Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atsumu should honestly not be as surprised as he was. He had a niche habit of getting on people's nerves without even meaning to. Don’t get him wrong, he could do it on purpose as well, but it was usually accidental.

So here Atsumu stood, nodding along and trying to get a sound out of his mouth while a random customer who looked like a picture-perfect businessman from some random cliché Netflix show berated him in front of everyone present at his brother's café. Jesus fucking Christ.

At Least the café wasn’t full. No, it was relatively quiet and empty, which made sense considering it was ten in the morning and a Wednesday. How the man had the energy to yell at some random young barista at a café was beyond Atsumu, but he kind of wished he could get the same amount of energy as the man cussing him out currently has. He looks and sounds very energized despite only having one sip of the coffee Atsumu had apparently made wrong somehow.

“Sir, I apologize, if ya want I can make yer drink again-” He tried to explain for the second time, but the man wasn’t having it. Whatever the 'it' in question was.

“Oh please! You’d probably fuck it up again somehow! I don’t know why I even came to this goddamn place-” Atsumu didn’t know either- “considering its only barista out was some young country boy who clearly doesn’t know shit!” Okay, ouch, he didn’t have to come for his accent. Or at least that’s what Atsumu assumed made the man think he was a ‘country boy’. Could also have been the fact that Atsumu had a very noticeable tan, and most people in the city tended to be pretty pale compared to him.

His thought process and questions were interrupted by a very cold drink hitting him on his chest, splattering some ice, water, and espresso on his shirt. Atsumu wasn't even wearing an apron because he got to work a bit late and didn’t want to waste any more time than he already has lost. He flinched as the drink made contact with him and the man said something about him ‘needing to know his place’, after which he stomped away, the only thing that signaled he’d ever even been there in the first place being the ringing of the bell as he slammed the door shut and the plastic cup with what had previously been an iced americano inside it currently on the floor and his shirt. Fuck him to Monday and back.

“..Atsumu? Are you alright?” he heard behind him and Atsumu sighed, turning to the unfairly pretty man behind him who had previously been making pastries for Cafè Miya.

Akaashi Keiji was a friend of Osamu’s, the two having met in the fancy culinary school that Osamu had left home early for that Atsumu could never remember the name of. The two had become friends in the first week of being there, probably because Keiji was kind and calm and Osamu had needed the stability that he provided, seemingly without even knowing it himself. It had been a new environment and all, so it made sense his twin would need an anchor.

Keiji had offered to work for Osamu’s café here after finding out that he lived pretty close by, a fifteen-minute or so walk. Osamu had taken him as a worker happily, mostly because he was his friend but also because he apparently had had the best pastries in their class of future chefs, bakers, mixologists and baristas.

Atsumu thought it was unfair how Keiji was so kind to him, despite not actually wanting to deal with him. He was Osamu’s friend but had to deal with a reminder of his calm and collected brother all the time, who was above all the polar opposite of his friend. Atsumu was loud, brash, an egoist, a narcissist, and to be completely honest a dick. But Keiji was nice like that, and Atsumu would be a fucking idiot not to at least appreciate the kindness that the dark-haired man provided.

“..Can ya manage the bar fer a sec? I gotta go change.” He asked, giving the man a small grin with furrowed brows as he scratched at his neck, gesturing to the mess that was his only clean black shirt. “I’ll come clean the floor right after, promise ya.”

Keiji shook his head with a sigh and a small smile back “No need, I’ll clean it. Just take the chocolate croissants out of the oven after you’ve changed, would you?”

“Yer too kind, Kei!” he called as he moved to the employees-only room behind their kitchen, shivering as the ice melted against his shirt and clung on with the coffee.

He opened the door and sighed, going to his small locker and opening it, looking for the least dirty shirt, or at least one that he could pass as clean as long as he wore an apron. He muttered to himself as he thought about the money he would have left over for food, because now he was basically forced to go to some cleaner and pay for his clothes to get cleaned. He had planned on doing that next after his net paycheck, but the fancy fucker had changed his plans. He cursed as he counted, the money enough to get him a pair of cheap pre-packaged sandwiches. Oh well, at least he wouldn’t go hungry this time.

After he found one clean enough shirt he quickly took off the dirtier one and cringed. The coffee had already managed to stain his shirt and now the whole thing smelled like coffee. It wasn’t necessarily the worst smell known to man, but it still wasn’t ideal.

He took the other shirt he had grabbed, another plain black t-shirt with some unidentified stain on the front and smelled it. It didn’t really smell that bad, so he just shrugged and pulled it over his head, grabbing an apron from where they were hung next to the door and putting that on as well. He then opened the door and walked back out and into the kitchen, intending to take out the chocolate croissants before he forgot and then they (read, Keiji) would have to bake another batch.

