Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Really, you’re crying? Don’t make me out to be the asshole here, I gave you so many signs. I mean, come on – when was the last time I texted back more than one word? When was the last time I texted back period? You probably knew too, even you’re not that dumb. You just refused to see it,” he says, and the worst part is that he’s right.

The ignored text messages, the calls sent straight to voicemail, the flimsy, last-minute excuses he’d pull when you were already at the date venue, waiting for him... He flaked out the last four times, and the one time he did show up – maybe a month ago? – he was thirty minutes late and spent the whole date glued to his phone, answering only in grunts and nods.

That didn’t stop you from showing up to his workplace in the cocktail dress you bought with two-thirds of this month’s paycheck, though. The Swarovski choker you got with the rest suddenly feels too tight around your neck, and you’re pretty sure the matching bangle will never come off your wrist unless you chop your hand off – it was such a pain to get on in the first place. The nude heels were a lucky find that you excavated from the back of your closet, but they were from your middle school graduation and about two sizes too small. Still, you crammed into them anyways because you wanted to look pretty for him.

And… maybe also for yourself, because this was your one-year anniversary as much as it was his, and you didn’t want to let the carefully constructed, fairy tale façade you built for this relationship shatter into a million pieces. Looks like all that effort was in vain, though.

So yes, he’s right. You knew. ‘Even you’re not that dumb. You just refused to see it.’

Now, however, as you stand in the middle of the lobby in your fancy dress, sticking out like a sore thumb among his colleagues in their pressed shirts and pencil skirts, you realize just how much of a fool you’ve been this whole time. Most of the office workers shoulder past you, eager to get the hell out of here now that the workday has ended, but some of them linger to observe the soap opera currently unfolding in their otherwise very dull insurance building.

You feel like the villain here, oddly. Maybe it’s the way he stands with his feet shoulder-width apart and his chest puffed out, as if the two of you are facing off and you’re some foe he’s here to vanquish. More likely, it’s the woman hanging off his arm wearing a matching office lanyard – you knew it’d be a co-worker, dammit – and the way she asks not-so-subtly if this is his psycho ex-girlfriend.

Some part of you that still has an ounce of pride demands that you hold back the tears, tell him off, and storm out of the building like the strong, independent woman you are – like the heroine in a coming-of-age novel who’s realized that her self-worth shouldn’t be defined by a relationship with a man who doesn’t appreciate her.

But hey, your boyfriend breaking up with you like a decent human being had been too much to ask – and apparently, so is this.

Tears roll down your cheeks, taking with them the eye makeup you took half an hour and five YouTube videos to put on. It all becomes too much, and you start sobbing right there in the middle of the lobby, trying uselessly to cover the ugly black streaks of mascara running down your face with your hands. You turn on your heel in an attempt to sprint to the exit, only to trip and fall in these hell-devices Steve Madden calls shoes.

“If you’re going to storm out, at least do it with a little grace.” Your ex’s words are scathing as he and his new lady friend approach you, the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floors making you nauseous. When they are directly beside you, he lingers for a moment to look down the length of his nose at your pitiful form sprawled on the floor. You don’t have it in you to meet his eyes. You know what you’ll find there anyway – disgust, pity, amusement – maybe a condescending mix of all three.

Eventually, the sound of heels clicking against the floor fades into the distance, taking him along with it. And just like that, they’re gone.

A few minutes pass. Most of the curious onlookers have filed out, and of those that remain, none offer you their assistance. At least the tears have stopped now.

Sighing, you sit up, wipe the drying tear streaks and snot off your face with the back of your hands, and pry your shoes off with little remorse. You stand up and throw them in the nearest trash can with even less.

You exit the building feeling numb, and it’s not until you feel the cold droplets on your skin that your brain registers the fact that, hey, it’s pouring out here.

If you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that your boyfriend ghosted and publicly humiliated you minutes ago – on your anniversary, of all days – you’d laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all. It’s like every power in the universe is suddenly treating your life like a joke. And at this point, maybe it is.

You scramble beneath the awning of the company building, already regretting your decision to throw away your shoes because your pantyhose-clad feet are sopping wet and freezing. However, as you rifle through your purse for your train pass, that turns out not to be the greatest of your concerns.

You curse your lovesick, deluded self for leaving your pass at home in favour of a cab – you didn’t want to risk the effects of Tokyo subway humidity on a full face of makeup and Hollywood curls meticulously set with hairspray. A load of good that did you.

You step out from the safety of the awning to stand on the curb, waving down cab after cab. The only thing is, they’re not stopping for you. And you suppose you wouldn’t either, if you were them. You really do look like a psycho ex-girlfriend with your mascara-streaked face, tangled wet hair, and shoeless feet.

And oh, a fresh wave of tears is taking over again. It’s hard to tell when your face is being pelted by raindrops, but you can distinguish the tears by the salty taste they leave as they roll past your lips.

All you want is to take a warm shower and curl up in bed with a tub of ice cream, ideally for the rest of your life. Maybe a million tubs of ice cream. Maybe a metric ton.

So you soldier on in the pouring rain, stepping on cigarettes and rocks and narrowly missing the broken beer bottle on the side of the road – thank God – in your ripped pantyhose, your ex’s last words still fresh in your mind. ‘At least do it with a little grace.’ You straighten your back and walk with your head held high, doing everything in your power to ignore the lingering stares of the other pedestrians.

