atsumu has distanced himself from him a few steps.

“We're supposed to split up, alright?!” Atsumu yells back, not facing him and continuing to walk.

Like a coward, he avoids what is bound to happen sooner or later. Something that will burn down everything they built up over the past few months. Why push and ponder over the inevitable anyway.

But maybe it's good if they fight. Maybe it will make ending this whole thing between them easier.

Atsumu clenches his hands into fists and swallows thickly. He picks up speed and starts running, getting away from the reality that's driving him nuts.

Of all people...

Why did it have to be Kiyoomi?

Atsumu stops in a side alley that leads to the tailor shop where he killed Youko weeks ago. The first big lead that brought him closer to his brother. He thinks of his anger, of his dreams that haunted him, of Kiyoomi who was just… there for him.

Atsumu wishes he wouldn’t care.

He wishes Kiyoomi had never gotten involved with him.

“Hey, blondie!”

An unfamiliar voice rings out, dragging Atsumu back to reality. He turns around, looking at the stranger with a disdainful expression on his face, and oh – if that isn't Okamura. Jackpot.

“Got lost there?” He asks with two more pricks in tow, approaching Atsumu as if he could intimidate him. Fucking moron.

“Nah,” Atsumu answers, smugness seeping through his voice. “I’m exactly where I wanna be.”

“Oh?” Okamura quirks a brow and grins, bright and toothy. “Is that so? You came looking for me, angel?”

He steps in front of Atsumu and flicks his cigarette away, glancing down at him with a sickening smirk. He’s taller than the assassin, broader as well but still no match at all.

He looks at Atsumu as if he were his next prey. As if the assassin was just a little plaything that he would want to get rid of in half an hour. Atsumu has already dealt more than often enough with assholes like Okamura. Too bad Oikawa prohibited him from killing that bastard. He would have deserved it.

“My, my… look at you.” Okamura places his palm on Atsumu's cheek and slides calloused fingers over his bone. It's disgusting. “I've never seen such a beauty... Say, what actually brings you here?”

Atsumu frowns and grins pissed off. “Would ya take yer filthy hands off me?”

“I'd much rather run them all over you.”

Okamura's fingers slide to his lips, but Atsumu swats them away, annoyed. Okamura grabs Atsumu's wrist and clicks his tongue in an admonishing manner.

“It's been a while since I last had someone as stubborn as you.”

“Then ya better get ready to never lay a finger on anyone ever again.”

“Watch your mouth, my little angel.” Okamura dares to laugh. “You better tell me what you're doing here before we start having some real fun.”

Atsumu scoffs, looking at his mark with dilated pupils. “I'm here to give you a message.” He leans in and lets his lips ghost over Okamura's ears, feeling how the hint of touch affects the creep. Then Atsumu whispers, “Best regards from Oikawa. Ya better not fuck with him twice.”

“Oika—?”

Smack!!

Atsumu drew back to look him in the eyes and linked his fist with Okamura's nose, making his bones crack, blood painting his face red.

Ah, it feels good to release the pent-up anger into a few senseless blows. Atsumu will not use his knives today. This is an easy one.

Okamura staggers back and immediately raises his hands to the bridge of his nose, contorting his face in pain as he realizes what the hell just happened. His comrades lunge at Atsumu, but the assassin smoothly dodges their attacks, throwing a few more punches of his own until he has them, too, on their knees.

Atsumu's eyes are wild as Okamura lunges at him again, a murderous haze settling around his vision. He can't kill him, he reminds himself, but how can he hold back when he's the perfect outlet for all his frustrations?

“I expected Oikawa to send Sakusa.” Atsumu dodges again. “But it's much more fun this way.”

Atsumu snorts. “Don't underestimate me.”

Okamura grins nastily as he wipes the blood from his nose. “No, little angel, I won't.” His grin widens, his teeth covered with a thin layer of red. “But you aren't Ushijima's little toy, so it doesn't matter if I kill you when I’m done having fun with you.”

Ah, the anger is back in full force.

Okamura manages to throw a punch. The only one that night.

It sends Atsumu staggering back, leaving a nasty cut on his bottom lip. Tasting iron, Atsumu immediately knows it's going to swell. Oh, that asshole will pay for it.

Atsumu gathers the mixture of his saliva and blood and spits it aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while giving Okamura a deadly look. Kiyoomi is supposed to be Ushijima's little toy? Yeah, no shit. He didn't have to remind him.

“Told ya not to underestimate me.” Atsumu takes a deep breath, then murmurs menacingly, “Yer gonna regret this.”

It’s the calm before the storm. Everything that comes next is too fast for Okamura to comprehend.

In the dimly lit alley, the air thick with tension, Atsumu stands face to face with his next victim, his men in tow unable to move. The flickering streetlight casts eerie shadows on the walls, adding to the atmosphere of the impending clash.

With a focused gaze, Atsumu tightens his fists, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. A part of him wants to know what exactly Okamura meant when he said Sakusa was just Ushijima's toy. Another part doesn't want to know that at all.

Okamura lunges forward, throwing a wild punch, but Atsumu swiftly dodges it, his reflexes honed from countless battles.

Seizing the opportunity, Atsumu retaliates with a series of calculated strikes. His fists connect with precision, each hit landing with a resounding thud. Okamura once again staggers back, blood trickling down his face, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and disbelief.

Atsumu’s knuckles are stained with Okamura’s blood. They’re supposed to hurt but the truth is, he doesn’t feel anything at all, no. His senses are numb, his mind is focused solely on the task at hand. He’s in a trance, a warrior consumed by the battle.

A battle of guilt. Driven by his frustration.

As Okamura stumbles and falls onto his ass, Atsumu's trance is abruptly shattered by the voice of another figure stepping into the alley. He recognizes it immediately and it will cost him all his power not to slit the man's throat so he never has to hear it ever again.

“I guess this conversation is over,” Ushijima declares, his voice commanding and authoritative. 

Atsumu's attention shifts from his fallen opponent to the Kumichō, his body still tense, heart beating fast, ready for any further confrontation.

With a final glance at Okamura, struggling to regain his composure, Atsumu scoffs in acknowledgment of Ushijima's words. The fight has come to an end it seems, but the impact of the battle lingers in the air. Atsumu's knuckles throb, a reminder of the intensity of the fight, but he remains calm, his focus unwavering.

The fight may have ended, but the echoes of Atsumu's strength reverberated in the silence, leaving an indelible mark on the night. Ushijima steps between Okamura and Atsumu, doesn't fear the assassin one bit. His presence resembles a testament to the power he possesses.

Atsumu knows he should inform Kiyoomi, but… like hell he will.

“Miya,” Ushijima starts with a stoic expression, and God, Atsumu wants to kill him. Hatred burns in his eyes, a seething fire fueled by a deep-rooted antipathy.

As Ushijima's imposing figure looms before him, Atsumu's mind swirls with conflicting emotions. The desire to kill, to rid the world of this man who had caused him so much trouble, pulses through his veins. But he knows, deep down, that he can't. There are rules, boundaries he can't cross, no matter how much he yearns for revenge.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Atsumu says through gritted teeth. “What a pleasure to meet ya again.”

The hell it is.

As Ushijima's cold gaze bores into him, Atsumu's fists clench, his nails digging into his palms. The battle within him rages on, a tempest of conflicting desires. Atsumu knows he can’t give in. He knows he can’t let his rage consume him entirely but oh boy, just seeing his fucking face makes Atsumu’s blood boil.

Knowing that he is the one who sent Atsumu after Komori...

“It's quite bold of you to show up in my territory and beat up one of my men, don't you think?” Ushijima puts his gloved hands in the pockets of his slacks and stares down at him, a light smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. Arrogant prick.

“Ah, ya know the deal,” Atsumu starts nonchalantly, the hunger to kill Ushijima still burns inside him. “We assassins aren't too fond of Yakuza laying their filthy hands on us.”

Ushijima raises an eyebrow. “Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment.”

Atsumu's heart throbs, hating how easily that name slid right out of Ushijima’s tongue. “I'm sure he does, we were trained a certain way.”

Ushijima's grin widens, a sick smile spreads across his face. Atsumu might be fucking himself up right now, but his job for Oikawa was done, everything else is on him. And he can't help himself when that bastard is right in front of him. He needs to know, to understand, why Kiyoomi is still loyal to him when he is such an obvious asshole.

“Oikawa must have told you a lot, huh?”

“You talkin’ about you tryna kill Kiyoomi's cousin?” Atsumu scoffs. “Yeah, he told me ‘bout it.”

For a moment Ushijima is quite startled. Then a laugh, deep from his stomach, bubbles up into his chest and Atsumu can't really understand what the fuck is so funny about that.

“And now there's trouble in paradise? How did Kiyoomi react when he found out that the one man he grants to fall between the sheets with is after his family?” Atsumu clenches his jaw and glares at Ushijima. The latter grins even wider. Even nastier. “Oh, you haven't built up the courage to tell him yet?”

“I was hired,” Atsumu grumbles. “Unlike you, I know what family means.”

Ushijima laughs. “No amount of explanation will change the fact that you were the one who pulled the trigger.” The Kumichō holds Atsumu’s gaze. “Would he ever be able to forgive you for what you did if I told him about it?”

Atsumu's body tenses. He stares at Ushijima with wide eyes. “You wouldn't do that,” he mumbles, his voice, however, is uncertain.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“You’d harm yer own interests.” Atsumu swallows thickly. “You want Kiyoomi to work for ya, why would he still wanna do that if he finds out that you sent me after Komori?”

Ushijima chuckles again, takes a few more steps toward Atsumu, and squares up in front of him. He grins, tilts his head, and stares deeply into Atsumu's eyes. Confidently, he offers him his answer.

“I thought you assassins were so clever. Haven't you noticed yet, or do you just not want to see it?”

Atsumu frowns, his stomach twists.

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t bat an eye forgiving me. With less than a finger snap, he would be kneeling before me, obeying every imaginable command,” Ushijima voices out proudly, a confident and firm tone lacing every word he utters. “Curious to know why?”

Atsumu's heart drops, his frown deepens. His throat runs dry, his stomach twists even more. Of course, he has an idea of what Ushijima is going to tell him and just the thought alone makes him feel sick.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

He can’t be held responsible for anything that happens if he actually does hear it.

“Because I have him wrapped around my finger. Because ever since Motoya fell off the grid, I'm the first person he crawls back to when he needs advice. Not Oikawa, not Iwaizumi, and certainly not you.” Ushijima leans in, not giving Atsumu a chance to even question him, and murmurs in his ear, baring his sick smirk. “Because he's just so eager to spread his legs for me again, to let me make him feel good.”

Atsumu feels his heart pounding in his throat. His gaze veils in a red mist.

When Ushijima pulls away, he scrunches up his nose.

“Someone like you could never do that, Miya.” He brings his face close to Atsumu's. “You don't have what it takes to satisfy him, you’re only a distraction.” Ushijima scoffs and stares down at him disdainfully. “He despises you and he will never change his mind about that so bury that last bit of your hope. It makes you look stupid.” 

Anger drips over every functioning cell within Atsumu, his body is shaking from adrenaline and pure rage, his head is held low. Lifting it would be too hard; one glance at Ushijima would have him puncturing a blade straight through the Kumichō’s throat, slicing that rotten tongue of his along the way. 

“As the wiser between the two of us, I’d say focus on finding your missing half,” Ushijima lifts his gloved hand, gently holding Atsumu’s necklace, the bright moonlight reflecting in the perfectly shaped charm. He continues softly, yet so mockingly, ”You won’t find him under Kiyoomi’s sheets.” 

And that’s it for Atsumu.

Nose to nose, he lifts his head. His gaze is filled with pent-up anger, glaring so furiously at Ushijima’s olive-colored eyes, void of emotions. What the fuck does this arrogant prick know?

Nothing. 

He knows absolutely nothing.

It's none of his goddamn business what Atsumu and Kiyoomi are doing. It's none of his fucking business whatever this is between them. Distraction? So what if it is? It’s not like Atsumu cares…

Then why is he so furious?

“I think it’s been a while since you’ve tasted yer own blood,” Atsumu mutters, venom dripping in his voice. His eyes are crazed with the urge to murder, unwavering against Ushijima’s own. 

The assassin takes a step back, the necklace falling loosely from the Kumichō’s grip. Atsumu eyes him up, his body is filled with adrenaline, with excessive energy building up in his hands.

He clenches his jaw, swallows thickly to get rid of the dryness in his throat. Atsumu lifts his already closed fist, palm bloody from how hard he was clenching, lashing out, and aiming straight at Ushijima. 

“Enough!” 

Knuckles inches away from the Kumichō’s nose, he’s held back with a grip stronger than stone. The tension was cut sharp with Sakusa's firm voice. The anger that seeped through Atsumu comes back in full force.

Oh, he can’t be fucking serious.

“I thought we had an agreement, Miya!” Sakusa spits, glaring furiously into golden eyes. 

And again Atsumu can’t answer him, can't get a word past his lips. Not if he risks being exposed by Ushijima.

Oh, he’s such a damn fool.

Atsumu didn't notice Sakusa. Of course, he didn’t. He didn't hear Kiyoomi approaching them and he can only hope that he didn't overhear their conversation.

He must have snuck up on them – or maybe he didn't. Now that Atsumu knows Sakusa used to be an assassin from Itachiyama, he assumes the graceful and silent movements are simply in his nature.

It makes him angry that Kiyoomi intervened. It makes him angry that after everything Atsumu has learned today, Kiyoomi still ensures Ushijima won't be harmed… that he’s letting himself be used so blatantly.

A toy.

“Assassins don’t hold agreements to a value, Kiyoomi. I’m sure you’re aware of that,” Ushijima scoffs, still holding Atsumu’s gaze.

Fucking bastard.

“This one wasn’t up for debate,” Kiyoomi mutters, his furious gaze still fixed on Atsumu. Ushijima stands right behind him, his smug face making Atsumu want to hurl.

He doesn't miss that Ushijima is meant by this. The agreement not to lay a finger on him. The agreement not to kill him. Even though it was much more a plea from Kiyoomi. Atsumu has never agreed.

I'm the first person he crawls back to…

Well, fuck. Is he really?

Because why the hell would Kiyoomi do that to himself? Atsumu isn't blind. He could see Ushijima's presence wasn't really putting Sakusa at ease when they met in Shiratorizawa and he can also see it right now.

So what is this between them? Are they still a thing? Is Kiyoomi with him when he's not with Atsumu?

Does he have feelings for–?

Atsumu yanks his arm out of Sakusa’s grip, peeved up by the way Kiyoomi was once again defending this asshole. He meets his eyes and everything inside him twists. Atsumu isn't any less angry, no. He just definitely feels a sense of jealousy beginning to drown him.

Why Ushijima?

Why him?

Atsumu wants to say something, but his mouth snaps shut. He knows it's better to be quiet before he gets both himself and Sakusa into even more trouble. 

He shouldn’t care, he reminds himself.

His fiery gaze meets Kiyoomi's onyx eyes, a look that could kill turning into something… desperate. Atsumu knows Kiyoomi is just as pissed off as he is, he should also know that all he’s trying to do right now might be some damage control. 

And yet it makes him furious to see how much power he's handing over to Ushijima.

“Is there any reason you’re loitering around here, Kiyoomi?” Ushijima asks, avoiding addressing Atsumu like he isn’t right next to him, eyes trained on Sakusa.

Kiyoomi turns around and meets Ushijima’s gaze. He doesn’t need to say much, the name “Matsukawa” is enough for Ushijima to know what’s going on.

“Ah... so, Oikawa is the one behind this.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah, ‘cause yer men really have an issue with keepin’ it in check,” Atsumu butts in, still scowling at the bastard. 

“And I’m assuming you don’t?” Ushijima cocks a brow, making Atsumu scowl even more. Before he can snap again, however, Kiyoomi interrupts him.

“You knew Oikawa would send us.”  

“And you know you’re playing with fire, Kiyoomi.” Ushijima’s gaze is firm. “I can’t just let it slide.” 

“Matsukawa was severely injured.” 

“Doesn’t seem like Okamura isn’t faring any differently,” Ushijima states, giving Atsumu a pointed look. The assassin scoffs, his gazes sliding to Okamura, eyeing him pitifully.

“Wakatoshi-kun…” Kiyoomi says softer, his look changing, please sitting on the tip of his tongue.

Atsumu gulps.

He grimaces, forces his gaze away from them, and scowls at a spot on the ground. The soft tone of Kiyoomi’s voice is getting to him, making him want to punch a wall. His heart throbs, he feels absolutely pathetic.

Atsumu’s gaze snaps up again, though, when Ushijima invades Kiyoomi's space. Ushijima’s eyes soften once he’s standing just before him, taking in Kiyoomi’s features. The only thing Atsumu hears is the pounding of his heart in his clenched chest, eyes wide with something like fear.

Fear of what…?

Atsumu tries to steady his breath.

Ushijima lifts his hand and gently places his thumb and index finger beneath Kiyoomi’s chin, tilting his head up and forcing the latter to look him directly into his eyes. He doesn’t flinch, just lets the man take what he wants.

Atsumu’s stomach churns.

Ushijima is taking his sweet time letting his eyes roam over Kiyoomi, gaze lingering on every small detail, their faces only inches apart. Atsumu can see the way Kiyoomi’s cheeks sprout in a faint red and for whatever stupid reason, he can’t tear his gaze from the scene before him.

It makes him sick.

Kiyoomi’s body is tense, even more so when Ushijima’s lips part. The Kumichō’s gaze drops to Kiyoomi’s mouth, then back up into his black eyes. Atsumu can see a slight frown emerging on Sakusa’s forehead, sees his brows knitting together, sees the discomfort. His blood boils.

Why…

“Leave, while you still can,” Ushijima says, voice firm, eyes locked with Kiyoomi’s. His expression is serious, almost a little angry, no trace of smugness left.

It almost escaped Atsumu's eyes, but he catches sight of Kiyoomi releasing a breath that the assassin never realized he was holding. Kiyoomi nods once, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on Ushijima's, as if assessing the situation, making sure they were truly dismissed or if he’s changing his mind.

Kiyoomi gulps, takes a step back, and turns toward Atsumu. He doesn’t even look him in the eyes, goes straight for his wrist, and pulls him along. His steps are quick, maybe fearing Ushijima might change his mind any second, sensing this might be just about to escalate.

Atsumu's mouth snaps open but Kiyoomi beats him to it.

“Let's get out of here,” he mumbles, something between fear and relief shimmers in his voice.

Untypically, Atsumu remains silent once again. He realizes it's better that way, that months before he wouldn't have given a shit about how his behavior might affect Kiyoomi. He knows that a lot of things are going wrong right now, that he needs to get certain feelings back under control. But above all, Atsumu realizes one thing:

Whatever this is between him and Kiyoomi, he should never have started it.

Kiyoomi is pissed as he pushes Atsumu into the armchair of the too-familiar hotel room, rushing into the bathroom to grab a first aid kit. They haven't exchanged a word since they met Ushijima, knowing full well that one of them would immediately explode if they’d even taken a wrong breath.

Atsumu hears him wash his hands almost aggressively, hears him put on nitrile gloves, and watches him return with disinfectant spray and a white pad. He stares at Kiyoomi with concern swirling in his own orbs and is met with a furious scowl, watches him taking a seat across from him on top of the coffee table and putting the utensils beside him.