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Atsumu stepped inside his house with a grim expression on his face. He closed the door behind him quietly, pulling the previously golden chain lock in place. He kicked his off-brand black shoes off and maneuvered his way inside the living room/bedroom, all the while counting the bills he held in his hands. The laundry service had cost him 864¥, and the sandwiches had cost him 720¥. That left him with around 8 400¥ (58 USD), if not a bit less. Which was not as much as he had been hoping. He definitely wasn’t in the worst position yet, but he still had four days until his next paycheck and he was supposed to shower today, which would in turn raise his water bill. He grimaced. The shower would have to wait for the beginning of next week, unless he found somewhere else to wash up. Maybe he could go over to Tooru’s and convince him to let Atsumu clean himself there.

He nodded to himself, laying the bag of now clean clothes against his couch on the floor as he flopped onto it. The gray couch was nowhere near comfortable, but he didn’t wanna move to the mattress that he called his bed quite yet. He turned on his back and took his phone out of his pocket, pressing on Snapchat and going to the contact that read ‘THE Bitch<3’.

ME
Tooruuuuuuu
Answerrrr
Bitch, get online
You’re as lonely as me, answer you whore

THE Bitch<3
I’m here calm ur tits

ME
Lemme come over
Like, tomorrow or sum

THE Bitch<3
U r so lucky Im a great person<33333
Do u need to shower

Curse Tooru to hell and back. Atsumu was not that predictable, and he would not stand for anyone saying otherwise.

ME
Now howd u know that
Goddamn wizard man

THE Bitch<3
Cmon
Yk why

ME
It was a hypothetical q
Dont answer them
But I can come tmr? After work i mean

THE Bitch<3
Feel free, I’ll be home the whole day anygays so

ME
Slay
Anygays guess what happened at work today!!!!!

They texted like that for a while. Lighthearted insults were thrown every third chat they sent each other, but Atsumu wouldn’t have it any other way. Gods, it’d be weird if he and Tooru texted like ‘normal’. It made him shiver.

He’d been friends with Tooru ever since they spilled their guts to one another on a random rooftop they’d climbed on whilst drunk on their asses. They’d known each other before that, sure, but they hated the other back then. They were too similar.

The two had met back when they were first years in High School. They were both insecure little shits with inferiority complexes and the need to constantly be better than others, so as one would expect, they had clashed. They hated one another's guts
with burning passions and needed to prove that they were better than the other one. And so was born a rivalry.

It lasted until the last few weeks of their first year, when they had been at a mutual friend's birthday party and had gotten drunk. Atsumu had been feeling a ‘bit’ under the weather and had wanted to leave early, so he did. The guy lived pretty close to his school, and Atsumu had already figured out how to get on the roof earlier in the year anyway. He figured no one would be there, but that’s where he had been wrong.

That’s where he had found Tooru Oikawa: Sitting on the roof, looking at the stars and leaning on his left arm whilst sipping on a beer with his right. Atsumu had sat down next to him and they’d sipped on their respective beer bottles quietly before Tooru had broken the silence by asking Atsumu if he knew anything about astrology or star patterns, and started pointing and explaining some of them after he’d said no, he hadn’t. The night had somehow devolved into them ending up at Tooru’s apartment and sobbing their eyes out while cuddling. It had been a weird night and an extremely painful hangover, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Atsumu got up and off of the couch, shedding his shirt over his head and dumping it on the floor that he hasn’t vacuumed nearly as often as he should. He then shimmies off his pants and throws them somewhere on the floor semi-close to his shirt in a way that would have his mother clutching her pearls in shock and his twin glaring at him like he was the most disgusting thing on the planet. Atsumu snorts at the mental image, but doesn’t necessarily disagree with the Osamu he’s created in his mind. He is downright repulsive, but it’s not like he has the money to buy any cleaning supplies that actually work for more than a day or don’t fix one problem without creating three more. Besides, it’s not like he had any friends or family to come visit him anyway, so he didn’t even have to clean out of the fear of others seeing his place. He supposed that Tooru was the only exception, but the brunette knew of his.. situation- (he refused to say insecurities even though he knew it was painfully immature) -so they just met at Tooru’s place or a random public place.

Atsumu fell onto the mattress he had the misfortune of calling his bed and plugged his phone in, although he did manage to look at the time before he turned his phone off. 23.46 it read. He had work in nine hours and fourteen minutes. He had to head over at 8.30 because it was a twenty-minute walk over there, plus ten if there was really bad traffic. He also has to brush his teeth in the morning and actually wake up, which takes him like twenty minutes. So he has to get up at 8.10, which means he’ll get eight hours and twenty-four minutes of sleep if he falls asleep right now. Okay, that’s pretty good actually, within the recommended range for once!

So Atsumu shut his eyes in hopes of falling asleep soon and imagined himself tomorrow at Café Miya, eating one of Keiji’s stuffed baguettes in the break room while he video-called Tooru and they laughed at each other, all while Osamu and Sunarin were there laughing with him. It was a nice picture to fall asleep to.