Seems like this time Atsumu is the one getting patched up.

“You don't have to do this,” Atsumu mumbles.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi returns annoyed.

He takes Atsumu’s hand and doesn't give him a look. Atsumu frowns as Sakusa disinfects his knuckles and wipes the dried blood from his skin, staining the pad red. He's lucky he doesn't really have any abrasions, that he can still move his fingers perfectly fine.

Sakusa focuses his gaze on Atsumu's hands in his own gloved ones, doing everything in his power to avoid looking him in the eye. Just earlier today, Atsumu was the one overcome with guilt every time he met Kiyoomi's gaze. Now it seems to be the latter, and Atsumu can only assume it's because of the situation with Ushijima.

Although it’s not guilt that rushes over Kiyoomi, but rather frustration, anger, or disappointment. Maybe all three of them. Atsumu doesn’t even want to know.

He knows, though, that he's a big part of the reason why Kiyoomi behaves the way he does but he can’t exactly say he’s sorry. Not if Sakusa just lets Ushijima do what he wants. Not if he expects Atsumu to just accept the way he is treated.

He shouldn’t feel this way about Kiyoomi. He shouldn’t care.

But he does. And seeing Kiyoomi act so selflessly pisses him off. Because…

Because he shouldn’t care about Atsumu either.

“Ya know ya have no reason to be so mad at me?”

Sakusa scoffs, his gaze trained on Atsumu's wounds, shaking his head.

Atsumu frowns, watching Kiyoomi dig into the cleanup, not understanding his irritation. All he did was stand up for him, even though it went against all of his principles. Kiyoomi should show him some gratitude instead of making such a fuss.

But obviously, the two don't see eye to eye on this.

“Omi–” He tries again but Kiyoomi's gaze snaps up and Atsumu honestly doesn't understand how he can still be alive. 

His voice dies down when deadly eyes take away his breath, his gaze so intense it sinks into Atsumu's bones. This look can kill and it’s this close to eradicating Atsumu from the world.

“If you do what you're told for once, it won't be so fucking hard to work with you,” he mutters, bites, stopping mid-wipe and holding Atsumu’s gaze. The latter frowns a tad harder.

“I did exactly what I was told.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kiyoomi mocks. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him?”

“I don't have to take shit from him, Omi…”

“You put us both in fucking danger!”

“Sure,” Atsumu scoffs. “I saw how much danger you were in.”

If the situation had been risky, Kiyoomi would never have let Ushijima touch him. If it had been anywhere near dangerous, Kiyoomi could have killed him without batting an eye, and so could Atsumu.

But Kiyoomi didn't want that.

Instead, he surrendered to him, crawled up his ass, preferred to make a fool out of himself rather than fight back. And all of this just because he thinks he might get something in return? As if Ushijima would be able to reciprocate feelings that Kiyoomi hardly shows.

Atsumu isn't blind.

The blush on Kiyoomi's cheeks, his stupid look on Ushijima's lips, and the change in his breath... none of it escaped him. Atsumu noticed it all. Back then in Shiratorizawa, as well as today. So Kiyoomi shouldn’t take him for a fool. Whatever this is between him and Ushijima makes Atsumu sick.

And most of all, it drives him mad.

Kiyoomi huffs a laugh, almost a little exasperated.

“You don't get it, do you?”

“Not really, Omi, no.” And he really doesn't. Just the thought of Kiyoomi and Ushijima being together makes him furious. “All I saw was how that bastard got his hands all over ya and how ya were just about to shove yer tongues down each other’s throats. ‘s that how ya ‘negotiate’? Nice one, Omi, couldn't have done it better myself,” Atsumu mocks.

He knows there's a feeling of jealousy taking over, but he can't stop it. He knows it's stupid, knows they're not even close to being anything exclusive, hell, he knows the two of them are still enemies.

But he can't do anything about the tightness in his chest, about his blood boiling just at the thought of another man laying his hands on Kiyoomi, about the fact that he was obviously never going to be good enough for him.

Not after everything he'd done.

Kiyoomi holds Atsumu’s gaze, is at least as furious as the latter, but refuses to engage in his provocation.

Instead, he stands up because he knows as much as Atsumu that the situation is about to escalate. That they are running on a razor-thin thread that is about to tear. That he has to get away from Atsumu before he ends up doing something he might regret.

Kiyoomi may often be difficult to read, but this is something Atsumu can see right away.

“I don't know why I forgot what a selfish dick you are,” Sakusa mutters pissed off, removing his gloves as he steps away. “You assassins are all the same…” he then adds and something inside Atsumu snaps.

“Don't point yer finger at me when yer just as much a part of it, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi’s gaze snaps to golden eyes. His own are blown wide.

“What...?”

His voice is quiet. Caught.

Kiyoomi stops in his tracks, turning paler than he already is, and stares at Atsumu with a glint of panic and apprehension in his eyes. It seems like he has gone entirely still, almost frozen. He doesn't move a bit, standing rooted to the spot as Atsumu's words obviously run his thoughts into overdrive.

Atsumu can see how hard Sakusa is thinking, can see how much he is considering what consequences this could have for him. He can see that he's unsure whether Atsumu really knows.

And Atsumu is sick of it. He’s sick of listening to this stupid hypocrisy.

“Guess they taught ya things differently in Itachiyama, huh?! But sure, go on. Judge me. Pretend like yer better than me ‘cause ya belong to some fuckin’ Yakuza! Behave like a hypocritical asshole if it makes ya feel better, but don't generalize all assassins when yer a part of them yerself.”

He knows. Atsumu knows this one little secret.

But isn't it kind of unfair?

Because Kiyoomi doesn't know any of his.

Sakusa avoids the situation by rushing back to the bathroom, throwing his gloves in the trash on the way. He sanitizes his hands and tidies up the utensils he set out earlier to be able to treat Atsumu.

Atsumu gets up from the chair and follows him, stepping into the bathroom to sort things out.

He doesn't need an explanation for Kiyoomi's past. Him being an assassin is a part of him, he will never be able to change that. What Atsumu needs, however, is to understand why Kiyoomi is so submissive in Ushijima's presence. It doesn't suit him, not the Sakusa Kiyoomi Atsumu has come to know.

“Ya don't even realize how different you act around him... That you let him take whatever he wants!” Atsumu fumes, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

He’s upset.

Fuck, he’s so upset.

“You call him what? Yer friend?” Atsumu huffs. “What friend would treat ya like that, Omi? Do ya have any idea how he was talking ‘bout ya?!”

“Don't act like you have any idea what you're talking about…” Sakusa hisses, narrowing his eyes, his gaze fixed on smashing the stuff into the cabinet and ignoring Atsumu right beside him.

Atsumu clenches his fists hard, his heart is racing.

He uncrosses his arms and slams one hand on top of the sink, the loud thud startling Kiyoomi, making him whip his head around to face Atsumu. Wide onyx eyes meet a furious face with a gaze raging in golden fire. For a split second, a sliver of hunter-green flares up.

“I have so much of an idea, that you must be desperate enough to get dicked down by him. Really, Omi, I hope it’s worth it!”

“Shut the fuck up, Atsumu.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m right?! Is fooling around with him so good that it's worth throwing away all yer principles?”

Kiyoomi holds Atsumu's eyes for another second, then slams the cabinet shut and tears his gaze apart, focusing it on his arms and rolling up his sleeves. He slathers liquid soap on his palms and turns on the faucet, starting to scrub his hands and letting the water get hot.

Atsumu watches it evaporate.

“I had everything under control,” he starts, making it clear that Kiyoomi never needed to intervene.

“You–” Kiyoomi scoffs. “You had nothing under control… Do you know why Ushijima didn't move when you wanted to throw a punch?” Kiyoomi’s skin turns red. ”Because he saw me. Because he knew that I would step in. And if I hadn't, it would have affected both of us Atsumu, you were damn lucky I was there!”

“Do ya realize how ridiculous you sound?”

“Do you realize how irresponsible you are?!”

“I can take care of myself, Omi thanks, I don't need ya for that!”

Kiyoomi scoffs again, scrubs his hands a little harder. More steam fills the bathroom.

“Why d’ya even care, huh?”

Shouldn't you give a shit about me?

Kiyoomi should have just left him to his fate, no matter what it would have meant for him. And Atsumu should never have let himself be provoked like that, because this thing between him and Kiyoomi is absolutely nothing... nothing! Fuck.

Everything is so twisted.

Why is it all so twisted?

“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Kiyoomi mutters.

“So what?!” Sakusa washes his hands more aggressively. Atsumu frowns. “I'm not afraid of him!” His tone is now rather frustrated than upset.

“That's not the point, Atsumu…”

“Then what is it?!”

Kiyoomi's skin is almost scrubbed raw, the heat of the water adding to the flush that weaves through his cells. He doesn't answer Atsumu, too preoccupied to harm himself without even noticing.

Ah, shit.

How did Atsumu miss that?

“Stop…” his voice turns soft, worried. “Omi…”

Kiyoomi ignores him.

“Omi, stop…”

Atsumu links their hands and winces briefly as the boiling water slaps his skin. It’s so hot that it feels like he is burning alive. How the hell did Kiyoomi manage to let it pour on him for so long?

He didn't realize.

Kiyoomi flinches as Atsumu's cool fingers slide over the back of his hand and lock with his own. Atsumu slowly turns off the faucet and all Kiyoomi manages to do is stare at their intertwined hands.

At first, he’s confused, then his gaze moves up to golden eyes. They’re no longer furious, no. Rather... sympathetic. Apologetic. Desperate. Atsumu didn't want to back him into a corner.

For several heartbeats, all they do is stare at each other, say nothing, and let the silence wash over them. Triggering things in Kiyoomi that would cause him harm was never Atsumu's intention. It's in fact one of the last things he wanted to do, and he's sorry for that.

Kiyoomi is stressed.

And this stress obviously leads to old habits.

Atsumu should have known.

He can only guess from what Ushijima told him that something must have been going on between him and Kiyoomi. He can only assume that both of them ended it consensually as they’re still ‘friends’. And maybe he understands only now that Kiyoomi still harbors certain feelings for Ushijima, but is at the same time incredibly distressed whenever he's around.

For whatever reason, it’s none of his business.

Fact is, Kiyoomi may be one of the few whose word is still worth something to Ushijima and the only reason he submitted to him was because of Atsumu. To save him from worse. So that nothing would happen to him. 

How could he be so stupid?

Why didn't Atsumu want to see that?

He blinks away his astonishment at this realization, shifts his gaze down, away from Kiyoomi, and swallows hard. Feelings of guilt gather in his chest; he never would have started arguing with Kiyoomi if he had known where this would lead to.

Slowly, he removes his fingers and reaches for a soft and fresh towel, gently wrapping it around Kiyoomi’s sensitive hands to dry them. Atsumu keeps them wrapped in the soft towel and once again meets Kiyoomi’s gaze.

His heart skips a beat.

Atsumu feels his cheeks flush and he doesn't know if it's from the hot steam in the bathroom or because of Kiyoomi. He tells himself the former when he knows it's the latter.

To spare his mind and his heart, he averts his gaze again. He removes the towel and throws it into the laundry basket, crouching down to get some lotion from one of the cabinets.

He drips some into his palm and stands up to turn back to Kiyoomi, taking his hands in his own and starting to massage it into his palms and fingers, taking care of his skin. From under his lashes, Atsumu peers up and catches Kiyoomi's gaze fixated on the act, sees the frown on his brow, notices how much Kiyoomi doubts all of this.

Atsumu wishes he didn't.

“Okay…” he whispers as the lotion soaks into Kiyoomi’s skin, their gazes once again locked.

Atsumu's fingers are just about to slide off Kiyoomi's hand when the latter grabs his wrist and holds him in place. Atsumu sucks in a sharp breath, his chest tightening with the speed of his heartbeat, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering wildly.

He swallows thickly.

With his other hand, Kiyoomi places his fingers beneath Atsumu's chin and tilts his head, staring at his lips and gently tracing his thumb over Atsumu's cut. His eyebrows are scrunched together, Atsumu's heart is pounding in the pit of his stomach. Kiyoomi’s gaze is intense.

Too intense.

“You're too reckless, Atsumu,” he murmurs, meaning, it could have ended worse.

“I know what I'm doing,” Atsumu answers in hushed tones, saying, you don't have to protect me.

But it's exactly what Kiyoomi can't help doing.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he then adds, and oh… oh, this sounds too familiar.

You need to take better care of yourself, ‘Tsumu.

Atsumu frowns.

It’s always those who are most important to Atsumu that remind him of this. Those whom Atsumu wants to protect so much, can't be saved in the end. And everything just because of him...

He must tell Kiyoomi. He has to tell him that he is responsible for his cousin's coma. He has to tell him that they have already met, that they fought each other, that he must never tell him Motoya's whereabouts because otherwise, he would have to kill him.

And Atsumu doesn't know if he can.

He doesn't know if he can because that would mean he would lose Kiyoomi forever. That would mean he would have to choose between him and his brother and he... he can't do this. It’s nothing Atsumu wants.

Because every time Kiyoomi looks at him like that, he feels weak. Every time he leans in like that, he needs more. Every time their lips touch, Atsumu can't think of anything else but never wanting to let go.

A desire so deep that it hurts.

Just like now.

Kiyoomi kisses him, gently at first, pulls back, and places another one on Atsumu’s bruised lips. Then another one. And another one until Atsumu holds onto him tightly, fisting his hands into Kiyoomi’s sweater like he needs it to stay upright and Kiyoomi runs his hand into Atsumu’s hair, fingertips scraping his undercut like he needs it to ground himself.

That’s when something in both of them breaks.

Atsumu is not sure when he closed his eyes but at some point Kiyoomi forces his mouth open, tongues working immediately and Atsumu would be a fool to deny him. He surrenders to him, letting Kiyoomi take whatever he wants in hopes that he will never stop.

But he does.

With Atsumu's lower lip caught between his teeth, he pulls away from the kiss. Atsumu hisses faintly from the light sting, dazed by the way Kiyoomi licks his blood from his own lips. He sucks in another sharp breath as Sakusa smooths his fingers once again over Atsumu’s mouth, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest.

Atsumu’s eyes meet Kiyoomi’s, a mixture of longing and want reflecting in their depths. The tension between them has been building for months, their unspoken desires hanging heavy in the air. 

Atsumu wants. And he needs… but he shouldn’t.

Anyone… anyone but Kiyoomi.

“Sit down,” Kiyoomi says as he detaches himself and walks out of the bathroom, pointing at one of the armchairs. Atsumu follows him and stares at him in confusion, but all Kiyoomi does is offer him an intense look and then repeat emphatically, “Sit.”

Confused about what Kiyoomi is up to, Atsumu shrugs off his jacket and lowers himself into the armchair. His heart stutters as he watches him turning around and peeling off his turtleneck sweater, his stomach aches at the thought of anyone else seeing him like this.

I shouldn’t be jealous, you aren’t even mine.

Atsumu's eyes are trained on his tattoo, on a broad back, on a narrow waist, on moles spread all over his spine. Geez. Atsumu could look at this body a million times, and never stop marveling at the sculpted perfection. He wants to kiss his delicate skin, connect all the sprinkled dots with his lips, and worship Kiyoomi as he deserves.

Instead, he sits and waits, watches as Kiyoomi walks to the nightstand, opens one of the drawers, and hears another click that Atsumu can't place. There is some more shuffling and noises that Atsumu can't identify, and as he turns around, his golden eyes widen.

In his hand, Kiyoomi is holding a revolver and a small golden bullet which he fills into one of the chambers. Atsumu can’t see it but he’s sure the rest of them are already loaded.

Kiyoomi spins the cylinder and snaps it shut, letting the bolt click into place so that the bullets sit comfortably in one of each chamber.

“You wanted to know what it’s like to fool around with Ushijima?” Kiyoomi says, sliding a knee between Atsumu’s thighs. He parts them farther, big eyes staring up to meet hazy black ones. “I'll show you,” Kiyoomi adds quietly, leaning in. 

And then he kisses him.

Deep, and greedy, and feverish and Atsumu never wants this to stop. Kiyoomi forces his mouth open, letting their tongues glide against one another, abandoning technique to make way for the sheer desire to be connected.

Atsumu gasps as Kiyoomi breaks the kiss, feeling dazed by him and the way he devours him, his cheeks growing warm. He peers up at him again, a little startled at first, and loses himself in the endless galaxy in Kiyoomi’s eyes. They shine as they watch Atsumu, like stars twinkling in the sky, hung up just for him.

He brings his hand up to cup Kiyoomi's cheek in need to bring him even closer, but Sakusa stops him before he can reach him by grabbing his wrist and staring dangerously into his eyes.

“Touch me,” Kiyoomi says and stands up, detaching himself from Atsumu, “And you’ll burn.”

Oh, and Atsumu frowns. Doesn’t this sound a little familiar?

Burn? He wouldn’t shoot me… would he?

However, the gun is loaded.

Atsumu hopes it's just a joke because when Kiyoomi strips down to his light grey briefs, he loses faith that he'll ever be able to hold back. He may have a loaded revolver in his palm, but who says it's not just to intimidate Atsumu?

“You wouldn't–”

Oh, and Atsumu doesn't even have a chance to finish the sentence, as Kiyoomi points the barrel at him and a click that should be followed by a bullet sets in as he pulls the trigger. But no bullet ever reaches him. And neither does a bang.

In shock, Atsumu threw his arms protectively over his head, digging it low and squeezing his eyes tightly shut thinking his life was about to end. Opening his eyes slowly, wide and stunned, he peeked into Kiyoomi's indifferent face. Atsumu’s chest rises and falls in sheer fear of death.

Holy shit…

Holy shit.

Apparently, Kiyoomi would shoot him and yes, this time, he is goddamn serious about it. Atsumu’s pulse rises immediately and for some fucked up reason he can’t help but feel his dick stir in his pants. Oh shit.

“That was your lucky shot,” Kiyoomi explains, holding Atsumu’s gaze. “I can't guarantee anything with the next one.”

“This is crazy, Omi,” Atsumu’s exhale comes shakily, his finger curling over the edges of the armrests.

Kiyoomi climbs onto his lap, rests one hand on the backrest to support himself, and slides a hand over Atsumu’s broad shoulder. His gaze tracks the wild patterns it draws over the joint while Atsumu is unable to take his eyes off Kiyoomi’s.

“You think this is crazy?”

Kiyoomi huffs slightly, playing with the revolver and pressing the muzzle to Atsumu’s temple. He swirls his blond strands with the golden pattern of the barrel, glowing in the dim hotel room light. Kiyoomi tilts his head, watches his own movements, his mind seemingly lost.

He runs the tip of his tongue over his lip, making Atsumu’s breath hitch here and there. Despite the room being so hot, goose bumps raise on Kiyoomi’s mostly exposed flesh, presumably affected by Atsumu underneath him.

Kiyoomi leans in, his hot breath ghosting over Atsumu’s neck, over his jaw, over his ear when he starts to whisper, “You’ll endure it.”

Atsumu feels shivers running down his spine when their eyes meet again, Kiyoomi’s gaze is fiery, intense. He wants to touch him, craves it even with a gun pointed at his skull, but knows the next shot would be fatal and Kiyoomi would definitely shoot.

Will he risk it if it means he can be closer?

Fuck.

Atsumu shouldn't even consider that. Rather, he should distance himself.

Eyes wide, spine stiff and knuckles turned white, he suddenly seems to be overwhelmed. Something swirls in Kiyoomi's pupils that Atsumu cannot yet decipher. But it looks pained. Something that Atsumu wants, needs, to drive out of him.

Kiyoomi's palm slides to Atsumu's chin, holds it in place, and then demands, “Behave, will you?”

I don’t want to shoot you.

Ah, shit.

For once, Atsumu could read it.

He gulps, nods, and a flicker of nerves breaks the rest of his calm and cool façade. It's perhaps the first time Atsumu is sure what Kiyoomi's look is trying to tell him. The first time his emotions become an open book for Atsumu and not the other way around.

He wants to show him what it's like to fool around with Ushijima? Atsumu fears only the worst.

“Good,” Kiyoomi breathes, sliding his palm off Atsumu's chin. “You must know that hardly anyone touches me like Ushijima or you can.”

“Why him?” Atsumu frowns, looking Kiyoomi up and down before he’s back, drowning in his eyes.

“Because he was there for me when I needed him the most.”

“You don't seem like you like it at all, though.”

“Because I don’t,” Kiyoomi replies in a firm, unwavering tone.

Atsumu swallows.

Kiyoomi turns around and leans back against him, pressing his ass against Atsumu’s hardening cock and his shoulders against Atsumu’s broad chest. Oh, Atsumu is a fool for not realizing sooner what's going on.

Despite the lack of music, Kiyoomi is giving him a fucking lap dance.

And yeah shit, Atsumu is so going to die.

“He was there when almost all of my family went down with Itachiyama. And I knew he had to prove himself as a prospective Kumichō so I wanted to be there for him too. He was one of my best friends… he was special.”

He was there for him when no one else was.

Atsumu understands that now.

Someone can only take so much loneliness before it starts to eat them up. Atsumu had always had his brother, had Sunarin, had everyone in Inarizaki as a replacement for his family once his mother died.

But Kiyoomi must have had no one except for his cousin Komori.

And maybe he started to see something in Ushijima that kept him grounded. Maybe at that moment, he was exactly the one Kiyoomi needed.

But shit does that bother Atsumu.

“Were ya two together?” His heart is quivering.

“No.”

They’ve been fooling around.

Friends with benefits would suit them the most.

“And did ya love him?” Atsumu’s lips are only a hair’s breadth away from Kiyoomi’s neck. He wants to kiss it, to suck a bruise into it, to mark him so everyone knows Kiyoomi belongs to him.

Except he doesn’t.

Kiyoomi doesn’t answer.

He lifts himself up and faces Atsumu again, settling onto his lap and staring deeply into golden eyes.

“We weren't good for each other, Atsumu.”

Are we?

Atsumu's heart throbs.

He melts under the way Kiyoomi stares down at him. Atsumu has this deep desire to brush that one curl from his face, wants to glide his fingers over Kiyoomi's cheek, yearns to touch him.

He doesn't care if he should or not.

His gaze shifts back to Kiyoomi's torso, escaping his stare before Sakusa is able to see through him. Atsumu had always been easy for Kiyoomi. What if he figures out how he feels sooner than Atsumu himself does?

Kiyoomi grinds against him, making Atsumu’s pulse soar as the firm ridge of his cock rubs beneath Kiyoomi’s balls. Atsumu moans when he feels Kiyoomi getting hard too, is shut up when soft lips capture his own.

Fuck.

Atsumu wants to dig his fingers into his soft curls.

“He used me and I didn't care because I used him too,” Kiyoomi murmurs against Atsumu's lips. “And even though I ended this when my cousin fell into a coma, we still value each other. We can trust each other.”

If you only knew...

“Why do ya still let him use you like this?” Atsumu wants to kiss him back.

“Because sometimes it's the only way to protect the ones I care about.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

Atsumu gulps. “Ya should prioritize yerself.”

Kiyoomi huffs, a pained smile grazing his lips. “Just like you do?”

Selfless.

Since when has Kiyoomi been so selfless?

Atsumu has no answer to Kiyoomi’s question. Instead, he loses himself in his unwavering gaze, only now realizing what his words even mean. 

Obviously, Kiyoomi has already figured out that Atsumu would put any of his partners above himself, and Atsumu is a fool for not noticing for so long that Kiyoomi would do the same. Everything he is doing is for his partners. Not once has he acted in his own favor.

Which also means he would put himself in danger for Atsumu.

His heart races.

Oh, Kiyoomi… you shouldn’t care about me…

He rests his forehead against Atsumu's, buries his hand in blond waves, lips grazing Atsumu's mouth. Atsumu wants to lean in, is so close that he feels like he'll burst if he doesn't meet him in another kiss any time soon.

It feels like torture. The agony of being so close but never close enough.

Atsumu gulps.

Kiyoomi is better at guessing Ushijima's actions than Atsumu will ever be able to. His mind has already failed twice now because he let his emotions get the better of him. And it was never about himself, no.

Instead, he let himself be provoked when his brother's name came up, which is quite logical. But even then he was unnerved because Ushijima couldn’t keep his hands off Kiyoomi and today wasn’t any different. The man in his lap. The one he keeps telling himself he shouldn't care about. But he probably always will.

“That's not comparable,” Atsumu says then, his voice shakily.

Kiyoomi frowns and Atsumu closes his eyes as Sakusa rolls his hips against his own. A slow grind forward, dragging their clothed cocks against each other and creating delicious friction. Atsumu’s chest heaves, his fingers claw into the fabric of the chair.

He’s not going to survive this.

“I don't see any difference,” Kiyoomi replies.

“Ya shouldn't care about me,” Atsumu gasps, captured in onyx eyes. They light up.

“But I do.”

Ah, shit.

In the next heartbeat, Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi even closer, has his fingers tangled in soft curls, has his lips pressed to Kiyoomi's, and kisses him deeply, passionately.

It's ridiculous what these words trigger in him.

I care about you, Atsumu.

It's ridiculous what this is doing to him.

And maybe even Kiyoomi thinks he's a fool the way he's giving himself to Atsumu, letting him taste even more of himself, letting him think that Atsumu deserves all this, deserves Kiyoomi.

But then a shot rings out and Atsumu's hands tear away from him. There's a bang and Atsumu gasps, the sound of a bullet casing hitting the ground, and Atsumu's heart stumbles.

His muscles tense even more, shock ripples through his body. With widened eyes he stares into Sakusa's stunned face, the revolver pointed at the ceiling, Kiyoomi’s chest rising and falling heavily.

Atsumu is confused by the way he gazes back at him. Conflicted, asking for more yet pushing him away. He wants Atsumu. He wants him so much, and yet he keeps him at a distance.

Ah fuck. Is that how you felt with him, Omi?

And then another wave of shock washes over Atsumu as he realizes that shit, that damn gun is indeed loaded, and fuck, it could have been hitting him all along.

Atsumu sighs shakily as he realizes he's still very much alive and there's no blood gushing from any parts of his body at all. He peers up at Kiyoomi through thick lashes, fear and excitement swirling in his eyes.

“Shit…” Atsumu whispers, overwhelmed by anticipation and dread. 

“Hands off.”

“Sorry–”

“I won’t waste the next bullet, this is your last warning, Atsumu.”

Atsumu nods, clenching and unclenching the muscles of his throat. “Yeah…” His eyes flick downward and God, he will die today. How can he hold himself back at that sight? He cannot. Not with Kiyoomi. Atsumu gulps. “Omi, you’re–”

Leaking.

Atsumu's voice dies down, too mesmerized by the man in his lap. The one he is not allowed to touch. The one he craves so badly.

Kiyoomi follows his gaze and glances down, seemingly bothered by the dark spot staining his briefs. Atsumu’s eyes flick up and meet Kiyoomi’s, burning with lust.

“Maybe I should–”

“Yeah,” Atsumu gasps, interrupting him, his mind completely hazy.

Kiyoomi’s eyes linger on Atsumu’s for another moment before he stands up and shimmies out of the light grey fabric. There’s something deliciously dangerous and irresistibly hot about this.

Having the man in front of him, stripped of any clothing that worked like layers of protection. And yet, at the same time, he holds control and power due to a single weapon in his palm. Like he’s gone from fully dressed to naked in just a few beats, and now he’s against Atsumu, cock and balls rubbing against his soft white t-shirt.

Kiyoomi wraps his arms around Atsumu’s neck, pressing his dick against his chest and bringing his abs close enough to Atsumu’s face to feel his breath. He grinds down again, drawing a low moan from Atsumu’s lungs before nuzzling the crook of his neck.

“You and Ushijima…” Atsumu breathes and swears he can hear his own heartbeat in his voice. Kiyoomi is slowly fucking against him, making his head spin. 

Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Don’t touch–

“Ya two played a sick game,” Atsumu tries to find out more, mainly to distract himself because he’s going insane over here.

“I loved him,” Kiyoomi explains, and oh, actually hearing it out loud fucking hurts.

Amidst the pain that starts to sprout in Atsumu’s body, there's a strange solace, a twisted comfort that keeps him grounded. Because it's all in the past. None of that matters today. Kiyoomi was the one who ended it.

So what exactly does that mean for Atsumu?

“Love makes ya do stupid things.”

One heartbeat passes. A second one too.

Kiyoomi leans back so he can look Atsumu in the eyes, his own revealing the depths of his conflicted emotions. Longing mingled with hesitation, desire entangled with caution.

“It does,” he says then quietly, and suddenly Atsumu is even more unsure of what that entails.

He purses his lips as Kiyoomi hovers over his mouth. Kiyoomi’s gaze drifts from Atsumu’s golden eyes down to his plump lips, warm breath tickling Atsumu’s skin, but he never feels the touch. 

“It does…” Kiyoomi repeats in hushed tones, brow furrowed and thumb sweeping over the cut on Atsumu’s lip. He wants to…

“I–” Atsumu exhales hard. “I wanna… I wanna touch you.”

“I know you do.” Kiyoomi leans forward enough to murmur in Atsumu’s ear. “But this turns you on… doesn’t it?”

Atsumu shivers beneath him. “Everything ‘bout ya turns me on.”

It shouldn’t, but… shit.

Kiyoomi leans down to let his lips almost touch Atsumu’s neck, teasing him with their proximity, and as goosebumps spring up on the assassin’s skin, they spring up on Kiyoomi’s too.

Atsumu is too turned on to think. More turned on than he should be. And it gets worse and worse because Kiyoomi doesn't stop. Atsumu doesn’t want him to stop. He doesn’t–

Dizzy and breathless, Kiyoomi lets his lips graze Atsumu’s neck and is rewarded with a helpless whine. “Fuck…” He shivers hard, thrusting against Atsumu like he was thrusting inside him. “Atsumu,” he breathes as if it’s the sexiest thing Atsumu has ever heard.

“Omi… Are ya close?” Atsumu looks up at him, eyes wide and watering. “Please tell me yer close…”

“I–”

Fuck. The look alone is enough for Atsumu to know that he is.

He’s right there on the edge, on the brink of blowing his load all over Atsumu’s shirt and maybe if he was in his right mind he would back off, but Kiyoomi doesn’t seem to be interested in coming to his senses. At least not yet.

And neither does Atsumu. At that moment he wants nothing else, nothing more in the whole fucking world, than for Kiyoomi to come.

So, Kiyoomi sits up, holds onto Atsumu’s shoulders, and thrusts against him. Atsumu groans, his pulse speeding up.

“Shit… Omi–”

His own cock is painfully hard.

“Atsumu…” Kiyoomi’s grip on Atsumu’s shoulders tightens, his eyes roll back and Atsumu is sure he hears him whimper. 

“God, yeah,” Atsumu groans. “You– you’re so hot, Omi, shit. That’s it, come… come for me...”

Atsumu’s pupils dilate when Kiyoomi arches against him, thrusting against his white shirt until a shudder almost knocks his arms out from under him. Kiyoomi slumps over Atsumu, trembling from head to toe, slowly coming down from his high. So fucking beautiful.

He’s come all over Atsumu, making him breathless and his head spin. Kiyoomi licks his lips, struggles to hold himself up with shaking arms. His dazed eyes are Atsumu’s final straw.

“Can I touch you?”

Kiyoomi swallows.

Atsumu sees the whirlwind of conflicting emotions he is caught in. Like he yearns for Atsumu and his touch, craving the warmth and intimacy it promises but is hesitant at the same time, uncertain what that would entail if he surrenders.

Kiyoomi looks like his heart aches with the knowledge that giving in to Atsumu’s request could lead to a complete surrender, a terrifying vulnerability. He looks like he fears that by allowing Atsumu to touch him, he can lose the last remnants of his resistance to something that he’s still holding back.

But apparently, he is just as weak as Atsumu.

“Yes…” Kiyoomi pants. “You can–”

Atsumu cups Kiyoomi’s face and kisses him. He couldn’t help it – his desire got the best of him.

Kiyoomi opens to Atsumu’s kiss and lets himself be pulled in closer as Atsumu gently re-explores his mouth. He slides a hand into Atsumu’s hair, cradling the back of his head, fingers twirling soft blonde waves. His touch, lips, and tongues send Atsumu’s pulse into overdrive.

Atsumu is tentative, and yet bold at the same time. His hands are light on Kiyoomi’s skin even as his mouth demands more.

Eventually, Kiyoomi lifts his head, staring down at him and looking as surprised as Atsumu feels. They’re both out of breath, both cheeks tinted in a deep red, Kiyoomi’s hips are pressed against Atsumu’s hard dick.

Atsumu doesn't know if he will ever get enough of him.

And apparently, there is also something crumbling inside Kiyoomi. Because his look changes, his breathing slows down, and the blush spreads over his whole body. Kiyoomi covers Atsumu’s eyes with the soft skin of his palm.

“Don’t look at me like that, Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi doesn't give in to his feelings. Rather, he tries to escape them.

“Like what?” Atsumu says, grabbing Kiyoomi’s wrist and uncovering his sight.

Their eyes meet in a moment of intense vulnerability. The air crackles with unspoken desire, their hearts yearn for each other, but their minds are burdened by the weight of their opposing paths.

Kiyoomi can’t find out…

“Like what?” Atsumu repeats almost in a whisper, gaze firmly locked with Kiyoomi’s onyx eyes.

Like I’m the only one for you.

Atsumu can see it, can read what Kiyoomi is thinking.

You are, Atsumu answers quietly, not voicing it out loud.

Kiyoomi avoids responding to his question, averting his gaze and instead glancing down at Atsumu’s clear hard-on tainting through his pants. Kiyoomi nudges him slightly.

“You’re still hard,” he observes, trying to distract from facing their emotions. “Let me–”

“No.” Atsumu interrupts.

“No?” Kiyoomi gaze snaps back up, his look startled and confused. “You don’t want to?” 

“No…” Atsumu swallows. “No, I don’t.” 

For a moment, silence reigns.

Kiyoomi’s eyes are locked with Atsumu’s golden ones, obviously struggling to decipher his heavy stare. It’s full of unspoken emotions, of feelings that Atsumu can’t allow.

Letting his arms loosely slide from Atsumu’s shoulder, Kiyoomi heaves a sigh, slowly pushing himself back. “Okay..” he replies softly, lifting himself off of Atsumu, “I’m going to take a bath… are you joining?” 

With his knees shaking, Kiyoomi gets back to his feet. It’s way too graceful for someone whose mind has just been blown but Atsumu remembers muscle memory exists and Kiyoomi certainly possesses one beyond his own.

Getting his balance back as his feet hit the ground, Kiyoomi slowly turns around to put the revolver back in its place. Atsumu’s gaze is heavy on his back and he’s pretty sure Kiyoomi must feel it from the way his body tenses, but he’s remaining silent, awaiting his response. 

“Yeah…” Atsumu replies eventually, his voice raspy. “In a few,” he adds, eyes wandering over Kiyoomi’s soft curls to his broad back as he takes his sweet time to carefully put everything back into place. His motions are slow, calm.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” Kiyoomi says quietly, not meeting Atsumu’s eyes.

Atsumu stays silent, lowering his gaze to his very empty lap. He hears Kiyoomi slowly closing the drawer, and making his way to the bathroom, water running to fill the tub. 

And then everything they had been talking about is coming back to him full force as he sits in silence, tilting his head back and resting it on top of the backrest. At first, Atsumu is staring at the crumbled plaster on the ceiling, then he closes his eyes, tries to inhale a deep breath but it’s hard because his chest feels heavy and his throat is tight.

Someone like you could never satisfy him, Miya.

Atsumu remembers his argument with Kiyoomi, his own jealousy, and feels partially guilty for Kiyoomi falling into a hole with Ushijima. He knows exactly how lonely Kiyoomi must have felt and wonders if he is doing it again.

I care about you, Omi.

It's twisted, it’s out of control, his feelings for Kiyoomi have reached the roof. They’re even beyond it, and it doesn’t ease his mind in the slightest knowing Kiyoomi would give in to his past over and over again if it meant he could protect the people he holds dear.

Sometimes it's the only way to protect the ones I care about

If anything, it pains Atsumu. And he feels helpless knowing he’s part of the reason, guilt continues to eat him up. He’s blaming himself for all the people he loves so dearly getting hurt, solely or partially because of him.

It was a bullet shot straight out of your own gun, Atsu-chan.

Shit.

The water splashing drags Atsumu back to reality, reminding him where he is, why he’s here, and what he’s been doing. The sound cut his thoughts short, preventing them from consuming Atsumu fully, no longer letting him fall into even more self-despair.

He pushes himself off the chair, tries to get up, feeling heavy and awfully empty. The walls around him are suffocating him, putting a weight on his shoulders that he can’t shake off. 

Atsumu drags his body to the bathroom entrance, peering inside to see Kiyoomi sitting in the bathtub, eyes closed. Steam fills the room and Atsumu furrows his brow, hoping the water isn’t too hot. He leans against the doorframe, shoves his hands into the pocket of his pants, and watches Kiyoomi, enjoying the peaceful look that’s gracing his features.

“Are you planning to just stand there?” Kiyoomi asks, eyes still closed but very aware of Atsumu’s presence. Of course, he notices him.

“Nah…” Atsumu says, dragging his feet to the tub. He gets rid of his stained shirt, sits down on the cold tiles, and leans against it, resting his head on his arm and staring at Kiyoomi’s onyx eyes. 

I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath. I wanna hold you until I melt into your arms. I wanna close every inch between us so that the rhythms of our hearts can unite.

I don't ever want to let you go.

But I shouldn't feel any of that, right? I’m not allowed to. And neither are you.

“Join me,” Kiyoomi says, his look resembles a silent plea.

“Yeah,” Atsumu whispers, because how could he ever resist him?

He finds himself in a tumultuous internal struggle, desperately longing for Kiyoomi, but at the same time knowing he needs to distance himself from him. Every fiber of his being rebels against this idea, but he fears the power Kiyoomi holds over his heart, and most of all, he fears the power Kiyoomi gives him over his own.

Atsumu battles with conflicting desires, torn between the safety of solitude and the magnetic pull of Kiyoomi's presence. But every time he looks into those black eyes, every time he feels his soft lips, he doesn't care about anything else, because Kiyoomi is exactly what Atsumu has always needed. Enemy or not.

So how is Atsumu ever supposed to escape him? Letting go of Kiyoomi equals the feeling of losing his twin. It would mean for him to break and Atsumu...

Atsumu doesn't know if he can do that again.