Chapter Text

Atsumu loved the quiet mornings when he got to open up the café. Granted, the only times he didn’t open up the place were Wednesdays and Fridays because Akaashi insisted on sharing some of the workload, but these mornings still felt special to him somehow. Okay, maybe he was romanticizing his life a little bit, but could honestly anyone blame him?

Atsumu stepped inside Café Miya from the side door that was made for employees only. He quietly navigates through the kitchen, grabs his keys from his right pocket, and unlocks the backroom where their belongings went during work hours. He stepped up to his locker and opened it, putting his house key and black, cheap bomber jacket there. He then turns around and takes an apron from where they were hooked against the wall next to the door, not wanting to dirty his finally-clean shirt.

He walks out of the employees-only room and closes the door, going through the familiar routine that he’s come to know and love. First, he goes and grabs a rag from the top cabinets of the kitchen, wetting it and swiping down their counters, the small kitchen island they have, and their sink. He then hangs it up to dry for a bit before he opens the freezer and grabs two boxes of flaky dough, intending to have them melted enough to work with when Keiji gets here later. He supposes he might as well be nice and opens the packages up, laying them out on the clean counter before turning around and turning their oven on.

After he’s done that, he walks up to the actual bar of their café and gets to setting up their espresso machine and checking that they have everything. He goes through the tasks meticulously; he counts everything they have and makes a mental note of anything that’s running low, checking that nothing has been left on overnight and that everything is in its intended place.

He then goes back to grab and wet the rag they have, swiping a spray bottle that’s filled with water, a few drops of vinegar and dish soap. He cleans the tables and the bar itself, humming whatever song happens to be stuck in his head at the moment all the while. He likes this type of cleaning and kind of wishes he had enough table-surface to make cleaning like this actually worth it at home.

After he’s wiped all of the tables clean, he goes and puts the spray bottle and rag away, checking the time from their microwave at the same time. 8.57. He might as well open the place up, Keiji should be here soon enough and all he has to do is stock their display window with some things from their fridge.

He unlocks their front door and shivers a bit at the autumn wind that passes through him as he flips the sign over so that it now reads ‘open’ and people get the idea to actually come inside if they want some coffee. Speaking of people coming inside the place, he hears the sound of their side door opening and hears a soft but steady voice call out; “Atsumu?”

“I’m here, Keiji!” he calls back, closing the door and stepping into their kitchen, opening the fridge as he sees Keiji pop his head out from their employees-only room.

“Have you already cleaned the tables at the front?” Keiji asks while he watches him grab some blueberry pie and a plate of chocolate cookies from their fridge, then step towards the bar with the baked goods in hand.

“Yeah, all I got left ‘s the display window. I took the dough out the freezer at ‘round eight forty, so it should be fine for ya to use by now!” Atsumu calls back as he opens their display window and places the pre-cut blueberry pie next to their cheesecake. He then closes the back of it and puts their plate of cookies under a glass dome right next to the cash register. He thinks he heard Osamu explain it was a marketing tactic to make customers crave something sweet, but he couldn’t be sure.

Just as he hears an affirmative hum from their kitchen and the tell-tale sign of a baking tray getting taken from the small space under their oven, he also hears the bell over their front door dingle. He puts on a grin and looks up, “Welcome to Café Miya, what can I get ya-” his sentence dies out slowly.

Inside their café just walked a tall, unfairly hot at nine-in-the-fucking-morning curly-haired man. He wore a thick, gray scarf to shield himself from the biting wind that was there every September, paired with a black jacket that was so long it went past the man’s knees. It looked incredibly good on him.

“..e. Excuse me?” the man said, shuffling on his feet. He looked uncomfortable. Ah, shit, Atsumu wasn’t verbal, that’s probably why. He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips before answering;

“Hey! Sorry, for uh, not answering-” fuck his voice cracked- “I haven’t got coffee myself yet, ‘n yer the first customer here” the man probably didn’t give two shits about his reasoning, he just wanted coffee. Holy cow he needed to shut up.

“So, ah, what would ya like?” may God strike him down, there was no salvaging him or this conversation. Was it even a conversation? The other guy just probably wanted some coffee, but instead, he got ignored first thing in the morning. Poor him. He licked his lips absentmindedly, looking down at the cash register in front of him.

“Can I get, a-” there was a slight pause- “mochaccino? Size medium please, and a, uh, tomato and mozzarella-filled croissant?” Atsumu finally raised his gaze, although only slightly and in order to work the register, pressing what the man wanted into it and nodding along.

“‘Course. That’d be 1080¥” he answers, looking at the man while he fiddles with his wallet before pulling out two 1000¥ bills and giving them to him. He was wearing black, thick leather gloves and as Atsumu took the money from his covered hand, his stomach fluttered lightly.

He gave the other man what he owed back and said; “Feel free to take a seat, I’ll be out with yer food and drink shortly.”