“I will.”

Chapter Text

“They looked at me funny when I was just near enough the border of Fukuoka Prefecture,” Suna complains at the other end of the line.

Atsumu snorts and drops onto his bed. He’s in his rented apartment above Shirabu and Semi, phone pressed against his ear and back melting into the mattress. “That’s ‘cause ya look funny, Rin.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Atsumu can’t suppress a grin. He can practically see Rintarō grimace.

“Yer suspicious.”

“I look like a normal guy.”

“Uh-huh,” Atsumu hums, rolling onto his stomach. “A moron with a two-meter bow. Totally normal.”

“Without my bow, you idiot.” Suna shuffles around. “Unlike you, I know how to move inconspicuously.”

“Unlike me, yer presence screams trouble.”

“Yeah,” Rin huffs. “‘Cause blonde hair, a too-loud mouth, and an obnoxious and smug behavior don’t exactly scream trouble, alright.”

“Shut up, Sunarin.” Atsumu clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “We both know how much ya love me.”

“I despise you.”

“Mhh,” Atsumu hums and plays with the moon charm of his necklace. “I loathe you, too.”

Ever since Atsumu left Inarizaki once again, Suna has been prowling around the borders of Fukuoka prefecture, searching diligently for any hint of Osamu's whereabouts. From what they have learned so far, they know he must be somewhere within Terushima’s proximity, yet the precise location remained a puzzle.

The chances are high that Osamu is in Daishō's territory, Fukuoka prefecture. Terushima is his right-hand man, and no one dares to even step foot in Daishō's districts without his permission. So, it serves as a golden opportunity to keep Atsumu's brother hidden right under their noses.

What's still unclear is whether Daishō knows about Terushima running around with Osamu, or worse, whether he's even responsible for that. Terushima's motives remain mysterious: is he acting on his own and hatching schemes against his Kumichō, or do they share the responsibility for Osamu's disappearance?

Atsumu can wait to figure this out until his brother has returned safely. For now, the only thing that matters is finding Osamu and getting him out of wherever he is.

“No, but seriously...” Atsumu stares at the dance of dust particles swirling in the air, bathed in the gentle embrace of solitary sunbeams as the sun begins to set. “Watch out, Rin. Okay?”

“Shouldn't I say that to you instead?”

Atsumu frowns. “I'm fine.”

I’m not. But it doesn’t matter.

Suna sighs. “Anything I need to know?”

Of course, he’d notice...

“Not here.” Atsumu shakes his head as if he could see him. He swallows. “Not on the phone.”

“Okay...” Suna says in hushed tones, then takes a deep breath and repeats in a firmer voice, “Okay.”

“Rin?”

Atsumu’s heartbeat is loud.

“Yeah?”

It’s like he’s falling… and falling and falling and falling. Endlessly.

He wants to get rid of that feeling.

“I might’ve screwed up.”

Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face, covering his eyes and trying to ignore the throb of his heart. It’s getting worse. Everything crumbles. It’s too overwhelming. He can't do anything right.

Suna remains quiet for several seconds and Atsumu realizes he must be pondering about his words. He wants to elaborate, to make it clear that it's not the hunt for Osamu or even himself that's in danger. But Atsumu doesn't have to because Suna has already caught on.

Of course, he has.

Whatever you do, watch out.

“Are you alright?” Suna asks, skeptical.

“Yeah...” Atsumu clears his throat. “Yeah, sure.”

No. No, I’m not.

I’m not supposed to feel this way for him. I’m not supposed to feel anything for him. I fucked up, Rin... I fucked up big time.

Suna sighs again.

“Let's find ‘Samu as fast as possible and return to Inarizaki.” There's some more rustling, the noises sound like he's getting up. “We'll sort things out when we're all back together again.”

“Yeah…” Atsumu breathes, his frown deepening. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I can't let Osamu know about this. Kiyoomi can't find out either…

“‘Tsumu?”

“Hm?”

He rips Atsumu out of his thoughts. Atsumu can feel him frowning.

“Hang in there,” Suna says after a while and Atsumu's grip on his phone tightens with Rin’s words. “You’re not alone, okay?” I’m here.

Atsumu presses his lips into a thin line. Then, he releases a shaky breath. He knows Suna would always have his back but… but this is something Atsumu needs to deal with on his own.

“Yeah,” he whispers because he can’t trust his voice. “Thanks, Sunarin.”

“You’re gonna be fine.”

I wish.

As usual, Atsumu enters Oikawa's office fashionably late. Absorbed in his thoughts, he opens the door and avoids the gazes of the others. He’s caught up in his head, pondering about his current situation. It’s odd, really... strange how much it affects him.

The thought of facing Sakusa after everything that happened last night makes Atsumu's stomach churn. Because his feelings towards him are mixed when he shouldn't feel anything for him to begin with.

Break me, he said back when their ‘hookups’ first started, but never in his life did he know what that would entail.

Atsumu would prefer to disappear from the world. To sink into bed and never step outside the door again. He wants to hole up, escape from all his problems and not face his responsibilities. But Atsumu is nobody who lets himself get down so easily. No. Not him.

So, he raises his head and is more or less ready to face the man who throws his whole life into chaos. Instead of seeing Sakusa, though, Atsumu is rewarded with someone who instantly puts a smile on his face.

“Shōyō!”

He laughs because what the hell is he already doing here? Shouldn't he rest for at least another month? Whatever his reasons, he manages to lift Atsumu's mood just by being present. Hinata whips his head around, his grin widening and revealing his shining teeth.

“Atsumu-san!!!”

He waves Atsumu over and scoots aside to make some room between himself and Bokuto. Atsumu flops down and mirrors Hinata’s broad grin, relieved to see him in such a good condition.

“Ya were released from the hospital?” Atsumu asks a little quieter because Oikawa is talking to one of his men. Hinata nods enthusiastically and smiles so wide he needs to close his eyes.

“I still have to take it easy, but so far I'm fine!”

“Good…” Atsumu sighs relieved, his smile is growing. “I’m glad to hear that, Shō.”

“Yeah.” Hinata beams. “I missed out on so many things! I can't wait to work with you again—”

“Which won't happen anytime soon,” Oikawa interrupts them loudly, ripping them out of their conversation.

Hinata’s smile fades slowly as he eyes his Kumichō, now standing in front of them with a serious expression on his face. Bokuto, noticing the sudden attention, sits up straighter, his eyes darting between Oikawa and Hinata. Oikawa sighs, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

“Chibi-chan, you're still recovering. I can't risk sending you out on a mission just yet. Your injuries were severe, and I won't have you jeopardizing your health.”

Hinata's shoulders slump, disappointment evident in his eyes.

“But I feel fine, Oikawa-san! I've been doing my rehab exercises diligently, and the doctors said I'm healing faster than expected!”

Oikawa's gaze softens as he leans against his desk. “I know you're eager to get back out there but I can't take any chances. Your well-being comes first.”

Atsumu watches the exchange, his smile turning into something pitying the longer his eyes linger on Hinata's face. He's really a good kid. He can hardly wait to get back to work and spend time side by side with his friends. The world needs more people like Hinata.

Atsumu knows firsthand the frustration of being sidelined due to injury, but he also understands the importance of taking the necessary time to heal properly.

And unlike other Kumichōs, Oikawa is genuinely concerned that none of his men risk their lives unnecessarily. He would rather cancel missions or put them on hold before sending any of them into danger. It's remarkable, really. And it's something that hardly any leader cares about.

It's like Akaashi once said: Oikawa is one of the good guys.

“Besides, the next mission is located outside Sendai. There's no way I'm sending you there.”

Hinata pouts. “Then who will accompany Bokuto-san?”

Oikawa's gaze shifts to Atsumu as he lights a cigarette. Wordlessly, he looks at him with wide expectant eyes. Atsumu's smile fades slightly, turning his attention towards Oikawa, his eyebrows furrowing in curiosity and amusement.

That Bastard.

“What kinda mission are we talkin’ about?” Atsumu asks, his voice laced with intrigue and a hint of excitement. He liked Bokuto and from what he heard about him this mission could only be fun.

Oikawa straightens up, his gaze fixed on Atsumu. “There's a high-profile target in Yokohama that needs to be taken down discreetly,” he explains, his tone serious. “He owes me a substantial amount of money. It’s time to collect.”

Atsumu raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. He glances at Bokuto, who wears an eager expression and wiggles his brows, ready for the challenge. Oikawa's eyes flicker between him and Atsumu, a mischievous glint in his gaze and a sly smile playing on his lips.

“Why Yokohama? Isn't that also Ushijima's territory?” And as Atsumu mentioned his name, he once again noticed Kiyoomi's absence, wondering where the guy is.

“Not all of it,” Oikawa replies, pushing smoke from his lungs. “Just like in Sendai, some districts of Yokohama are independent. I have a few informants there who launder money for me alongside, but these jerks can't be trusted.” Oikawa chuckles. “Maybe he was threatened by one of Ushiwaka's men, who knows? That would be the worst case because then he probably turned on me.”

“And what's the best case?”

“He just wants to make some extra cash.” Oikawa grins mischievously. “Either way, if he seriously thought I wouldn't notice, he's just stupid. And I can't have people like him working for me.”

“All right,” Bokuto grins and stretches, flexing his fingers and making them crack. “So, then Tsum-Tsum and I take care of him.”

“Yes.” Oikawa nods. “It probably won't be that easy, since he has some guards and security systems in his warehouse, but I'm sure you can handle it.”

“There is nothing easier,” Bokuto says, turning his gaze to Atsumu.

They exchange a determined glance, their excitement building. They may not have worked together before, but they both possess unique skills that can complement each other. Oikawa must have sensed it and therefore wants them to work together.

Atsumu doesn't care that Oikawa is actually using him for the first time for something that is strictly in his interest and has nothing to do with finding Osamu. To be honest, he's even happy to have some sort of distraction from all the bullshit. And Bokuto is definitely someone worth spending time with.

“Ah, the plan can’t include explosions, fire, or killing any other people than him.” Oikawa stares directly at Bokuto.

“Jesus, do you want it to have unicorns and rainbows or something?”

Atsumu snorts at that. Yeah, this mission is going to be fun. He truly likes Bokuto.

“I’m just saying—”

“I know, I know,” Bokuto waves a hand to cut his Kumichō off. “We’ll be careful, all right?”

 “Good.” Oikawa nods and smiles. “Can’t have Akaashi killing me.”

“Oh,” Bokuto chuckles. “Me neither.” Then he raises a brow. “He’ll be there too, right? He’s in Tokyo with Sakusa?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa confirms, and that piques Atsumu’s interest. They stare at each other, and Oikawa gives him a look that tells him not to inquire further for well… obvious reasons.

It doesn't take another second for Atsumu to understand that they are probably in Tokyo because of Kiyoomi's mother. It’s nothing that needs to be discussed in front of the whole crew when in fact, hardly anyone knows about Kiyoomi’s circumstances.

Atsumu suspects that besides him, it's just Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and obviously Akaashi who know more about the situation than Sakusa would ever reveal to anyone else. Bokuto may know too, but even with that, Atsumu isn't too sure. Akaashi is discreet, he wouldn't break his professional secrecy and Bokuto doesn't seem to be the type to push his boyfriend into telling him either. Maybe he doesn’t know.

So, Atsumu remains silent and lets the two of them continue chatting about the mission, about everything they need to do. To be honest, Atsumu doesn't really pay attention anymore. Bokuto would tell him everything he’ll need to know anyway.

Instead, Atsumu digs his phone out of his jacket pocket and hunches over his lap, unlocking his screen and opening his messenger app. He knows for sure it would be smarter if he just distanced himself from Kiyoomi, didn't text him, and if they kept their meetings to the bare minimum. Only for missions, no fooling around.

But yeah, fuck that, because Atsumu has never cared what he'd better do or not do.

Atsumu (today, 11:38 am)

>> You’re in Tokyo?

Omi-kun (today, 11:38 am)

>> Yes.

>> Akaashi wants to check on my mother and see if there’s anything he can do.

It's exactly what he thought – the confirmation he needed. And somewhere it's also a relief because having Akaashi with him means that Kiyoomi is starting to break away from Ushijima's grasp. Maybe Akaashi will manage to help her, or at least get her out of Tokyo and thus reduce Kiyoomi's dependence on that bastard.

And shit, yeah, that’s good. It’s a step in the right direction. Because Atsumu can't stand to see the way Kiyoomi lets himself be treated when he would wring others' necks as soon as they step one foot in his personal space. He can't let Ushijima break him.

Not in the situation Kiyoomi is currently in.

Especially not now.

Omi-kun (today, 11:40 am)

>> Did Oikawa already tell you about your mission?

Atsumu (today, 11:40 am)

>> Just did

Omi-kun (today, 11:41 am)

>> You’re going to be in Yokohama.

>> Be careful when you’re there.

‘You shouldn't care about me’ – ‘But I do.’

Ah, yes. This is the part where Atsumu should end the conversation and avoid Kiyoomi until further notice. But he's a fool, okay? An obnoxious moron who longs for something that would not make sense in any way.

Atsumu (today, 11:44 am)

>> Awww you’re worried about me Omi? (>////< ”)

Omi-kun (today, 11:44 am)

>> Don’t be ridiculous, Miya.

Atsumu (today, 11:44 am)

>> Gotcha ¬‿¬

>> But yeah yeah, do not fret. It’s just a normal job

Atsumu can feel Kiyoomi rolling his eyes. He can’t suppress that small grin tugging on his lips.

He's well aware that he's managing to get under Kiyoomi's skin (even if it’s just a little bit), and the knowledge amuses him incessantly. Just the idea that he might be slightly unnerving Kiyoomi brings a mischievous twinkle to Atsumu's eyes, he enjoys the way they can effortlessly rile each other up with mere words.

Atsumu knows he's being a bit of a menace, poking at Kiyoomi's composure, and it's a game he's more than willing to play – even when he knows, at this point, he really shouldn’t. But it's a rare occasion when he can crack that calm exterior and expose a hint of vulnerability.

Then again: hasn't he done that enough already?

Another buzz of his phone draws his eyes back to the screen.

Omi-kun (today, 11:47 am)

>> Are you heading back to Sendai when you’re done?

Atsumu (today, 11:47 am)

>> Dunno. Bo will probably stay since Akaashi’s staying too but I figured I’m probably gonna take the train back…

>> Why?

He wouldn’t... would he?

No.

Omi-kun (today, 11:48 am)

>> I’m staying in my apartment in Tokyo.

Atsumu blinked at his phone screen, confusion etching across his face. He read the message again, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind Kiyoomi's words. Was he inviting Atsumu over?

No way in hell.

As Oikawa and Bokuto continue discussing mission details, Atsumu's attention remains divided between the conversation in front of him and the messages he's exchanging with Kiyoomi. He knows he should probably focus on the mission at hand, but the pull of his curiosity for Kiyoomi's eventual insinuations is stronger.

Atsumu (today, 11:53 am)

>> Fancy.

>> Didn’t know u got an apartment in Tokyo too…

Omi-kun (today, 11:53 am)

>> I used to live here, Miya.

Duh. Right.

Not his smartest move.

Atsumu (today, 11:54 am)

>> Yeah… figured

>> And now what?

>> Wanna have some company?

Omi-kun (today, 11:55 am)

>> It’s closer than going all the way back to Sendai.

Atsumu blinked repeatedly.

His eyes widened, finally understanding the invitation. A faint blush crept up his cheeks as he realized the implications of Kiyoomi's offer. And then he couldn't help but chuckle at Kiyoomi's attempt to indirectly invite him over.

Atsumu knew Kiyoomi well enough to recognize the annoyance hidden beneath his words. It was clear that Kiyoomi wanted more than just company, but he was too stubborn to ask directly.

Atsumu's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he read Sakusa’s message again. He knew exactly what Kiyoomi was hinting at, and the thought both amused and intrigued him. It seemed that Kiyoomi was trying to be subtle, but Atsumu was never one to shy away from a challenge.

His grin widened as he read between the lines. Kiyoomi's attempt to downplay his intentions only fueled Atsumu's ego. His amusement grew too, and he couldn't resist teasing Kiyoomi a little more, and ah, fuck – he really really really really shouldn’t say yes.

Atsumu (today, 11:56 am)

>> /GASP/

>> Omi-kun

>> Are you-

>> Are you inviting me over?

Omi-kun (today, 11:56 am)

>> Miya.

Atsumu (today, 11:56 am)

>> If u need anything Omi just holler. Seriously

Omi-kun (today, 11:57 am)

>> I'm not going to type it out.

>> Just say no if you don't want to.

Atsumu (today, 11:57 am)

>> I never said I didn't want to.

Uhhhh, wait. Wasn't the plan to… distance himself?

Atsumu's heart pounds a little harder as he stares at his own last message. The invitation to Kiyoomi's apartment in Tokyo lingers in the air, tempting and dangerous. Atsumu knows he should say no. He knows they should stay out of each other’s ways.

But the thing is, Atsumu isn't just dealing with practical suggestions and convenient arrangements. He's not just going to Tokyo for the sake of proximity, no. He's going because a part of him wants to be near Kiyoomi, to see him, to spend the limited time they have left together.

He's always been a risk-taker, but this is different. This feels like treading on thin ice, on the edge of something that could shatter the fragile balance he's tried so hard to maintain. And if he keeps going on like this, that's exactly what's going to happen.

He’ll break.

And Kiyoomi might too.

Atsumu sighs and shakes his head.

This is stupid. It's idiotic because this between them is nothing. Sakusa is simply offering his help. He is, as inconceivable as it may sound, just being nice for once. Atsumu shouldn’t get ahead of himself. It’s just a practical suggestion. Nothing more, nothing less.

…Oh, who the hell is he even kidding.

With a sigh and a mix of resignation and anticipation, Atsumu's fingers dance over the screen as he responds to Kiyoomi's message.

Atsumu (today, 11:59 am)

>> I’ll text you when I’m done

Yes. Atsumu is so, absolutely, 100%, surely, going to be fucked.

“We've been waitin’ here for too damn long,” Atsumu mutters, his voice low and agitated. He shoots a glance at Bokuto, who huffs in agreement.

“Yeah, I'm itching to do something,” Bokuto replies, his fingers twitching around the binoculars in his grip. “I mean, come on! We're here to have some fun...”

They are waiting. For hours now.

Arrived in Yokohama, the duo navigated through dimly lit alleys, following the trail of information provided by Oikawa. Their steps were cautious, their senses heightened as they approached the location where the henchmen are rumored to be hiding.

The city became their playground as they blended into the bustling and vibrant streets. Atsumu's keen eye for detail and Bokuto's boundless energy complement each other perfectly. They moved with purpose; their senses sharp as they gathered all further necessary information about their target's whereabouts.

The mission was simple enough: infiltrate the warehouse, take down the snitch, and get out. But the excessive number of security guards lurking around the premises had turned it into a tedious waiting game.

As they reached the designated spot, Atsumu and Bokuto indeed discovered the numerous guards just like Oikawa had already predicted. It forced them to wait until at least some of them left the place and to come up with a plan to avoid the surveillance system.

So now they are sitting on the rooftop of a nearby building, with Bokuto observing the situation through a pair of binoculars, his energy practically crackling with impatience, and Atsumu lying bored next to him, feet dangling over the wall at a dizzying height.