The curly-haired man nodded and went into a corner place with a couch in it, taking off his jacket and scarf to reveal a very tight turtle neck that left almost nothing to the imagination. Atsumu could feel his face heating up, so he quickly got to taking a croissant out of the display window and laying it on a tray before he went over to their espresso machines and got to making the mysteriously hot man's mochaccino. Curse him and his sensitive face, if someone asked him he’d blame the red cheeks he had on the heat from their oven traveling all the way there.

.

.

.

“Keiji, Akaashi, my favorite person on this damn earth, please?”

“Atsumu, it’s just another customer, why can’t you go get the dishes from his table yourself?” the man in question sighed, cleaning a glass while fixing him a questioning stare.

“Keiji please, I will literally cover like, all of your shifts for a week.” he pleaded, hands clasped together and head bowed down.

They were currently in the kitchen behind the bar, and Atsumu was very close to getting on his knees and begging Keiji to go pick up the attractive man’s dishes instead of him.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure he hates me ‘cause I acted like a fool when he was tryin’ to order, and I don’t wanna make him like, uncomfortable or somethin’. Pleaseeee?” Atsumu pleaded for what felt like the seventh time but was actually only the fifth.

Akaashi sighed, and the sound could only be described as that of a tired parent. He set down the glass next to a pile of clean ones on the kitchen island and threw the rag at him. Atsumu caught it and raised a brow at Keiji, slightly confused.

“I’ll do it, but you are going to continue cleaning the glasses because the dishwasher has no space for all of them. I’ll go talk to your crush and get his dishes out of the way,” he said, striding past Atsumu where he stood, grabbing another rag that was used to clean tables from the bar and moving towards the handsome man in question.

“Thank you Keiji, yer the bestest! Wait, does that mean I actually got to cover yer shifts?-” he tried to ask by running out of the kitchen after him, but Keiji was already at the man’s table and Atsumu swiftly turned around, walking to the kitchen and grabbing a dirty glass and rubbing it with the rag.

He supposes his workload could be a lot worse, but there weren’t that many customers in the café today. He supposed it was only eleven am, but still. He distantly tried to remember if the first exams were coming up and that’s why there weren’t as many people as usual, but he didn’t remember. He hadn’t gone to university so he had no idea, and Osamu’s fancy culinary school didn’t hold paper exams, except maybe like, twice.

Although exam season would also explain why the handsome man was still in the café. After he’d eaten, he’d taken a laptop, pen, and paper and started writing something. Atsumu guessed he was doing school work, because that was the only reason people ever took a laptop to a café. That and also the Café Miya Atsumu worked at was pretty close to a university. He supposed it was a smart and calculated choice made by Osamu, which he would never admit to anyone out loud, ever.

As Atsumu was starting to clean his third glass, Keiji came back into the kitchen.

“It’s safe for you to go do your job now. The guy’s name is Sakusa, by the way.” Keiji said, walking to the sink and starting to wash his hands.

Atsumu made a noise of acknowledgment before stopping and turning to the baker, putting the glass and rag down, “Wait, how’d ya get his name?”.

“I told him that a certain blond barista of ours was feeling bad for apparently making him uncomfortable, and told him that the barista would like a name in case he ever came back so that he could apologize.”

Atsumu nearly choked on his own spit, face going red. “Yer making me sound like a total wimp!” he whined.

Akaashi dried his hands on a towel and raised an eyebrow, “Was I wrong?”

He spluttered, “Well, no, but ya didn’t have to do that! Or talk to ‘im, for that matter!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes good-naturedly and patted his shoulder as he took the rag back from where Atsumu had put it on the table “No, I didn’t, but you refused to do your job so I figured I might as well have some fun with it.”

Atsumu whined; “I didn’t know ya could be this cruel, Keiji-kunnn”. The other man laughed with a shake of his head and nudged Atsumu out of the kitchen.

“Go do your job, Atsumu. You still have almost a whole day of serving customers ahead of you, I’m sure one of them can’t ruin the day.”

Atsumu grumbled but listened anyway, stepping to the café’s bar. He only listened to Keiji because he still wanted to get paid, embarrassing encounters or not. He supposed it was kind of his fault, having applied for the job himself. He knew there were bound to be some embarrassing encounters, as well as some annoying ones. Oh well, he couldn’t complain, could he.

As he heard the door of Café Miya open and the bell ding, he put on an easy grin and turned to the newcomers, ready to do his job.

.

.

.

Atsumu closed his front door and locked it, turning to take his shoes off messily, kicking them off and leaving them there. It’s not like he owned a shoe rack anyway, and he lived alone. No use putting them in anything that would resemble an order.

He didn’t even bother with taking his jacket off as he flopped onto the couch dramatically. He laid there for a few seconds, eyes closed, just enjoying the peace of his quiet apartment. As much as he hated being far from his twin- ( another thing he’d be caught dead saying out loud) -he enjoyed these little silent moments.