His fingers drum restlessly against the sheath of Osamu's knife while his other arm is angled supportively beneath his head. Atsumu lets out a frustrated sigh and stares at the sky cloaked in a warm mixture of orange and red. If there's one thing he hates, it's waiting.

“We can’t kill anyone else...” Bokuto mutters, his tone heavy with annoyance.

From everything Atsumu has heard about Bokuto, he knows that the guy usually handles his missions completely differently. Bokuto isn't exactly known for quietly sneaking in somewhere or overthinking his every move. Atsumu is aware that this right now frustrates him at least as much.

“Ugh… screw it.” Atsumu clicks his tongue and swings himself up to sit, feet still hanging over the edge. “Let’s just blow it up and call it a day,” he suggests, his impatience getting the better of him.

Bokuto's eyebrows shoot up. He lowers the binoculars and stares at Atsumu with a mix of surprise and amusement.

“I recall Oikawa telling us to keep a low profile.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Well yeah, and I tend to forget useless shit.”

Bokuto chuckles, teeth gleaming. “Do you also tend to forget the rules?”

“Yeah, like I said,” Atsumu cracks a smile, too. “Useless shit.”

Bokuto laughs at that, hearty and boisterous, a deep rumbling sound that conveys his amusement without words. It broadens Atsumu's smile and relaxes the mood immensely.

“All right,” Bokuto begins and tucks away his binoculars. “There’s a basement that seems unguarded. I suggest we split up: You sneak in and go down to disconnect the surveillance system while I follow close behind and take care of our rip-off.”

Atsumu whines playfully. “And leave all the fun to you alone? C’mon, Bokkun…”

“Hey,” Bokuto intervenes, his tone light but earnest. “If I am to play an assassin, I can guarantee nothing.”

He crouches down and pulls out his light machine gun from the bag he has been carrying on his back all day – a SAKIN MG38, sliding the ammunition of probably 75 bullets straight into it. God, Bokuto is really anything but a normal guy.

Atsumu chuckles. “Alright alright, gotcha,” he says, waving him off.

He's going to attract all the attention anyway if he's going to march in with that thing. Atsumu stifles a laugh at the thought that Oikawa has told them to be discreet, and Bokuto really intends to be anything but that. But hey, after all, they're both here for some fun, right?

With their weapons in their hands, they sneak away from the building and approach the warehouse. The sun has already set, dusk has fallen. The tension in the air is palpable as they make their way through dimly lit corridors, their footsteps silent and calculated.

On their way to the warehouse, Atsumu raises an eyebrow and stares at Bokuto's gun. He can’t help but smile as he quips, “Y’know, Bokkun, some might say carrying that thing around is the exact opposite of keeping a low profile.”

“Well,” Bokuto grins back at him, the playful glint in his eyes matching Atsumu’s mischievousness. “I recall a wise man saying rules are useless shit, Tsum-Tsum. Sometimes you just gotta bring out the big guns and have a blast!”

Atsumu chuckles, shaking his head. “Mmhh, can't argue with that logic.”

They navigate the hallways with practiced ease, moving in tandem. Atsumu can feel the tension in the air, the excitement building as they approached their objective. The warehouse is close, and with Bokuto by his side, Atsumu's confidence soars.

Holding up a hand, Bokuto signals them to stop. He gestures towards a door ahead, his eyes narrowing with determination. Atsumu nods in agreement, and they position themselves on either side of the door, ready to breach.

They check the surroundings and enter when they're sure no one will notice them. Bokuto gestures for Atsumu to go first and the latter smirks, giving him a mock salute and making Bokuto chuckle a little bit.

Navigating through the maze-like interior of the warehouse, they stick to the shadows and avoid any confrontation. They split up once they finally reached the entrance to the basement. Bokuto gives Atsumu another nod, signaling to him they’re both safe to go. Both turn on their earpieces.

Atsumu slips into the basement, his movements are calculated and silent. The dim lighting casts elongated shadows along the walls, and Atsumu's senses are sharpened as he moves further into the depths of the building. His eyes scan for any signs of security systems, his fingers deftly working to disable them.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as Atsumu focused on his task. The silence is interrupted only by the soft hum of machinery.

After what seems like an eternity, Atsumu finally manages to disable the last security device. He straightens, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Now, it's time for Bokuto to do his thing. Atsumu gives him the green light through his earpiece.

Shortly after, he hears a faint noise coming from one of the hallways leading deeper into the basement. He tenses, his instincts kicking in. Atsumu turns towards the sound, his hand moving towards Osamu's knife.

From the shadows emerges a figure, his presence oozing a mixture of unpredictability and intrigue. His grin is unsettling, displaying amusement and something... darker. He chuckles and it's sending shivers down Atsumu's spine.

“Now look who I stumbled upon,” he begins and Atsumu's body is tense. “If that isn't Miya Atsumu.”

Atsumu frowns. “And who are you?”

The man before him is tall. His irises are small and dark red, the ends of his mouth curve into a slight smirk. What catches Atsumu's attention is his spiky, bright red hair and the fucking tantō in his hand – a double-edged dagger.

Ah, shit. Looks like Atsumu actually needs to watch out.

“Oh! You don’t know me? I’m the Guess Monster!” The man chuckles, his laughter echoing softly in the dim space. Then he adds, his voice getting lower, threatening. “But you can also call me Tendō Satori.”

“Tendō.” Atsumu’s grip on the knife tightens, his eyes narrowing. “Sweet. How come ya know me?”

As Tendō’s gaze bore into him, Atsumu couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter holds more significance than he can comprehend. The air is charged with tension, and Atsumu knows he’s about to face more than just another obstacle.

“Y’know, I was just taking a little stroll… was told I should keep an eye on you since you reeeeally really pissed off my boss.” Atsumu’s heart pounds in his chest, his brow furrowing with every word Tendō is uttering. “He told me about you, and I gotta admit, you really have some balls messing with him.”

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Tendō chuckles, plays with the dagger in his hand. With a deep breath, Atsumu readied himself for whatever challenge Tendō would throw his way. The mission isn't over yet, and he is determined to see it through to the end.

“Has it ever occurred to you whose territory you're on?” Tendō’s eyes flash, Atsumu's widen.

“Kōhoku-ku is independent.”

“But everything around Yokohama isn't, and our miracle boy isn't exactly amused to see you here, so he gave me a little permission...”

A bang rings out from above and in the next blink of an eye, Tendō is standing next to him, his lips next to Atsumu's ear. Shit, why is this guy so fast?

“I get to play with you until I get bored, or you die. Isn't that great?”

The punch comes so fast that Atsumu almost fails to block it. Tendō's fist crashes into Atsumu's palm, throwing him back a few feet, but not knocking him over. Tendō's grin is sick.

Atsumu's heart pounds fast as he stumbles back from the force of Tendō’s blow, his grip on Osamu’s knife steady in his hand. His mind races, analyzing the situation, trying to anticipate Tendō’s next move. His agility catches him off guard, and Atsumu realizes he’s up against a formidable opponent. The adrenaline courses through his veins, sharpening his senses.

Watch out, ‘Tsumu...

Tendō's chuckle reverberates in the air, a chilling contrast to the tense atmosphere. Atsumu narrows his eyes, his body coiled like a spring, ready to react. He can't afford to underestimate Tendō, not when the man's presence alone exudes danger.

Tendō straightens, his tantō glinting in the dim light. “Y’know, I already figured Oikawa's rookies for a bunch of aggravating little snots, but you really take the cake!”

Atsumu's lips curl into a defiant grin. “Ain’t Oikawa’s rookie.”

“I know,” Tendō smirks. “You’re from Inarizaki and that’s even worse.”

Without a warning, Tendō lunges forward, the blade of his tantō aimed at Atsumu's chest. Atsumu's instincts kick in, and he sidesteps the attack with swift finesse. The tantō slashes through the air, missing him by a hair's breadth. Atsumu counters with a swift jab from Osamu's knife, aiming for Tendō's side. The latter deflects the blow effortlessly, his movements fluid and calculated.

They circle each other, the tension is palpable. Atsumu knows he's facing an opponent with skill and experience, someone who won't be easy to defeat. Tendō's grin widens, his eyes alight with excitement.

“You're too slow,” Tendō muses. “Blocking is all about reading and your sense of smell.”

“Don't need to block when I can hit.”

Atsumu’s chest heaves and Tendō chuckles again.

“Jump towards the direction that smells like satisfaction.” Tendō lunges again, Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Maybe then you will hit.”

Atsumu reacts with a rapid series of parries and dodges. The clash of metal rings out in the confined space, their blades striking and deflecting with precision. Atsumu's mind races, analyzing Tendō's movements, trying to find an opening.

He hates fighting such opponents solely using knives, even more so if it's one with a curved blade like Osamu's. His twin has always been better at close combat. After all, there's a reason why Atsumu keeps his opponents at least somewhat at a distance with the long blade of his katana. But fuck, there's no time for sulking now. He adapts on the fly, his years of training kicking in.

Tendō's attacks are relentless, his movements unpredictable. Atsumu's heart pounds as he narrowly avoids each strike. He can't afford to make a mistake. He feints with a low strike, then swiftly changes direction, aiming for Tendō's shoulder. Tendō anticipates the move, and the two blades clash with a resounding clash.

Their eyes lock for a split second, a silent exchange of determination. Atsumu's palms are slick with sweat, his muscles tense. He pushes against Tendō with all his strength, their blades locked in a fierce struggle.

Not good... This is fucking bad.

Because Tendō's strength is formidable.

With a sudden surge, he breaks free of Atsumu's hold, using his elbow to shove Atsumu back. Atsumu stumbles, his balance momentarily compromised. It's the opening Tendō needs.

Tendō's tantō strikes with blinding speed, Atsumu barely managing to twist his body and avoid a direct hit. But the blade grazes his left palm, a searing pain shooting through him as blood wells up from the shallow cut. Atsumu grits his teeth, the pain feeling different than just a simple slice.

“Ah, but y’see?” Tendō stands still for a moment. “Dodging isn't about avoiding the strike. It's about spiking their hit back at them.”

Before Tendō can press his advantage, a powerful voice echoes through the basement. “‘Tsumu! We need to vanish!”

The words snap Atsumu back to reality, and he darts his gaze toward the source of the voice. Bokuto stands at the entrance of the hallway, his presence commanding and urgent. Tendō’s attention wavers for a split second, giving Atsumu enough time to pull himself back together.

“Well, seems like our playtime is over... for now.” Tendō's laughter fills the air, a mix of amusement and frustration. “How's that line go again? If you wanna beat Wakatoshi-kun, gotta go through me first. M'kay?”

The tension in the air is thick as Tendō's words hang there, a veiled threat that lingers. Atsumu's frown deepens, his grip on Osamu's knife tightening. He's not one to back down, especially in the face of intimidation. But he knows that for now, retreating is the wisest choice.

Bokuto's voice slices through the tension again, urgent and insistent. “Hey! ‘Tsumu!”

Atsumu's gaze flicks back to Bokuto, and he nods in acknowledgment although he knows he can't see him. Without another word, Atsumu takes a step back, putting some distance between himself and Tendō. His palm stings, the pain a stark reminder of the close encounter. But he can't dwell on it now.

“Miya,” Tendō says, his voice trailing after him as he retreats. “If you ever show your face in one of Wakatoshi-kun's territories again, you'll end up six feet under.”

Atsumu's jaw clenches, frustration simmering within him.

Bastard.

With a last lingering gaze at Tendō, Atsumu turns on his heels and hurries after Bokuto. The sounds of his footsteps echo through the corridor, the tension slowly dissipating as he puts more distance between himself and his encounter with Tendō.

As they make their way out of the warehouse and into the cool night air, Atsumu's heart still races from the adrenaline of the fight. He can't shake the feeling that this encounter was only the beginning of a much larger challenge, one that will test his skills and maybe even his life.

One of Ushijima's men, huh?

Oh, how he hates all that scum.

Bokuto and Atsumu find a secluded spot near the warehouse's entrance, away from prying eyes. The dim light from a nearby streetlamp casts a soft glow over their makeshift resting place. Atsumu sits down on an overturned crate, his injured palm cradled carefully against his chest.

Atsumu breathes slowly and deeply through chattering teeth. For some inexplicable reason, he's incredibly cold and the cool air outside isn't exactly helping him warm up. Atsumu leans over, pressing his elbow into his knee and the fingers of his uninjured hand into his temple. His muscles ache. His palm burns. And he keeps on breathing that cold, cold air, no matter how much it makes his lungs burn.

Bokuto kneels in front of him, concern etching his features.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu, let me take a look at that,” Bokuto says gently, his voice laced with worry.

Atsumu hesitates for a moment before slowly revealing his injured hand. The cut on his palm isn't deep, but it's bleeding steadily and for some reason, he starts to feel dizzy. Closing his eyes, Atsumu grits his teeth against the wave of nausea.

Fuck, he thinks. What the hell is going on?

Bokuto reaches into a small medical kit he had brought along and retrieves some sterile gauze and adhesive bandages.

“Good thing Keiji always forces these on me,” Bokuto quips with a reassuring grin. He begins to clean the wound with a gentle touch, his fingers deftly working to stop the bleeding. Atsumu winces slightly at the sting, but he appreciates Bokuto's care.

His gaze lifts from Atsumu's palm to meet his golden eyes. “Are you okay, ‘Tsumu? Seemed like it was pretty dangerous back there.”

Atsumu manages a small nod, though a lingering unease tugs at his thoughts. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just a scratch.”

Bokuto finishes applying the bandage and leans back, studying Atsumu's expression. “You sure? You seem a bit... off.”

Atsumu forces a smile. “I'm just tired, Bokkun. Long day, ya know?”

Bokuto doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he doesn't press further. Instead, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, we should head back. You think you can make it to Sendai on your own? Or do you want me to–”

Atsumu waves him off, trying to sound nonchalant. “Yeah, yeah, don't worry ‘bout me. I'll be fine. You go enjoy your night.”

Bokuto stands up, looking torn between wanting to stay and making sure Atsumu is all right. “You sure, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu nods, offering a reassuring grin. “Yeah, I promise. Go have fun with Keiji-kun.”

Bokuto hesitates another moment but then nods. As he says his goodbyes and leaves the place, Atsumu's heart sinks a little. Just as he begins to let his guard down, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, his heart skipping a beat when he sees a message from Kiyoomi.

He sent him his address, and Atsumu's mind raced. He knows this is wrong, on so many levels. Ushijima's territory, Tendō's threat, their shared past... But something about Kiyoomi draws him in, something about him won’t let him escape.

I shouldn’t go… I really shouldn’t go…

As if he will ever have a chance.

Cursing internally, Atsumu pushes the conflicting emotions aside and stands up. He casts a quick glance toward the direction Bokuto went, his resolve hardening. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe he's playing with fire, but right now, he can't ignore the pull, and shit does he need Kiyoomi right now.

He needs his arms around him. He needs to kiss him. He wants to forget all of this. And Kiyoomi is the only one with whom he can do that.

With a determined exhale, Atsumu heads in the opposite direction, his steps taking him toward a destination that he knows he shouldn't be seeking.

By the time Atsumu arrives at Kiyoomi's place, he doesn't feel any better. If anything, the cold seems to have seeped into his bones, leaving him shivering and unsettled. He hesitates for a moment outside the door, his hand poised to knock, before steeling himself and rapping his knuckles against the wood.

The door swings open, revealing Kiyoomi on the other side. It's the first time, apart from the days they spent in Inarizaki, that he's dressed in rather casual clothes. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt jacket, as if he hadn't been playing Yakuza all day – props to him. Atsumu would like to make a snarky comment, but he feels too shitty to tease Kiyoomi.

Instead, Kiyoomi’s brows furrow in surprise as his eyes take in Atsumu's appearance. Atsumu isn't exactly in the best state... His usually vibrant golden eyes are dull, and the pallor of his usual tanned skin is a stark contrast to the dark circles under his eyes.

Kiyoomi's lips twitch into a bemused smile as he leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, well. You look worse than I expected for ‘a normal job.’”

Atsumu manages a weak grin, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Ahh, ya know me, always gotta make an entrance.”

Kiyoomi's gaze shifts to the reddened bandage around Atsumu's wrist. He nods at it and his expression turns more concerned; his tone softens. “What happened?”

Atsumu waves his uninjured hand dismissively. “Eh, just a weak moment. Nothing serious.”

Kiyoomi's eyes hold doubt and something else that Atsumu can't quite pinpoint, but he doesn't press further. Instead, he steps aside, inviting Atsumu inside. “Come in. I've set out some clean clothes for you in the bathroom. Shower, change, and I'll take care of your clothes.”

Atsumu nods silently and steps past Kiyoomi into the apartment. It looks filthy rich, and it’s dimly lit, but the warmth of the space is a welcoming sensation compared to the chill he had been feeling outside. Atsumu stifles a mocking comment about the apartment or Kiyoomi wanting him to shower or him washing his clothes - honestly, he's too worn out for that.

Instead, he swallows. Fresh guilt claws at him from the inside once he's actually in front of Sakusa. He withholds things from him that he definitely should know but Atsumu is too scared of the consequences.

His emotions are still twisted in a tangled mess. He knows he shouldn't be here, that he's risking too much by seeking solace in Kiyoomi. But at this moment, all he wants is a distraction, a way to escape the weight of his own thoughts.

Atsumu's gaze lingers on Kiyoomi's face, and he can't help but is torn between feelings of desire and uncertainty. He needs this, needs Kiyoomi's touch, his presence, to temporarily drown out the chaos that's threatening to consume him.

With a deep breath, Atsumu forces himself to focus. “Actually, I could really use that shower right now.”

Kiyoomi nods toward the bathroom, his look is still worried. “It's to your right.”

“Thanks,” Atsumu mutters, his voice almost a whisper. He can't say more, doesn't want to express the storm of emotions inside him. So, the words remain trapped.

“Let me know when you're done. I'll wait in the living room.”

Atsumu gives him another nod in response, his eyes averted.

Fuck, he feels awful.

He follows Kiyoomi's directions to the bathroom and takes a moment to glance at himself in the mirror. He looks... worn out. His hair is disheveled, his eyes tired, and there's something else lingering beneath the surface that he can't quite place.

He quickly sheds his clothes and steps into the shower, the warm water cascading over his tired muscles. He scrubs his skin raw, trying to get rid of the ache in his bones, and lets his body warm up. It's a brief reprieve from the chaos that's been swirling within him.

As he steps out of the shower, the floor suddenly jerks beneath him. Atsumu stumbles and smacks his palms against the sink in front of him, sending another stinging pain right through his veins when he reopened his wound. Atsumu contorts his face but stifles the pained groan in his throat.

“What the...?” He mutters and frowns.

Atsumu crouches down but remains his hands on the edge of the sink to support himself and takes a few breaths. Then, he slowly straightens up again. The floor is still uneven, so he keeps his uninjured hand on the sink.

Atsumu does his best and towels off. He dresses in the spare clothes Kiyoomi had laid out. Gray sweatpants and a loose black shirt. Definitely too big for him but it's not like he plans to keep them on anyway.

He also renews the bandage wrapped around his palm and does a sloppy job, to be honest, but it's hard to concentrate when he’s this drowsy. He wipes his blood off the sink and makes sure to leave everything neatly behind.

When Atsumu finally emerges from the bathroom, he takes one cautious step after another. The imbalance becomes dizziness. The dizziness becomes nausea and shit, that's not exactly what he's planned for the night with Kiyoomi. Then a sharp sting spreads from his hand up his arm and Atsumu gulps.