Speaking of his twin, Atsumu opened his eyes and turned onto his back as he felt his phone vibrating in his back pocket. He fished it out and looked at the contact name, reading ‘The Disgusting One!!’. Huh, speak of the Devil and he shall appear he supposed. Atsumu pressed ‘Accept Call’ and put the phone up to his ear. “Yellow?”

“Have ya ever considered answerin’ the phone like a normal person?” he heard a gruff voice call from the other line.

“Nah, never. Whadda ya want, scrub?” he asked, getting into a more comfortable position.

He heard the distinct sound of a scoff on the other line, and he’d bet good money that Osamu was currently rolling his eyes at him. “I actually got good news fer ya, but if yer gonna be a bitch-”

“Oh calm down, just tell me why ya called. I wanna take a shower.” It was a lie, he wasn’t gonna take a shower and he wasn’t going over to Tooru’s place until later that evening.

“Ya ya, alright listen. I got the money to expand the Café. I got a spot in Miyagi.”

Atsumu blinked, before a grin overtook his features. “‘Samuu! That’s amazin’! Ya got a date fer when it’s gonna open? How ‘bout when constructions gon’ start?”

He heard a light laugh come from over the phone; “Calm yer tits ‘Sumu, nothing solid ain’t been planned yet-” there was a slight pause “-but that’s actually another reason I called ya.”

Atsumu hummed as a sign he was listening, although he was a bit confused. He knew literally nothing about businesses, even less about construction work.

There was a sigh on the other end. “I was wonderin’ to strike a deal with ya ‘Sumu. I got the money to safely expand and hire all the workers, but it would be nice to have some more money to kickstart the new restaurant. I was thinkin’ I could cut some from yer paycheck.”

“..How much were ya thinkin’?”

He heard Osamu sigh again and cringed in preparation. “..30 000 yen.”

Atsumu paused before answering slowly; “‘Samu, that’s a sixth of my paycheck.”

“I know, and I realize it really isn’t fair of me to ask ya this either-” he was almost ninety-five percent sure that Osamu was rubbing his eyes right now “-but it could save the new café ‘bout two or three months of being closed because of furnishing costs, a month at worst.” Osamu had paused, clearly waiting to see if Atsumu was going to refuse the idea immediately.

Atsumu groaned, throwing his head back in frustration “..It’s a lot of money Osamu.” he said.

“I know, ‘Sumu, I know.” Osamu took a breath before continuing. “I realize it ain’t fair fer me to ask this, and ya can say no if ya really don’t want to, but I figured I could pay ya back after the shops opened and give ya an extra thirty- or forty thousand yen. Ya know, ‘cause I-” Atsumu smiled a bit as Osamu fake gagged on the phone “-love ya and am grateful, or somethin’.”

Atsumu sighed and looked at his ceiling as if it held the answer to all of his questions. His salary was 180 000¥, which wasn’t a lot to begin with, but it definitely wasn’t the worst for a café barista like himself. The problem was that his rent was 144 600¥, plus water and electricity bills. He’d have 5 400¥, plus the 8 400¥ he had left over, but he hadn’t even eaten yet. If he took Osamu’s deal, he would have 14 200¥ left ( 98,61 USD ), which was definitely not ideal. He mentally did some math on how much he uses his home’s water and electricity.

But then again, he loved Osamu a lot. Fuck, he’d probably donate a kidney and cut his hands off for him without getting anything back. He knew the café meant a lot to him, and opening a new branch in Miyagi of all places could boost the café’s popularity by a lot if Osamu was smart with this, which Atsumu knew he was, and had begrudgingly admitted before.

Something else that was also calling him were that extra thirty - or forty thousand yen.

“‘Samu, if, and I mean if, I took yer deal, when would ya be able to get me my money back and the extra whatever amount?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Atsumu knew Osamu was doing some quick calculations.

“It's the middle of September right now, yea?” Astumu hummed in an affirmative. “The worst case scenario, you’d get ‘em at around New years, best case scenario, end of November to start of December.”

Fuck. That sounded pretty good, actually. He could use that money for a lot of things, and if he got them early enough he could actually get Christmas gifts for all of his friends and family. Even if they did arrive after New Year's, Atsumu could still afford to buy himself better furniture, a bed, fucking hell maybe even a television if he got a really cheap one! He’d be able to pay for the electric bill with that as well, and he knew that if he was working for Osamu that long he’d also be due a promotion soon after.

Damn it, damn Osamu and Atsumu's love for his younger twin.

“I’ll do it.” He heard Osamu make a slightly questioning noise, and he laughed a bit. “I’ll do it. What, do ya need me to sign a form right now or somethin´? Take my money away, ‘Samu.”

There was silence for a moment, but then Atsumu heard a quiet “..Really?”

He snorted “Yes, really, email me whatever legal shit I have to sign and take my money away. Run with it to, I don’t know where you got the café’s furnishing, Ikea or Nitori or something.”