That’s not muscle pain. That doesn’t feel like a simple cut.

Atsumu closes his eyes and takes another deep breath.

That’s not good.

Atsumu’s heart speeds up as he stands in the hallway, a hand settled on the wall to guide himself to the living room. He slowly opens his eyes, struggling to focus them as he makes his way to Kiyoomi.

Atsumu shuffles across the floor, keeping his arms out for balance, and reaches the living room. Kiyoomi spots him, stands up, and approaches him. When Atsumu is about to enter that stupidly rich living room, the floor picks just that moment to shift beneath his feet. Kiyoomi catches him before he even knows he was going down.

“Holy shit, are you all right?!”

“Yeah, I’m…” Not. Not at all. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. “I need to sit.”

“I think you need to lie down, actually.”

Kiyoomi guides him to his bed and oh God, yes, that helps. Being flat on his back, without worrying about staying up – that definitely helps. But the ache doesn’t quit. Instead, it’s getting worse.

“What’s wrong?” Kiyoomi asks and Atsumu sighs. He wipes an unsteady hand over his face and realizes he can't fake his way out of here anyway, so he might as well tell him.

“Got into a fight with that guy… umm… red, spiky hair…?”

“Tendō?” Kiyoomi asks horrified.

“Yeah. That–” Atsumu slurs. “That’s the name. He caught me with his tantō and... somehow this damn bleeding won't stop and—”

Kiyoomi flies to his feet. “I’m calling a doctor.”

“No!” Atsumu sits up, immediately regretting it.

The world shifts out from under him again but bless him because strong arms stop him before he tumbles off the bed. Kiyoomi eases him back down to the mattress, his brows are pinched together in worry.

“Atsumu, you need to—”

“No,” Atsumu interrupts, then swallows. “Can't go to a hospital.”

Their eyes lock, Kiyoomi’s seem filled with a million unspoken questions. Apparently, however, he quickly grasps what Atsumu's reasons are...

Ushijima can't find out that he's here.

“I’ll be okay,” Atsumu lies.

Okay in heaven maybe... or in hell. God, I am so fucked. So, so fucked.

But then Kiyoomi cups Atsumu’s face and looks him in the eyes and shit, Atsumu’s heart quivers.

“I’ll call Akaashi.”

Atsumu frowns. “But then he finds out I'm here with you and—”

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi interrupts him, and Atsumu’s mouth snaps shut. “Do you trust me?”

I shouldn’t trust you and you shouldn’t trust me.

Fuck, Kiyoomi, what am I even doing here?

“Yeah,” Atsumu swallows. “Yeah, of course. I do.”

“Then let me make this call.”

Atsumu holds his gaze, searching for something… anything in Kiyoomi’s eyes that would tell him he’s not doing this out of worry. That he’s not doing this because he’s concerned about Atsumu’s life. That he’s only doing this because he can’t have him die when Oikawa still needs him.

Atsumu is looking for something that will assure him Kiyoomi is doing this not because of any feelings.

Then he swallows, nods slowly, and whispers, “Okay.”

Kiyoomi helps him back onto the pillows and Atsumu closes his eyes. The world is still rocking and rolling, not helping the nausea in the slightest. Kiyoomi is nearby but his voice sounds a million miles away.

“Akaashi,” he says worriedly. “I think Atsumu was poisoned. I need your help. Fast.”

“Atsumu-san,” Akaashi says. “I’m going to start an IV and give you some isotonic fluid to keep you hydrated. It is also mixed with an antidote that should purify your blood.”

“How—” Atsumu rasps. “How d’ya know it’s poison? And which one it is…?”

“Kiyoomi described your symptoms to me and pulled your old bandages out of the trash so I could quickly analyze them here for remnants of the poison. Bokuto also told me what was going on, so it was pretty obvious to me.” Akaashi's lips curl into a flat smile. “You're lucky. If you had gone back to Sendai, your heart would have cramped halfway back.”

“Fuck…”

“Mhmm,” Akaashi hums and uncaps a needle. Atsumu’s eyes go wide.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head and contemplates rather to die. “There’s no way in hell ya gonna put that thing in me!”

“Atsumu-san—”

“No!”

“You won't even notice it...”

“The hell will I!”

“Atsumu…” Sakusa touches his face and Atsumu's panicked eyes flit up to him. He caresses Atsumu's cheekbone and stares at him fondly. Atsumu's heart trips, this traitor, and for a moment nothing else but Kiyoomi exists.

And then the needle is pressed into Atsumu’s arm and Atsumu winces slightly.

Akaashi was quick. In seconds, everything was in place, and he tethered the bag to the top of the bedside lamp. He also cleaned and patched up Atsumu's wounds, putting a proper bandage around his palm to stop the bleeding.

He checks Atsumu over, listening to his chest and taking his blood pressure. All the while, Kiyoomi stays out of the way, watching them silently like a hawk.

Akaashi drapes his stethoscope around his neck and runs through a battery of questions, mostly asking about Atsumu’s symptoms. Occasionally, he throws in questions about what day it is, where he is, and what his name is.

“Have you had any paralysis? Numbness?”

Atsumu shakes his head. “Balance is fucked, but... nah, nothing like that.”

“Good.” Akaashi nods. “What’s your mother’s name?” Atsumu’s expression darkens and Akaashi stiffens a little. “Where are you right now?”

“Tokyo. Omi’s apartment, wondering why the fuck ya wanna know ‘bout my mom.”

“Well, you’re obviously not confused, then.” Akaashi stands up. “I’m going to talk to Sakusa-san and explain everything to him. You might fall asleep from exhaustion soon, so you probably won't be able to remember everything. Just try to relax for now.”

Atsumu glares at him but doesn’t speak. He sighs and nods then, sliding his eyes shut for a second and breathing slowly. He watches Akaashi getting up and approaching Kiyoomi on the other side of the room.

“How is he?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Well, don’t ask about his mother...”

Kiyoomi purses his lips and Atsumu stifles a smirk. “I mean, his condition...”

“I know. And it’s good you called me when you did.” Akaashi puts his things back into the bag. “The treatment along with the IV should help. Check his injured arm every now and then for stains but as long as his symptoms don’t worsen, he should improve.”

“And if they do?”

Akaashi glances at Kiyoomi. “Then he needs to go to a hospital.” Kiyoomi scowls but Akaashi shoots him a pointed look. “You know Tendō’s poisons can be unpredictable, and I don't have my materials here to analyze them sufficiently. However, a hospital does have them.”

Kiyoomi shifts his weight and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Just tell me honestly – should I bring him to the hospital right now, yes or no?”

“He is lucky the cut wasn't deep.” Akaashi sighs. “He’s fine for now and as I said, if he doesn’t get any worse, he should be okay. Just keep a close eye on him.”

“Of course.” Kiyoomi uncrosses his arms. Concern remains chiseled on his face. “For how long?”

“Judging by his condition now, I’d say the next three to four hours are critical. Be safe and stay with him for at least twelve.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi nods. “I’ll stay with him as long as I can.”

“Good.” Akaashi glances around the room. At Atsumu. At Kiyoomi. And then his eyebrows pinch together, and the question is unmistakable. Kiyoomi swallows.

“Akaashi–”

“I won’t ask. And yes, this stays between us. Bokuto won't spill the beans either, don't worry.”

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi says, and then they walk out of his bedroom.

Besides Oikawa (and probably Iwaizumi), no one knew about the thing going on between Atsumu and Kiyoomi. So Kiyoomi's insistence on confidentiality is not surprising, and they both know how much Akaashi can be trusted.

Atsumu hears them talking in the distance, but their words remain indistinct to him. So, he decides to close his eyes again and take deep and long breaths, trying to relax.

He hears the click of the door and not a minute later Kiyoomi is sitting beside him at the edge of his bed. Atsumu slowly opens his eyes and surrenders to his captivating gaze, onyx orbs swallowing him up.

“How are you?”

Atsumu shivers – maybe because of Kiyoomi, maybe because of the poison in his veins.

“I’m okay... a little cold but it’s f–”

Atsumu doesn't manage to finish the sentence because Kiyoomi is already taking off his black sweatshirt jacket and throwing it around Atsumu's shoulders. The latter blushes, his heart beats fast, Kiyoomi's warmth immediately doing him good.

Ah, shit...

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles and averts his gaze. Now, in fact, heat rises in his head. His heart beats a little too fast.

Kiyoomi's presence beside him is a comforting weight but Atsumu can’t stop feeling these twisted emotions swirling within him. He's torn between the desire to keep Kiyoomi at arm's length and the undeniable attraction that pulls him closer.

It’s a prohibited game. Even more so ever since he found out what connects them.

Atsumu shifts slightly to get comfortable, the jacket neatly draped around him. The fabric carries Kiyoomi's scent and it's making Atsumu’s head spin blissfully and his stomach twist. The gesture is simple, but the effect is huge.

He wraps the jacket tighter around his shoulders, welcoming the warmth that emanates from it when he knows he shouldn’t read too much into it. They’re nothing. They should be nothing. Sooner or later this between them will end.... must end.

“Feeling a little better now?” Kiyoomi's voice is soft, his eyes studying Atsumu's face for any sign of improvement.

Atsumu nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah... yeah, it’s better. Yer jacket’s like a warm hug.”

Kiyoomi chuckles slightly, and Atsumu can't help but notice the way his lips curve... notice the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It's a rare sight – Kiyoomi showing a hint of amusement. Atsumu finds himself drawn to it. His heart skips multiple beats the longer he stares, and he quickly averts his gaze to hide the blush that's creeping up his cheeks again.

Why does Kiyoomi always have to be so damn... distracting?

Atsumu fidgets slightly with the hem of the jacket, his fingers tracing the fabric absentmindedly. Kiyoomi's lips twitch into a small smile, and for a moment, their eyes meet. There's a warmth there, something that goes beyond everything Atsumu has ever experienced, and he finds himself getting lost in that gaze, the intensity of it making his heart race.

“So, that tattoo on yer arm,” Atsumu clears his throat, hoping to break the spell Kiyoomi seems to weave over him. “Does it have a special meaning?”

Kiyoomi's gaze remains locked on Atsumu, his expression thoughtful. He shifts his position, sitting more comfortably on the edge of the bed. Then, he nods.

“Yeah, it does.”

Atsumu's curiosity piques, and he props himself up to sit straighter, careful not to aggravate his injury.

 “Mind tellin’ me about it?”

Kiyoomi stares at him for a moment. Then, he averts his gaze to his fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of the sheets as he speaks. “The dragon represents a lot of things for me. Struggle with myself, personal growth... a reminder that life can be unpredictable, just like the flames that birthed it.”

Atsumu listens intently, his gaze flickering between Kiyoomi's face and the tattoo he's describing.

“The chrysanthemums, though...” Kiyoomi's voice takes on a softer tone, and his gaze seems to lose focus for a moment. Then he snaps it up to meet golden eyes and Atsumu shivers. “The white ones symbolize death. It's a constant reminder of my family, of what I'm doing, why I'm doing it.”

Atsumu's heart aches at the depth of Kiyoomi's words. He can sense the weight of his past, the burden he carries with every petal of that tattoo. Kiyoomi has never had it easy. And Atsumu made it even harder for him.

“And the purple ones?” Atsumu prompts gently, pushing his thoughts aside and sensing that there's more to the story. Kiyoomi's lips curve into a wistful smile.

“The purple ones represent proximity and faithfulness. They remind me of the people who are close to me, who have stood by me, my friends who are like my second family, and... they especially remind me of my cousin,” Kiyoomi says, holding Atsumu’s gaze. Then, he reveals, “Motoya... Komori Motoya is his name, by the way.”

Atsumu's brows knit together.

He feels a stab through his heart, and again the actual reason remains hidden – maybe because of Kiyoomi, maybe because of the poison. He can’t tell. Or rather, he doesn't want to.

Kiyoomi smiles faintly, a fond glint swirls in his eyes. “He's been there through everything and was always supporting me... We've faced our own battles, but we've always had each other's backs.”

Oh, and it stings.

Atsumu's heart aches at the sincerity in Kiyoomi's voice. It's a side of him he's hardly seen before – vulnerable, open.

Atsumu can never let Kiyoomi know that he's responsible for Komori's coma. He can never let him know that the contract for killing him still stands and that either Komori or Atsumu himself will pay with their lives.

Atsumu takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Where's yer cousin now?”

If he locates where Komori is staying, he can avoid coming anywhere near him. As long as he doesn't see him, he doesn't have to kill him. He can keep out of his way. Because if he kills him, he loses Kiyoomi in ways he could never forgive himself for.

Atsumu knows they will eventually take different paths. But when they do, he wants to make sure Kiyoomi can still look him in the eyes.

Atsumu’s stomach twists, a different kind of nausea is kicking in.

Kiyoomi's expression turns into a frown as he pauses briefly before relenting. “At Oikawa's headquarters.” Atsumu gulps. “Next to his office on the top floor is a decent apartment that he has provided for him. Akaashi and his medical team live just one floor below, which enables them to monitor him nearly constantly.”

Atsumu's heart races. He tries not to show how screwed he is.

“When we... were still in Itachiyama, he usually handled our contracts and made sure nothing was wrong with them. We then mostly went off together to eliminate our targets.”

“You could trust him blindly.”

“Yeah...” Kiyoomi sighs and averts his gaze to his own fingers. “I just wish he'd wake up.”

Atsumu swallows thickly and doesn't comment further. Kiyoomi remains silent for a few seconds, too. Then he lifts his head and locks his gaze with Atsumu again.

“I meant it when I said you two would get along well. With him on your team, you might even have a chance against me.”

“What,” Atsumu scoffs, a small impish smile matching that of Kiyoomi. “You think I alone can't take ya down?”

“Like this?” Kiyoomi’s smile widens. “Definitely not.”

And there's a lightness between them that shouldn't be there. A strange feeling in Atsumu's heart that needs to go away.

Because Atsumu is falling.

He doesn't know how long or how deep, but he is falling. And once he crashes with reality, he is going to regret ever getting involved with this. Because he knows where this is going to end. He knows this doesn’t make sense.

He knows he’s going to break.

And he knows Kiyoomi might too.

But he can’t stop...

They can’t stop.

“Sounds like you have a great bond with him,” Atsumu says softly.

Kiyoomi's gaze meets Atsumu's, and for a moment, it's as if the air between them crackles with unspoken emotions. “Yeah, we do. He's... important to me.”

Of course, he is.

Atsumu's pulse quickens as the intensity of the moment hangs in the air. He wants to say something, to share his own vulnerabilities, reveal his secrets, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he finds himself drawn to Kiyoomi's gaze, his heart pounding erratically, so strong that it hurts.

The silence stretches between them, both of them lost in their thoughts, in the connection that seems to have formed between them. Atsumu's fingers keep playing with the edge of the jacket, his mind a whirlwind of emotions.

He'll never be able to tell him.

Atsumu breaks the silence, his voice low. “I’m sorry. You asked me to come over tonight for somethin’ a lot more enjoyable than–”

“I just wanted to see you.”

You shouldn’t...

“Not like this.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I am,” Atsumu shifts. “This is bullshit.”

“Hey...” Kiyoomi's gaze softens, and he reaches out, his fingers gently grazing Atsumu's uninjured hand. “I'm just glad you're here. Alive.”

Atsumu’s eyes are big, his gaze a little... startled.

Don't say that...

“What are ya gonna do when Komori wakes up? Will ya stay with Oikawa?” Because Atsumu needs to know...

Kiyoomi shrugs his shoulders. “Depends on what Motoya wants. He's always been someone who prefers to be independent.”

Atsumu smiles faintly, then mumbles absently. “Ah, sounds a lot like ‘Samu.”

Kiyoomi squeezes his hand and it’s weirdly intimate. All of this.

“What about you?”

Atsumu cocks his head. “What about me?”

“What are you going to do when you get your brother back?”

Atsumu studies Kiyoomi, hesitation lingering in his eyes. But then he relaxes a little and offers another faint smile.

“We were planning to go to Osaka. Whenever ‘Samu will be ready, he was gonna open a restaurant, and I...” Atsumu's grin widens. “I'll probably move around the streets and do whatever I want.”

Kiyoomi's smile grows, and his fingers tighten slightly around Atsumu's hand, as if not wanting to let him go either. Then he says, his voice gentle, “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

And at that moment, as their hands intertwine and their gazes lock, Atsumu feels a warmth spreading within him – a warmth that has nothing to do with the jacket he's wearing and everything to do with the connection he's forming with Kiyoomi.

He pulls Atsumu in. Makes him feel things like no one ever has before. It's addictive... dangerous.

“Hey,” Atsumu says, his voice soft. “Blame it on my drowsiness, but I always enjoyed working with ya, Omi-kun. With Hinata and Bokkun too... I think the four of us would make a cool team.”

“Getting sentimental now, hm?” Kiyoomi chuckles. “No worries, Atsumu, you're not going to die.” I won’t let you.

Another stab in Atsumu’s heart.

“MSBY – Hinata came up with that name,” Atsumu says, his gaze lifting to meet Kiyoomi's gleaming eyes. He cocks a brow and stares at Atsumu expectantly. Atsumu continues, “We'd prowl around like wild foxes.”

Kiyoomi's lips curl into a soft smile, giving Atsumu a look. Atsumu's grin widens and Kiyoomi can't help but chuckle, shaking his head.

“Black Jackals,” he says then and catches Atsumu’s attention. “That would fit better.”

It does.

The silence hangs in the air for a moment longer, a comfortable stillness between them. Atsumu can feel his heart beating in his chest and tries to steady himself, to tamp down the feelings that threaten to overwhelm him.

“Thanks,” Atsumu breaks the silence once again, holding Kiyoomi’s gaze. “For giving a shit...”

And there’s something in Kiyoomi’s eyes that Atsumu can’t decipher. Something so loving and real that Atsumu wants to drown in.

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply but smooths Atsumu’s hair. His eyes are unreadable.

But then Kiyoomi leans in and cradles Atsumu’s neck, drawing him into a soft kiss. Goosebumps prickle on Atsumu’s neck, his skin is hot where Kiyoomi is touching him. His cheeks flush in a soft red and Kiyoomi’s lips are everything Atsumu needs to start living.

This kiss is all he needs. It’s enough. More than enough. A tender reassurance that yes, Atsumu is okay and yes, Kiyoomi really cares.

When Kiyoomi breaks the kiss and lifts his head, their eyes meet. Atsumu’s injured hand slides off his neck, but Kiyoomi doesn’t pull away. Atsumu holds Kiyoomi’s gaze, his heart thumps and his lips tingle and Atsumu wants more.

Kiyoomi's hand still holds onto Atsumu's, their fingers entwined in a gentle grip that sends a rush of warmth through Atsumu's veins. He gazes at Kiyoomi, feeling the walls he's built around himself start to crumble, piece by piece. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

And just as the silence settles between them once more, the room is interrupted by the buzzing of Atsumu's phone.

They both startle, breaking their connection as Atsumu fumbles to grab the phone from the nearby table. Atsumu swallows thickly, then internally curses whoever dares to interrupt them. His eyes widen, however, holding the screen up to his face.

“It's Suna,” Atsumu says, his voice tinged with urgency as he swipes to accept the call. “Sunarin?”

Kiyoomi watches Atsumu intently, concern evident in his eyes. Atsumu listens to Suna's voice on the other end of the line, his heart dropping with the following words.

“‘Tsumu,” Suna says. “I found Osamu.”

Chapter Text

Falling in love is easy.

Getting over it is not.

★　　　⭑　⭑　　☆　　　⋆　　　　.　　 ☆⭑

“Did ya see that, ‘Samu? Did ya?! I sliced through that scum like butter! I'm tellin' ya, I'm the best damn assassin Inarizaki's ever seen,” Atsumu boasted, his chest puffed out with exaggerated pride.

His katana gleamed in the low light of a streetlamp, the long blade polished to perfection, while Osamu's knife, serrated and deadly, glinted in the shadows. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins from their recent mission, Atsumu leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and grinning smugly at his brother.

Osamu rolled his eyes, a scoff escaping his lips as he sheathed his knife.

“Oh please, ‘Tsumu, keep yer ego in check. We both know I took down more targets than ya did.”

“Wha— the hell ya did!” Atsumu flailed with his arms, pointed at the bodies around them, and flashed his brother a pissed-off smile. “The count is 16 to 13 and I recall Suna taking one out for ya so yer practically at 12.”

“Nah,” Osamu tilted his head and pointed at a pile of corpses behind them with a simple mocking nod. “Took them out while ya were busy stumbling. Add them to yer stupid count and we’re at 16 to 18.”

Atsumu's grin faltered, then he gaped at them, wondering when the hell Osamu finished them off (when ya tripped you idiot), and ah, sometimes he seriously hates that cocky bastard (not really). Especially when he puts on that stupid grin.

So, Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut, a faint red sprouting in his cheeks. “That was just a... tactical stumble.”

Osamu shot him a dry look. “Tactical stumble? More like a tactical embarrassment.”

“Shut up,” grumbled Atsumu. “At least I wasn’t blushing like some coy schoolgirl just ‘cause my ‘not-a-crush'-crush was watching us from afar…”

Now Osamu's face flushed a deep shade of red, his embarrassment evident even in the dim light. He reached out and smacked Atsumu on the back of his head, his voice low and threatening. “Shut yer trap, ‘Tsumu…”

But that just had Atsumu grinning like a cat that got the cream.

He rubbed the back of his head mockingly as they exchanged a brief, knowing glance, a silent dare standing between them. Osamu's feelings for Suna were obvious, though he hadn't outright stated them. And Atsumu… well, he could read between the lines with the finesse of a seasoned assassin.

Oh, ‘Samu... Atsumu thought. We all know ya have the hots for him.

Whatever, Osamu would answer. He avoided his brother's gaze. It's not like it matters.

It was summer and it was hot, the heat made it impossible to catch even the slightest wink of sleep. Atsumu kicked the covers off his bed and spread himself all over the mattress, absorbing the coolness of the sheets beneath him. It took only a minute, however, before everything underneath him was as hot as the rest of his body.

A cool drink will help, Atsumu mused, swinging his feet to the floor.

No idea what time it was... Probably early in the morning, since dawn could hardly wait to break, and the sun was already in its wings to fill the sky with a blaze of pinks and reds. He crept to the door, opened it silently, and then...

Then he stilled.

Because standing in the twins' kitchen, stripped down to nothing but his boxers, was none other than Suna Rintarō, displaying the scars of countless fights on his otherwise perfectly shaped body. He flexed his biceps as he filled a water bottle in his hand, showing off his part of the matching 'yin and yang' fox tattoo he got a few weeks ago together with Osamu. (‘Cause we’re best friends!) ... But no, in fact, they’re idiots and Atsumu hates them (affectionately).

Suna tilted his head back and stared at Atsumu quite unfazed, but Atsumu could clearly see the glint in his green-yellowish eyes. “Yo,” he said, turning his attention back to the water bottle, and Atsumu was a bit stunned.

Are they...?

“Gotta make sure your brother stays hydrated,” he said with a wink as he walked past him toward Osamu's room, and Atsumu grimaced in disgust.

Okay, yup. Too much information that he never wanted to know.

“What’s going on between you and Sunarin? Are you two...” Atsumu flailed with his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Are you two a thing?”

He leaned against the wall and smirked at his brother, mischief dancing in his eyes. Osamu’s brows furrowed, irritation flickering across his face.

“No.”

Atsumu chuckled, not believing his shit. “Oh, c'mon now. I've seen how ya look at him... And the way you two are always together...”

Osamu's annoyance intensified, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It's called friendship, y’know?”

Yeah, friendship my ass.

“Sure, sure.” With a wink and a laugh, Atsumu pushed away from the wall, the teasing still evident in his voice. “Just remember, I'll be the first to say ‘told ya so’ if things change.”

Rolling his eyes, Osamu huffed. “Fuck off.”

That only made Atsumu laugh more.

It was winter and it was cold when Suna almost bled to death on the twins' couch.

It was a simple job: he had to kill three people from a meaningless Yakuza who thought they could claim Hyōgo for themselves, those idiots. It was truly not difficult, and Suna finished in record time.

But what he didn't expect was this:

The two bounty hunters from Aichi who wanted to kill him for some things Suna had done in his time before coming to Inarizaki. They ambushed him. He was inattentive for one second – one second too long – and they gratefully took that chance.

He managed to take them down anyway, because, well, after all, that was Suna. But the wounds were deep, and the way back home was too far...

So, as he knocked at the twins’ door, leaning against the doorframe, and supporting himself beneath his rib, it wasn't long before the lights in his body went out and, as luck would have it, he passed out right into Osamu's arms as he opened the door.

They called Kita. And Aran. And just for good measure (and because Kita urged them to), an ambulance, too.

“‘Samu,” Suna said with a mischievous yet apologetic smile as he lay on a new couch because the stains from the old one were impossible to remove. “I'll pay for it.”

“You better,” Osamu replied as he sat beside him nursing him back to health.

“The things you do to be pampered like this,” Rin quipped, but Osamu didn't laugh.

Instead, he leaned down and kissed Suna tenderly on his lips and it was then that Atsumu thought:

Told ya so.

It wasn't the first accident in which Rin acquired new scars, but it was the first one in which he almost paid with his life. The first that set Osamu's doubts about their being in stone.

Ah, Atsumu understood, so that’s why you wanna stop.

“Did ya already ask Rin to join us in Osaka?”

Osamu's expression shifted to something slightly guilty. “...Haven't found the right time yet.”

Atsumu released a playful scoff. “Coward.”

“Seijoh, huh?” Atsumu raised an eyebrow as Kita brought him another whiskey.

“I'd rather have Osamu accompany you.”

Atsumu grinned smugly and stared at the glass in his grip.

“What? Don't cha trust me to do this on my own, Kita-s...?” Atsumu's voice died down when he met Kita's gaze, a sweet red coloring his cheeks. “I-I mean, sure, I'll ask him... don't think he wants to go, though.”

It was becoming the norm.

Atsumu had been taking on more and more contracts on his own, while Osamu doubled up on shifts at the restaurant of Ōmimi's aunt. It was really just a part-time job, a way to pass the time when he was tired of doing missions. But no one could handle knives like Atsumu's brother did. No one had a passion for food like Osamu.

Atsumu was sure he had that from their mother.

“I can talk to him if ya want.”

“Nah…” He waves Kita off. “It's fine, I'll do it.”

Of course, Osamu would tag along.

That man has probably suffered several heart attacks in the last few weeks with his brother biting off more than he could chew. (To increase my skills! Atsumu had said and earned himself a smack on the back of his head. Yer getting’ reckless, ya prick!)

Osamu could see his brother slacking off and it made him… nervous. Not that this comes across wrong – he knows his brother is currently probably the best in Inarizaki.

But being strong doesn't guarantee him victory.

Being strong means attracting even stronger opponents.

He has seen it. Rin, his mother, he doesn't want to witness it with Atsumu too. Death would catch up with them faster than they had planned if they continued like this. Osamu knew it.

“And ya checked everything?” Atsumu was just making conversation. He already knew the answer. Kita would never send his people blind on any marks.

He polished a glass. “As far as I was able to, yeah.”

“And this… Komori and his partner are actually so strong that it requires me and ‘Samu? I mean, c'mon, Kita-san...” Atsumu chuckled a little frustrated. “There are only two of them and yer sending me. I can take them out easy peasy, ‘s no big deal!”

“According to the client, they could easily keep up with our strongest assassins.”

Kita gave Atsumu a pointed look which made him, apart from the alcohol in his blood, blush a bit more. He knew Kita meant him... among others, of course. But getting that acknowledgment from the man that is some sort of God to Atsumu (– he’s not, shut the fuck up, ‘Samu!) somehow sparked a warm feeling in Atsumu’s chest.

Then he frowned because what did he mean by ‘they could easily keep up with our strongest assassins’? There was no way anyone would be able to keep up with Atsumu.

“Where did the order come from again?”

“Tokyo.”

“Why do they want ‘em removed anyway?”

Kita's gaze didn't leave Atsumu. “‘Cause the mark and his partner seem to be heading to Oikawa to join him. If that happens, it could cause a shift in power. An imbalance of the three big Yakuza, which could bring more chaos than we can imagine right now.”

“Huh,” snorted Atsumu. And well… something was weird. His eyes followed the movements of his finger, sliding over the rim of the whiskey glass. Then his gaze snapped up. “What if it’s not true? What if that guy just wants to scheme somethin’ against Oikawa?”

“That's none of our business.”

Ah yes. Right.

Let the bastards weed each other out. Every loss of the Yakuza is a win for everyone else.

Atsumu downed the rest of his liquor.

“Not gonna lie, Kita-san, I don't want ‘Samu to go.” Someone as good as he was. Someone who would throw off the balance. Someone who could easily blow his brains out. That could end badly. “But I won't keep this from him either. It's up to him to decide.”

Kita nodded, understanding.

“That client…” Atsumu added playfully, “He better pay well.”

Kita raised one eyebrow. “That means you accept the job?”

Atsumu grinned as he stood up. “Gotta prove no one's as strong as me, don’t I?”

He wished he hadn't been so foolish.

Atsumu knew Osamu and Suna were spending the night together.

He was lying in his room when Osamu finally decided to ask Suna if he would join them in leaving Inarizaki and starting over in Osaka. But what happened next was a fight. They were arguing but Atsumu couldn’t hear what they were saying. Then the sound of the door slammed shut.

And tears.

Atsumu didn't want Osamu to come along.

But Osamu didn't want to let Atsumu leave on his own.

He probably would have asked Rin to accompany his brother, but well, Osamu preferred not to talk to Rin these days.

“Get yer shit together,” grumbled Atsumu, who was fed up with both Osamu's and Suna's behavior. You love each other, he thought, and knew Osamu would draw his knife through his throat if he said it out loud.

Instead, he shut up before his brother had the chance to explode. Because he was already pissed off that Atsumu traded his katana for a shotgun at some stupid gun dealer in Osaka. As if they needed to. As if their own weapons weren’t enough.

Disrespecting their whole being.

And yeah, the twins wouldn't be twins if they didn't immediately sense how the other felt. So, Atsumu knew Osamu's nerves were on edge, and just because he was his twin, Atsumu, of course, felt the same way.

But you can only bottle up so much before the dam breaks and the emotions swamp you.

They’re unfocused. Both of them.

So, the two argued when they were in the middle of their mission in Seijoh. Atsumu was upset because his brother let himself be dragged down so much by just one person, namely Suna Shit-aro. Rin wasn't worth it. When everything went south, Osamu still had his brother after all, so why sulk over some stupid, foolish ass?

And Osamu was annoyed by Rin, was annoyed by his own feelings, was annoyed by Atsumu, who always said he was there for him and then disappeared on some dumb missions to prove how strong he was, just to return with several new injuries, fueling Osamu’s fear.

Reckless.

There were more than just two people they had to fight that night. People who detested assassins like them and attacked them out of the blue.

Their surroundings were shrouded in mist, tightly and heavily packed in the white veil of unease when Atsumu felt the gaze of a killer on his back. He turned around and miosis pupils stared directly into his own dilated ones. And then he pushed Osamu behind himself and fired, not knowing if he had hit his target or not.

‘Tsumu!

At the exact same moment, a grazing shot and something else.

Atsumu!

And blood. So much blood.

‘Tsumu! Hey!

He was dragged somewhere.

Don't cha fuckin' pass out on me now!

Black.

Everything hurt when Atsumu woke up. He looked down at his body and found that he was patched up. He also felt eyes on him, felt someone watching him, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from.

When Atsumu regained consciousness, he lay against a wall in a side alley in Seijoh, and Osamu...

Well.

Osamu was gone.

★　　　⭑　⭑　　☆　　　⋆　　　　.　　 ☆⭑

“I found Osamu.”

Atsumu gulps, his heart beats hard… beats fast. It’s drumming in his ears, pounding in his throat, dropping into the pit of his stomach where it twirls and twists, causing his nausea to come back in full force. Did he get Suna right?

“Ya did—”

“He’s here ‘Tsumu… I found him!”

“Where?!” Atsumu's voice comes sharp.

Kiyoomi's attention is entirely on Atsumu now, his gaze unwavering as he listens to the conversation. A silent exchange passes between them when their eyes lock, glimmers of gold carry traces of concern, while Kiyoomi's dark orbs mirror a deep well of bewilderment.

“He's in Nagano… in a huge mansion. It's heavily guarded, and there are too many people sneaking around,” Suna explains, his voice tense. “I can't get him out of there on my own, it’s a massive property...” he sighs, and the frustration is evident. “Atsumu, we need a plan.”

“Nagano?” Atsumu gulps.

“Yeah. I guess that's on Terushima's head. One of his men didn't notice me when they were talking about ‘Samu and mentioned that he's in Johzenji... took me a while to figure it out but apparently, that used to be Terushima's home.”

“Of course, it is…” mutters Atsumu under his breath. The grip on his phone tightens, the dizziness is returning.

Before Atsumu even has a chance to ask, Rin answers the question that has been buzzing around in his head the whole time. “I saw him ‘Tsumu... He’s alive. Not in his best condition, but alive.”

Atsumu exhales shakily, leans back, and runs his uninjured hand through his hair, gripping the blonde roots tightly and biting his lower lip. Two years. He's been looking for his brother for two fucking years, and finally, he has a chance to get him back.

They’re so close.

“Don't take yer eyes off him, Rin.”

“Who d’you think I am?”

“I'll come as soon as I can. Send me yer location?”

“Yeah.” Suna takes a deep breath. “I'll inform Kita too.”

“Okay...” Atsumu whispers after a moment's hesitation. His mind races, adrenaline is pumping through his veins. He glances at Kiyoomi who has already caught on to the situation. Atsumu nods to Suna even though he can't see him. “If Kita-san’s gonna want to send help... refuse. He'd make Inarizaki unnecessarily vulnerable.”

“But we do need help, ‘Tsumu. I tell you, the two of us can't handle this alone—”

“We’re not alone.” Atsumu stares resolutely into Kiyoomi's eyes. “We have Oikawa and his men.” And for another heartbeat, it's silent. Atsumu knows Suna isn't exactly thrilled with this idea. He knows Suna doesn't think much of Yakuza. Not that any of Inarizaki’s assassins do.

So, he's not particularly surprised when Suna mutters, “You can't be serious...”

“We're not gonna argue ‘bout this right now, alright?”

“Atsumu—”

“No.” Atsumu frowns, the grip on his phone tightens again. “Just... stay put, and don't do anything stupid. I'm on my way and we'll figure something out, okay?”

He can almost feel Suna's reluctance through the phone, his hesitation, and concern for their safety. But Atsumu doesn't have time to ease those worries now. Osamu is within reach, and he'll do whatever it takes to bring his brother back home.

“If they harm him, then—”

“Then ya don't act the way I would.” Atsumu presses his fingers against his temples in an attempt to alleviate the constant spin in his head. He needs to get his brother back by yesterday. “We're so close, Rin... don't let this be in vain. I need ya to save him from there, alright? I can't do this alone, and neither can you.”

And at the silence on the other end of the line, Atsumu knows Suna agrees with him. If they let their emotions get the best of them now, they'll jeopardize successfully freeing Osamu. They can’t risk that.

Suna's reply is a simple yet weighted “Alright.” It's a reluctant agreement, carrying both understanding and apprehension. He assures Atsumu that he'll send the location and keep him updated if anything arises, that he won't mess up, and that he’ll wait until Atsumu gets there. Atsumu knows he can trust him. He knows Rin won't risk freeing his brother.

As the call ends, Atsumu contemplates his next steps, a surge of urgency pushing him to act immediately.

However, his intentions are met with an unexpected obstacle. As he starts to move, attempting to climb out of bed, Kiyoomi's touch halts him. With an arched eyebrow and a questioning expression, he intervenes, his voice holding a note of concern.

“And where do you think you're going?”

Atsumu meets Kiyoomi's gaze, his determination warring with the reality of his injuries. He's reminded of the extent of his wounds and the toll they've taken on his body. The aftermath of the poison still lingers in his veins, and his muscles protest any movement that could worsen the damage.

“I need to get to ‘Samu,” Atsumu responds, his voice edged with urgency. It remains a driving force within him, but Kiyoomi's steady gaze brings a measure of clarity.

“You're not in any condition to charge into a potentially dangerous situation. You need to recover first.”

“And have him snatched from under my nose? Absolutely not.”

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi's expression is serious. Worried. “Didn't you just tell Suna not to rush into it? How about listening to your own advice for once?”

“I told him not to act the way I would. Me acting the way I would is a given.”

“And risk Suna having to save the two of you by himself?” Kiyoomi frowns. “He can't do this alone, and neither can you. Suna needs you just as much as you need him, and he needs you in your best condition. He needs you to be able to fight.” Kiyoomi's gaze shifts to Atsumu's bandaged hand, then back to his eyes. “He doesn’t need you like that.”

And for a moment, Atsumu hates that Sakusa paid attention to his call. He uses his own words against him. Atsumu knows it makes no sense to head to Nagano in his current state. Worst case is that he'll never even get there.

But he needs to save his brother. He’s all that matters right now.

Atsumu's frustration battles with his realization of the truth in Kiyoomi's words. His body is far from capable, and rushing in without proper healing would only compromise the mission and put both him and Osamu at greater risk. A frustrated sigh escapes him, and he eases back against the pillows, conceding to the wisdom in Kiyoomi's advice.

He should wait until at least the poison is cleared from his body.

God, he hates this.

“He's right there, Omi... I can't just sit here and do nothing,” Atsumu murmurs, his gaze dropping to his injured hand, curling each of his fingers into a fist before relaxing them again. The pain pulses through him, the spin in his head keeps fucking up his balance, all of this is a constant reminder of his failing.

Kiyoomi's hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against Atsumu's cheek, and it startles him at first before it makes him calm down. His touch is gentle yet firm, Atsumu's eyes are wide open.

“I know how badly you want to save him... But you won't be much help if you worsen your injuries.” And yes, Atsumu knows. “You're still part of this fight, okay? Just give yourself the time you need to heal.”

The care in Kiyoomi's voice soothes some of Atsumu's restlessness. It's a reminder that he's not alone in this, that he has someone who understands and supports him – even when he shouldn’t give a shit. Atsumu nods, a mixture of gratitude and frustration swirling within him.

“I just wanna get him back.”

“You will.”