Atsumu heard Osamu laugh before he spoke into the phone “Seriously? Yer gonna be fine, right?” He rolled his eyes “Yes, I’ll survive. Go on, live yer dream of having a famous café with your name in it, Samu.” he told him, voice softening near the end

“Our name.” Atsumu blinked, a confused hum escaping his mouth as Osamu continued. “A café with our name in it.”

Atsumu was silent for a while before a full belly laugh escaped him, shaking his shoulders and making his eyes water. It was the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt and made breathing seem like it was the most difficult thing in the world. He thinks he could hear Osamu cussing him out on the phone, and Atsumu could imagine the embarrassed blush that made his face as red as that of a tomato. When Atsumu finally did manage to calm down a bit, he pulled the phone back next to his ear where it had been before he started cackling again and answered “Yea, a café with our name in it.”

He wasn’t sure why that made him laugh so hard, hell he had no idea why it made him so happy when it wasn’t even his dream, but he figured that yea. Yea, it was something he’d give anything for. Money, a kidney, his hands, or even his life.

As Osamu cursed him to hell and back and Atsumu laughed at his brother, he smiled so hard his cheeks hurt for the first time in a long, long while.

Chapter Text

Atsumu got up from his couch with a groan, absolutely loathing the piece of furniture as his back and neck scream at him. He walks over to where he had previously kicked his shoes off and put them back on, not bothering with untying the laces. As he stands up from the crouch he was just in, he pats his pockets and mentally counts everything he has and needs; phone, wallet, and keys.

He nods to himself and opens the front door, stepping out and closing it behind him. While he walks down the stairs of his apartment complex, he idly wonders about his food situation. He knows Tooru will probably make him eat something when he gets there, but for the rest of the month? It might get a little problematic.

He walks out of the building while mumbling numbers, equations and using his fingers to count days.
He was already skipping breakfast at home to have a sort of safety net regarding electricity and water bills, but it didn’t really matter because Keiji always made the two of them something to eat when they had their breaks. It was nice, and it cost them nothing but a very small amount of ingredients, which Café Miya paid for anyways, and Keiji had said that Osamu had been fine with it when he had asked at some point. He idly licked his lips, noting that he should probably get chapstick from somewhere.

Atsumu supposes he could start skipping lunches. He cringed at the thought. The hunger he could easily deal with, but the thing with having meals too far apart is that it might very well trigger migraines.

He’s had migraines since he was a child, probably because they were rather common on his mother’s side of the family. They came along rather easily, and because of a wide variety of reasons. Not drinking enough, being in the sun too long, staring at a screen for too long, too many different scents at once (He despised scented bath- and candle stores), too bright lights, and his most pressing issue currently, not eating enough. Truly, it was another great thing he’s gotten from his mom, huh. Notice the sarcasm in that sentence.

He threw his head back and blurted out a loud “Fuck!” into the sky, closing his eyes and stopping his walking. He stayed there for a few more seconds before sighing. The money wouldn’t fall from the sky, no matter how much he yelled and cursed God. Now that he thought about it, maybe that’s exactly why money wouldn’t fall from the sky to him. Because he kept on cussing out God. It wasn’t a great explanation, but damn would it be a funny one if it was true.

Atsumu opened his eyes and looked around him as he started walking again, quickly looking at the ground and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he quickened his pace, realizing there were actually a few people outside who had just witnessed his frustration and were side-eyeing him. Whoopsie daisies.

He quickened his pace and, after thinking about it for a second, started to jog. The way to Tooru’s house wasn’t that long, about twenty minutes if he walked at a semi-quick pace, but he figured he might as well try and get his frustrations out with exercise rather than screaming at the heavens above. He would be taking a shower at Tooru’s house anyway, so him getting sweaty wouldn’t be a problem. Plus the jog would be a nice way to try and keep warm since his fingers were red and stiff already.

Jogging could be rather boring, however, and since he had nothing better to do while on his journey, he started looking around him, really looking.

The Fall air had encouraged a lot of people to get their gloves and scarves out, he noted to himself silently. Especially out of the elderly, who he had spotted a good amount of already, most of them, if not all, were wearing gloves and some of them even wore scarves. Almost all of them were sporting beanies as well, some still wore caps and one smaller old lady he had spotted walking her tiny dog even had cute pink earmuffs on.

Atsumu jogged past a nature-themed park with a lot of benches, which had a playground for kids next to it. He saw parents talking while their kids were on the swings and slide, playing what looked like tag, while another kid was jumping into a pile of leaves while what looked like the kid’s mother raised the boy by his armpits and raised him out of it, both of them wearing matching grins.

Something tightened in his stomach at the sight and he grit his teeth, turning his head to the road in front of him while he quickened his pace again.

He ran past a few shops, some of which had already put Halloween decorations up. They had black cutouts of bats on their windows, and skeleton hands on their display windows. He even saw a carved pumpkin in front of some convenience store’s glass sliding door. He supposed he and Keiji should put the decorations up in Café Miya as well, although they were already planning on doing it on the first of October, but it never hurt to be a bit early, did it?