His heart beats fast and hard, the rhythm echoing the rush of emotions coursing through his veins. Atsumu finds himself completely captivated by Kiyoomi's presence, every facet of the man before him seemingly illuminated by an inner light. The way Kiyoomi's dark orbs hold equal parts of concern and care sends a shiver down Atsumu's spine, his breath catching as he takes in every detail of the person who's become an anchor in his chaotic life.

It’s so wrong.

As Kiyoomi's thumb brushes gently against Atsumu's cheek, the touch both soothing and grounding, Atsumu feels a warmth spreading through him. It's not just the physical connection, but the weight of Kiyoomi's understanding and support that makes his heart race even faster.

He's at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for someone as quick-witted as Atsumu. Kiyoomi's gaze remains unwavering as if he's peering into Atsumu's very soul, seeing the layers and vulnerabilities that he often hides from the world. Atsumu finds himself lost in the depths of Kiyoomi's eyes. He's aware of the blush creeping onto his cheeks, the telltale sign of his racing heart, and yet, he can't tear his gaze away.

Atsumu's chest tightens with a mix of emotions — gratitude, admiration, an inexplicable fondness that he's only beginning to comprehend.

And at that moment, the intensity of his feelings overwhelms him and causes him to suck in a sharp breath, breaking his gaze from Kiyoomi's intense eyes. His mind races, conflicting thoughts colliding with the reality of their current situation.

They are enemies, their histories entwined in a complex web of secrets Atsumu is never willing to tell. Kiyoomi is still in the dark about the extent of Atsumu's actions, and guilt threatens to swallow him whole.

He shouldn't feel this way. Not about Kiyoomi, not about someone who represents everything he's fought against. Atsumu's heart pounds in his chest as he grapples with the depth of his emotions, the internal struggle waging war against his desire. He frowns as he realizes Kiyoomi is someone who's managed to stir his heart in ways he never expected.

His thoughts are shattered, though, when Kiyoomi, defying the boundaries of their roles and the weight of their pasts, leans in. The world around Atsumu blurs as Kiyoomi's lips draw nearer, and before he can fully comprehend what's happening, their lips meet. Atsumu's eyes flutter shut, his heart racing in his chest, and his breath catches in his throat.

The sensation is both electrifying and tender, a collision of contradictions leaving Atsumu feeling dizzy and intoxicated. Kiyoomi's touch is gentle yet consuming, and Atsumu allows himself to be swept away by the moment. His mind, usually sharp and analytical, is silenced by the sheer intensity of Kiyoomi's touch.

Guilt still gnaws at the edges of Atsumu's consciousness, but for this fleeting instant, for this very moment, he lets himself get lost in the man he was never supposed to like. The kiss resembles the complexity of their situation, the unspoken words and shared experiences that have brought them to this precipice.

As the kiss deepens, Atsumu swears he can feel Kiyoomi's heartbeat against his own chest, their breaths mingling in a symphony of shared desires. It's a moment suspended in time, a stolen fragment of respite amidst the chaos that surrounds them.

And then, as their mouths part, Kiyoomi's voice brushes against Atsumu's lips in a murmur, sending shivers down his spine.

“Let's focus on getting you back to full strength first.”

The words are a gentle reminder, a promise that their priorities haven't shifted, despite the intensity of whatever is going on right now.

Atsumu's heart outraces time itself as Kiyoomi's proximity continues to envelop him. The tenderness in his words resonates deeply, soothing the storm of feelings within Atsumu even as it ignites a new flame of longing.

Oh, Kiyoomi...

“Okay,” whispers Atsumu, because he can't bring himself to say anything else. His heart stumbles for a good moment, mesmerized by everything Kiyoomi embodies.

What are you doing to me?

“We’ll figure out a plan,” Kiyoomi says then, his voice a soothing balm to Atsumu's soul. “Together.”

We’ll think of something to save your brother.

Atsumu’s gaze snaps up, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Will Kiyoomi accompany him?

His stomach is churning.

This will be the time when they’ll have to part ways because Atsumu will return to Inarizaki with his brother while Kiyoomi will remain in Sendai. He can't allow Osamu to see them together. He would immediately notice what's going on.

So, does Atsumu really want Kiyoomi to come along when all he really longs for is never letting him go?

Atsumu averts his eyes and frowns, but Kiyoomi smooths it out as he gently strokes his thumb over Atsumu's bottom lip. And again, heat shoots into Atsumu's face. Again, his cheeks turn red.

Again, Kiyoomi makes Atsumu's heart stumble.

“I won’t leave you tonight, okay?” He smirks slightly. “Unless you want me to…”

“No,” Atsumu protests and nudges Kiyoomi’s nose. “Don’t leave,” he whispers then, brushing his lips against Kiyoomi’s.

“Okay,” Kiyoomi whispers back, eyes shifting between Atsumu’s golden ones, stealing a glance at his plump lips.

And then he cups Atsumu's face, digs his fingers into blond waves, and kisses him again for all he's worth. Slowly and tenderly. Soft and gentle, pushing him back against the pillows and carrying on until Atsumu gets drunk on it.

“You’ll be fine,” murmurs Kiyoomi, and oh, Atsumu wants to believe him so badly.

As he lies in Kiyoomi's arms, feeling his heartbeat and nestling into his strong body, Atsumu wonders what he did to deserve this.

Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu’s forehead. Atsumu nuzzles against his chest.

And he wonders if there is anything he can do to keep them from parting ways.

The night with Kiyoomi wouldn’t leave his mind.

Atsumu is on the train to Nagano, to Johzenji, after Akaashi has checked up on him one last time in the morning. Bokuto tagged along to cheer Atsumu up, apologizing for not realizing how bad things really were for him. Atsumu had waved it off.

He was the one who sent Bokuto away – no need to feel guilty.

Atsumu sighs and leans back into the seat, staring out the window as the train passes through one landscape after another. His head still throbs, and his bones still ache, but at least he has his balance back and can finally move without face-planting directly onto the street.

And now, he can’t stop thinking about last night.

It’s the first time they met up without having sex. Of course, Atsumu has been in no condition to do anything, but Kiyoomi seemed more concerned than put off. Where other casual lovers would’ve maybe called a doctor before disappearing to find someone a bit less pathetic, Kiyoomi stayed there, hovering beside him, and watching his every move.

They talked for a while, kissed from time to time, and couldn't keep their hands off each other despite Atsumu's condition.

And that felt weird. It felt too intimate.

It felt wrong.

Fooling around with Kiyoomi was one thing. Talking to him, listening to him how trapped he was in his own life, was a mistake. Particularly when Kiyoomi was staying attentively by his bedside, when Atsumu was fucking wrapped in his strong arms, making sure the latter didn’t get worse.

It’s even more dangerous than when they’d lie in bed naked, talking until one of them (mostly Kiyoomi) finally decided it was time to get dressed and leave. Those conversations had become increasingly intimate, but this… somehow this felt riskier.

After all, Kiyoomi is nobody Atsumu should ever get involved with. After all, Kiyoomi is the one Atsumu will have to fight sooner or later if he doesn't find a way to avoid him without putting his and his brother's life at risk.

Because the contract to kill Komori is still on.

And Atsumu knows Kiyoomi belongs to Yakuza. He knows he shouldn't care about their lives, that these people have never meant anything good. But for some reason, Atsumu does care about him. For some reason, Kiyoomi wouldn’t vanish out of his mind.

And why?

Because they’re too close.

The sex gave them a reason to be together, but they talked, and in the end, they’ll soften Atsumu out of completing this stupid mission. Atsumu scrubs a hand over his face. This is getting out of control.

He needs to focus on rescuing Osamu and then they part ways anyway. Because Atsumu and his brother would return to Inarizaki until they would eventually move to Osaka and Kiyoomi would return to Sendai and wait until his cousin wakes up from his coma. They wouldn't have time to see each other again. Nor should they.

Which is… weirdly disappointing.

Atsumu likes the sex with Kiyoomi. Much as he’s loathe to admit it, he likes Kiyoomi. Which he shouldn’t. But he does. Oh boy, just how much he does… and oh God, this isn't good. Why the hell does Atsumu have to fall for him of all people? What the fuck was he thinking?

Nothing, apparently, because Atsumu is a stupid, ignorant, selfish jerk.

“Next stop: Johzenji main station.”

The announcement shakes Atsumu out of his thoughts and his gaze snaps up. He takes a deep breath. He has to put all this behind him. Kiyoomi will probably join him in the next few days to help him rescue his brother and then they will part ways.

He will never find out about Atsumu's fault for Komori's situation. And Atsumu will stay out of his way until his feelings toward him subside.

Then he can finish this stupid, stupid mission.

It takes them exactly three days to save Osamu.

“You look like shit,” Suna greets on the first day.

“So do you, asshole.”

Yeah, Atsumu didn't miss Suna at all.

They hug nonetheless when Atsumu reaches him and his scent triggers something soothing within Atsumu. Something grounding. Something secure.

Maybe he did miss him after all.

“When was the last time ya slept?” Atsumu asks as he breaks away from the embrace. Suna shrugs.

“When did we call?”

“Yesterday, you moron.”

“Then sometime the day before.”

Atsumu huffs a laugh and tries to flick against Rin's forehead, but Rin is faster and slaps his hand away.

“Yer crazy, ya know that?”

“It’s…” Suna frowns. “Whatever.”

Atsumu turns around and watches the property a few meters away from them. He instantly sees what Suna was talking about. The countless guards, surveillance systems all over the place, the sweet silence revealing how dangerous it's actually going to be in there.

What's not visible to normal people is obvious to Suna and Atsumu.

They settle into a more comfortable stance, leaning against some trees in a secluded forest and watching the mansion from a safe distance. Suna crosses his arms, his gaze distant as he surveys their surroundings.

“I've been keeping an eye on them like you said,” he finally admits, his tone somber. “Was lucky when I caught a glimpse of ‘Samu... They've been keeping him hidden somewhere inside that fucking house.”

Atsumu nods and frowns, side-eying Rin from where he stands. He doesn't need to voice his feelings; Suna can read them in his eyes. He appreciates Rin's dedication to this mission, his willingness to watch over Osamu when Atsumu couldn't be there himself.

“Limited sight, though,” Suna continues, his voice quieter. “They've got that mansion under tight security, and they're not taking any chances. They're on high alert and I feel like they're aware of some sort of upcoming threat...” Suna's eyes shift to Atsumu, his gaze sharp and calculating. “There’s no trace of Terushima, though.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu mutters in agreement, his fingers drumming lightly against the sheath of Osamu's knife. “I already figured that bastard wouldn't be here. Probably holed up somewhere in Fukuoka prefecture, scheming away.”

The mention of Terushima ignites a fire within him, a burning determination to bring him down once they have Osamu back. Atsumu's thoughts churn as he ponders their next move. He knows they can't afford to underestimate Terushima's cunning and the resources at his disposal. As much as Atsumu wants to confront him directly and settle the score, their priority is getting Osamu out safely.

“We'll take care of him once we have ‘Samu back.”

Suna hums in agreement. His gaze then falls on Atsumu's hand, wrapped in a new bandage.

“What happened there?”

“Hm?” Atsumu raises both eyebrows and looks questioningly at Suna. The latter just nods at it. “Oh, nothing, really.” But Suna doesn't believe his shit. Atsumu clicks his tongue and frowns a little unnerved. “I may have underestimated someone, alright?”

Suna quirks an eyebrow, his lips curling into a lopsided smirk. “You have a real talent for attracting trouble, don't cha?” His lips curve into a wry smile. “Poor baby, does it still hurt?”

“Ha-Ha. Please don't be so compassionate, Sunarin.”

“I care about you!” Suna exclaims dramatically, and if it didn't amuse Atsumu so much, he'd probably punch him in the face.

Instead, he rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself. “Don't act like yer not enjoying this, Rin.”

Suna's chuckle is laced with amusement as he turns to meet Atsumu's gaze. “Oh, I would have definitely enjoyed watching you squirm. Too bad I wasn't there.”

Atsumu huffs, feigning annoyance even as a hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Yer an ass, Rin.”

Suna smirks. “Just doing my part to keep you on your toes, ‘Tsumu,” His voice holds a hint of teasing, his smirk widening.

Atsumu's lips curl into a playful grin. “Well, I appreciate yer dedication to my constant suffering.”

Suna's eyes fall shut as he chuckles. “Anything for my little drama queen.”

Atsumu shakes his head, exasperation and fondness are swirling in his eyes. Their playful banter serves as a brief respite from the weight of their mission, a reminder of this natural closeness that has always defined their friendship.

Atsumu knows Suna's probing questions and teasing comments are his way of checking in, of making sure that Atsumu's okay. He appreciates the unspoken concern that underlies their interactions, and he can't deny he's missed the ease with which he and Suna can trade jabs and lighten the weight of their burdens, even if only for a moment.

Suna has always been special to Atsumu. The best friend he could ever wish for.

Just as Atsumu is about to settle into a more relaxed rhythm of conversation, Suna's tone shifts, and a sly grin curves his lips. “So, where's your Loverboy, anyway?”

Atsumu’s head snaps toward Rin and he chokes on his own breath, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. His cheeks heat up, and he curses inwardly for his embarrassment to be so obvious. Suna's teasing glint in his eyes only adds to Atsumu's discomfort.

“He's not—” he begins, his voice a touch too defensive. “Oh my god, shut up.”

“What?”

“Don’t call him that,” Atsumu hisses, his cheeks flush deep red.

Suna's laughter is a rich melody, filling the air around them. He raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Oh, come on, ‘Tsumu. It's not like I'm wrong.”

Atsumu clenches his jaw, annoyance, and unease swirling within him.

The truth is, he's been grappling with his feelings ever since he and Sakusa started this... thing. Atsumu has no idea when exactly they came up. Maybe when shit went down when they fought Youko. Maybe ever since they were in Inarizaki. Or maybe it was when Atsumu realized how pissed off he gets every time Kiyoomi even mentions the name of Ushijima when he shouldn't care about any of this at all, or even better – when it should actually amuse him.

Atsumu doesn't know when the hell these dumb feelings started but now they are here and Atsumu wishes they were not. It wouldn't make all this shit so damn complicated. Like a complex mess of emotions that he can't easily untangle.

But he's not about to spill his guts to Suna yet, not when the topic itself is enough to make his heart race. Not when he knows how much Suna actually loathes him for getting involved with Yakuza. Not when he is not even aware of his own feelings.

“Cut the crap, Rin,” Atsumu retorts, his tone laced with irritation. “Ain't nobody's loverboy.”

Suna's laughter rings in the air, carefree and genuine. “Well, well, you're really getting worked up about this. Must be serious then.”

Atsumu's retort is swift, his annoyance evident. “Y’know, for someone who's so observant, you're surprisingly blind when it comes to minding yer own business.”

Suna's smirk remains firmly in place, his gaze dancing with mischief. “What, so it's true then? Something's still brewing between you two?”

Atsumu's lips purse, his irritation growing. Suna always had a knack for poking at his vulnerabilities, for exposing the parts of him he'd rather keep hidden. He takes a deep breath, attempting to rein in his frustration.

“It's stupid, alright?” Atsumu finally admits, his voice softer. “And it's none of your damn business.”

Suna's smirk softens into a more understanding expression. “Fair enough.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they continue to watch the mansion from their vantage point. The tension between them eases, replaced by a quiet understanding that has always been the foundation of their friendship.

“So...” Suna offers, his voice gentle. “What happened?”

Atsumu glances at him, his guard momentarily lowered. He breathes a heavy sigh; his brow is furrowed when he stares at his best friend. Atsumu doesn't really know how to address the jumble of emotions that Sakusa has stirred within him, he doesn't really know how Suna's going to react.

Or actually, he knows, and he won't like it at all.

You’ll be fine, murmurs Kiyoomi, but Atsumu isn’t so sure about that.

“You remember the last mission that Samu and I took on alone? The one where he went missing?”

Suna matches Atsumu’s look, confusion is evident in his gaze. “Yeah, of course. The guy's name was Komori, right?” Suna's eyes narrow, his expression darkening when he asks “Why?”

Atsumu's lips curve into a wry smile, a mix of bitterness and resignation. He sighs and lets his head fall back against the bark of the tree, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, looks like this whole thing is even more fucked up than we ever expected…”

You’ll be fine, murmurs Kiyoomi – but what about him?

The night remained calm, with a hushed serenity enveloping the surroundings. Atsumu and Suna maintained their vigilant watch, their minds focused on the mansion that stood before them while they’re hidden in the woods. During all the time Suna and Atsumu took turns to keep watch, but neither saw Osamu again. They must be hiding him somewhere inside.

On the second day, the quiet is broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, drawing their attention to the figures gradually coming into view. Atsumu's sharp ears pick up on the sound first, and he tenses momentarily before recognizing the familiar voices. Suna's eyes snap open and Atsumu knows he's on alert, even if his posture doesn't give it away.

Turning his gaze toward the direction of the approaching figures, his lips curl into a smirk as Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Bokuto come into view, clad in combat gear rather than their usual suits. A wry smile tugs at Atsumu's lips.

“Well, ain't this a surprise,” he quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Look at you three, all dressed up for me, huh? Didn't know we were attending a party.”

Oikawa's grin remains unabashed, meeting Atsumu's snark with his own.

“Atsu-chan, you know we're always up for a good time,” he responds, his tone lighthearted. He exchanges a knowing glance with Iwaizumi, standing next to him with a more stoic expression. A little more reserved.

“Atsumu… and Suna, I assume?”

Suna's skepticism is palpable, his gaze alternating between the newcomers. He offers nothing more than a nod in acknowledgment, his arms crossed, and his brows pinched together, a silent indication of his uncertainty.

Iwaizumi's gaze shifts between Inarizaki's assassins, his expression thoughtful.

“We heard you could use some backup. Figured we'd come prepared.”

Bokuto barges in, throwing an arm around Iwaizumi's shoulder, his excitement uncontainable. “Yeah! We're like the backup squad, ready to swoop in and save the day!”

Atsumu laughs at that, recognizing that very familiar bag on Bokuto's back. Atsumu nods at it and raises an eyebrow. "‘S that what I think it is, Bokkun?"

And Bokuto's eyes light up with a mixture of pride and excitement as he pats it, clearly itching to show off his beloved gear. He grins broadly at Atsumu's question. “Oh, you bet it is!”

With a flourish, he unzips the bag to reveal the sleek, gleaming form of his light machine gun nestled inside. Atsumu's eyebrows rise, his lips quirking into a grin as he regards the weapon. “Fancy seeing ya with that thing again.”

“You know what’s the best part?” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows and Atsumu stifles a grin. “No rules.”

“What do you mean 'no rules'? Of course, there are rules!” Oikawa snaps, and Bokuto winces.

“I just mean I can finally really use my baby!”

“What? You're still carrying around that oversized toy of yours?” Someone else teases, his tone dripping with playful mockery.

The forest is suddenly filled with the sound of rustling leaves and snapping twigs. A figure emerges out of the shadows, moving with the grace of a seasoned predator. Clad in dark combat gear, a man with weird hair strides forward, a sly grin curving his lips as he approaches Bokuto. Despite the black hair, it reminds Atsumu of a Rooster Head – naturally messy and spiky.

Bokuto's face lights up with a grin. He flexes his biceps theatrically.

“Hey, hey, hey!! Now look at who we have here!”

“Eh? Missed my charming face?” The man asks.