Speaking of being early, Atsumu realized he was almost at Tooru’s house. He frowned and furrowed his eyebrows as he took his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. Huh, he’d made it over in twelve minutes. Not too bad.

He took a right and passed a few light yellow, green, and straight-up white suburban-looking homes before he finally found Tooru’s pale blue one.

The house wasn’t that impressive, although it was considerably better looking than the apartment complex Atsumu lived in. The house had an average-sized front yard with a garage for a car on its right side. The garage- and front door, as well as all of the windows were white, pretty clean as well. The roof of the house was black, or a dark gray, he couldn’t really tell with it being dusk outside.

He walked up to the front door, walking over the small steps it took to get to it, ringing the doorbell.

The door opened after only about ten seconds or so, and there stood Tooru Oikawa in all his pajama-fied glory.

His hair was pushed back with a light pink, fluffy headband, making it look quite messy. Atsumu figured it was probably because there was currently a green face mask covering Tooru’s chin, cheeks, nose and forehead. The rest of Tooru’s outfit consisted of a pale blue t-shirt that hung just a little too much, which made Atsumu think it was probably Iwaizumi’s, and black shorts with green alien faces on them, with which he was wearing white fluffy socks. All in all, a disaster.

Gods Atsumu had missed this particular disaster.

Tooru grinned upon seeing him. “‘Tsumuuu!”

Tooru opened his arms and gave Atsumu a big hug, which he returned eagerly with a grin of his own “Toruuuuu!”

They hugged for a while, Atsumu burying his head into the slightly taller man's shoulder, hugging him tightly. Tooru couldn’t do the same for he had a face mask on, but he did hug back hard enough that he’s pretty sure there was bruising left on his ribs.

Suddenly Tooru let go, grabbing Atsumu by his shoulders and getting him inside the house, all the while saying “Get in you whore! Listen, I gotta get my face mask off before you shower-” he paused before looking Atsumu in the eyes and moving his eyebrows suggestively “-unless you wanna do it at the same time?”

Atsumu barked a laugh and smacked Tooru on the shoulder, laughing as the older man whined and Atsumu started removing his shoes. “Yer a perv, ya know that right?”

Tooru mock gasped, hand held over his heart dramatically “How dare you even hint at such a thing?! I just happen to think my best friend is incredibly hot and has a pair of amazing thighs-” Atsumu put a hand over his mouth to stop his giggling -”but alas, I am a taken man, and no matter how nice your thighs may be, they do not compare to my fiancé’s arms” Tooru exclaimed, fingers grabbing the shirt over his heart, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Not even a minute after I’ve come inside yer house and yer already goin’ on ‘bout yer IwA-cHAn~ and his damn arms” he smirked, getting up and leaning on the wall behind him “Yer a simp.”

“And proud, unlike you and your single ass.” Tooru rolled his eyes. “C’mon, go shower, I’ll make you some food in the meanwhile.”

“Why do ya sound so posh? ‘iN ThE mEanWHile’” he mocked, standing up straight and walking to Tooru’s bathroom. He’s pretty sure he heard Tooru yell something back at him, but he had already closed the door so any sounds he made were very muffled

The shower of Tooru’s (and Iwaizumi’s, but he’s apparently not here right now) house was pretty average, not too small and not too big. It had a toilet, a sink infused with a cabinet, some shelves, and a bathtub that had a shower nozzle built into the wall so you could take both baths and showers. It was pretty nifty with its golden trimmed cabinets and white-and-blue tiles, but he would never say that to Tooru out loud. Maybe he would mention it to Iwaizumi.

He took off his clothes and put them on top of the closed toilet lid, finally stepping into the shower, turning the nozzle as hot as it would go without him burning his skin clean off.

He had a love-hate relationship with showers if he was being honest with himself. He gets them considerably less than he should, and as he borrows Tooru’s shampoo and massages it into his scalp, he thinks.

He sort of hates thinking. Thinking is the main reason he hates showers, mainly because it never leads to anything good. Not in his life anyways. Maybe in some normal, functional adult’s life whose worry of today’s shower is what should he make for dinner, not can I afford to make dinner? Maybe in their life thinking would result in good choices being made, but in his life, it just sets him on the right that’ll end up in suicidal thoughts.

Is he being extremely unfair, petty and bitter right now? Yes, yes, he is.

He really shouldn’t even be feeling so jealous, considering it’s his fault that he’s penniless anyway. But he can not for the life of him stop his fucking feelings and believe him, he’s tried it about a million times.

Okay so he might be spiraling a bit right now, he thinks and turns his back to the shower, turning it back on and putting it considerably hotter than he should. He would so much rather focus on the burn of the hot water than the thoughts plaguing his mind right about now.

So he also might have lied about not being able to stop his feelings, but he does not want to think about the things he could very well be doing to snuff those thoughts right now, mainly because as water slips down to his inner thighs, he can feel the hot water burn the older and slightly newer scars, making them hurt, and burn, and that’s enough.

It burns a lot actually, and he lets out a hiss and steps away from the water, automatically turning it slightly cooler. He stays away from the water for a few more seconds.

He wants to reach his hand down to the lines marking his thighs and touch the skin, just to try and make it burn less, but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t handle that shit and would probably just do something he’d regret.

So he licks his lips and turns back under the shower’s spray, letting the water wash out the last of the shampoo. He’s gonna have to wash his hair again, he knows it didn’t lather and start bubbling enough the first time, but he’ll focus on massaging his scalp and calming his beating heart first. He’s also pretty sure his breathing is irregular. That would at the very least explain the amount of very small black dots dancing just around the edges of his vision. Oh well, they’ll go away soon enough. He’s pretty sure at least.

So he borrows some more of Tooru’s shampoo and lathers it in his hands, starting the massage of his scalp again. And if this massage was slightly rougher than the previous one, mainly because he had to focus on something other than his own thoughts, then that is no one else’s business but his own.

.

.

.

He walks into the kitchen with some borrowed clothes, a dark brown sweater, and gray sweatpants. The sweater is probably ages old, considering it’s stretched in the back and weirdly enough left sleeve. Don’t get him wrong, the whole shirt is stretched, but the left sleeve is stretched way more than the right one. It’s weird, and he has got to ask Tooru about it.

As he steps into the kitchen and scans it quickly for Tooru, he notices the man leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone and waiting for a kettle to boil with two very large tea cups- (mugs?) -and tea bags already placed in each one.

Atsumu slows his steps as he approaches the brunet, creeping up on him. When he gets close enough, he shoves his hands onto Tooru’s sides and grabs them. He cackles loudly at the shriek and curses he gets in response, trying to catch his breath and wipe away the tears while Tooru simultaneously turns around and hits him on his arm about a million times.

“Ow, ow, ow- ow-” he whines, pathetically and dramatically trying to shield his arm from the abuse it’s currently going through.

“Your own fault you absolute ass!” he proclaimed loudly which, yeah fair enough, but he didn’t have to say it- “You absolutely do not deserve me making you tea OR food! Swear to any god listening I’ll eat them in front of your ungrateful ass!”

“Ya said ass twice-” he gets another smack on his shoulder for that one. “-but like please don’t drink my tea Toruuu~” he whines. “Is it lemon balm?”

The other man rolled his eyes but nodded as he answered “Yea yea, it’s lemon balm.” he walked over to the stove. “I have no idea how you like the bitter shit, especially with how long you keep the bag in the water,” he added while he took the kettle off of the stove and poured the boiling water into their mugs- (or cups?? They’re like the size of his fists, even bigger actually, so which one is it?-).

“The fuck, why are ya- why are ya comin’ at me fer likin’ lemon balm? Yer favorite tea flavor is mint. Peppermint, of all the fuckin’ options!” he barked back, taking his drink and walking towards the living room.

“C’mon, you know why!” he hears an answer come at him from the kitchen where Tooru still is for some reason, and Atsumu rolls his eyes and yells back while putting his drink on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch; “I really, really don’t know!”

Tooru finally walks into the living room, balancing his mug- (he’s decided to call it a mug, sue him.) of tea and a black bowl with chopsticks in it. He sets the bowl down in front of him while making a face of what can only be called disdain as he repeats,

“C’mon.. you know why.”

He splutters, throwing his hands in the air and groaning. Tooru, ever the bastard, starts to laugh, and he grins at Atsumu as he hits the other on the shoulder and points at the bowl of food that has been laid before him on the coffee table. “Eat, you bastard.”

“Wait- that’s fer me?” he asks, looking at the bowl with a slight head tilt.

“Is it for you- of course it is! You think I’d just eat in front of you? At like, seven in the evening?? I already ate, it’s your turn.” he answers, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his mint tea that stinks up the whole room.

Atsumu grumbles, peering into the bowl to finally see what's in it. He grabs the bowl and brings it into his lap, smelling it and freezing once he figures out what the damn dish holds inside of it.

It was ramen. But you see, it wasn’t just some cheap ramen from a packet that cost 72¥, no no, it was shichimi togarashi ramen, paired with some greens and chicken. It looked and smelled really fucking good, honestly.

Curse Tooru to Hell and back, he knew very well this dish also held sentimental value to him. It was a dish from Atsumu’s favorite restaurant, one he wouldn’t dream of affording nowadays. It had been a comfort food, and Tooru had taken him there over literally any minor inconvenience, and Atsumu had done the same to him.

Atsumu hit Tooru on his arm, but if it was incredibly weak and meant merely for some poor attempt at normality, that was for him and Tooru to know, and as he took the chopsticks into his hand and ate, silence fell over the house along with slight sniffling. It was Fall outside after all, and the bitter, cold air was bound to make some noses stuffy (It usually didn’t make people cry as well, but who knows, maybe Atsumu was special like that).