Sakusa had his reservations about moving.

He’d grown quite attached to his last apartment, after all. Well, maybe not the apartment itself so much as its state of cleanliness. For three years, he kept up an arduous, weekly cleaning routine to keep the place free of dirt, grime, and most importantly, outside germs. At this point, he’s sure his old apartment must be as sterile as an operating room, if not more so. That is, if it hasn’t been contaminated by whatever bozo they leased it to after he left. He shudders at the thought.

Still, he and Coach Foster agreed that it’d be more convenient for him to live closer to the gym so he wouldn’t have to wake at the crack of dawn every day to get to practice. That way, he could stay for the late-night sessions with Hinata, Bokuto, and Atsumu too, not that he’d ever let them know he was feeling left out.

So after three months of searching, countless phone calls with his real estate agent, and a longer-than-necessary inspection of the place for any signs of mould, cockroaches, or rodents, Sakusa signed the lease, confident in his decision.

That confidence is nowhere to be found as he eyes the sopping wet, mud-stained, shivering creature currently making its way towards him, the ruined makeup and soggy locks of hair making her look like something straight out of those horror movies Atsumu’s so fond of.

It must be, what, past midnight at this point? At his old place, Sakusa would take the trash out around this time specifically because there were no other tenants roaming the halls. Behind his mask, he scowls. Seems like he’ll have to reschedule his chores around the nightly routine of whoever’s beneath this soaking mop of hair.

He knew he should’ve gone with the apartment in Shinjuku, dammit. He curses himself for being so easily seduced by the granite countertops in the Shibuya flat – with all the young people here, it was only a matter of time before he ran into a complete weirdo.

Looks like that time is now. And just when things couldn’t get any worse, they do.

There must be at least twelve rooms on this floor alone. As the stranger makes her way towards him, he thinks to himself, what are the chances?

Apparently Murphy’s Law is a real thing, or maybe he’s just done something in the past month to piss the universe off, because you stop right in front of the apartment next to his.

Well hey there, neighbour.

Sakusa is horrified to say the least, doubly so when he realizes you’re tracking mud down the halls and – would you look at that – the water dripping off your body is now forming a dirty puddle right in front of his apartment.

And then? You sneeze on him.

Sakusa feels his soul leave his body, and in its wake lies nothing but pure, unadulterated rage.

“Cover your damn mouth! And you better watch where you’re dripping, or so help me, the pneumonia you’re gonna catch from that rainwater will be the least of your concerns! This place must be full of ingrates like you. I knew I should’ve taken the Shinjuku place, I knew it!”

Sakusa can feel the veins in his forehead throbbing already, and this really isn’t how he’d wanted his first interaction with his neighbours to go down, but it looks like there’s no going back now. He pinches the bridge of his nose and decides that, hey, he might as well get everything off his chest.

“And tell me, why aren’t you wearing shoes? You better hope and pray you didn’t step on anything sharp, because that’s just a bacterial infection waiting to happen. Disgusting.” He says the last word with a sneer, nose wrinkling just enough to be seen over the top of his mask.

Sakusa’s about to cut his losses and head back inside his apartment, trash bag still in hand, but he’s stopped dead in his tracks when you start… crying? Suddenly your legs give out and you just collapse on the floor, sobbing, and although Sakusa is talented at many things, comforting people has never been one of them.

He’s under no obligation to help, is he? Against his better judgment, he stops to consider it, but his thoughts are interrupted when you scream out, voice cracking like an eight million yen vase in a shoujo anime:

“You germaphobic asshole! Dammit, I hate my life!”

Before he can act, or even think, you’ve risen to your feet, unlocked your door, and slammed it shut behind you, muffled sobs still sounding through the walls.

He definitely should’ve taken the Shinjuku apartment.

Chapter Text

It’s been three days since the most epically tragic, earth-shattering night of your life, and honestly? You’re coping okay.

...Alright, maybe your ex had a point when he said you had a problem tricking yourself into thinking things are better than they really are. Because honestly? You’re far from okay. So far from okay that the pungent odour coming from your pits is already making you cringe. No, not your pits. Is it your hair? Maybe your feet?

All of the above, most likely, seeing as you haven’t showered since the night you came home drenched in the rain. You reach up to touch the greasy, matted mess your hair has become, instantly regretting your decision to forgo shampoo – all you wanted to do that night was collapse in bed, could anyone really blame you for being lazy?

Yes, they can. You do, at least. The oil sitting in your scalp is making it itch like crazy, almost as much as the time you had lice in elementary school.

You were lucky the breakup happened on a Friday, but even with the weekend to recuperate, you just aren’t feeling up to going to work today. A shame, too. You even picked out the plainest, most unfashionable clothes in your wardrobe to truly convey to the world just how sucky your life is right now. (They came from the box of items you were going to donate to Goodwill, but that’s your little secret.)

You know your coworkers will eat you alive for skipping out – it’s nearing the end of the quarter and your team’s about one deal away from nabbing first place in sales, which comes with its own cushy list of benefits – but you can’t help it, you’ve just got to call in sick today.

Because – curse that know-it-all germaphobe next door – you really are sick.

With a downright nasty cold at that.

There’s more pressure in your sinuses right now than in the Marianas Trench, and every time you swallow, it’s like Ali Baba’s forty thieves are stabbing knives in your throat, because they’re oh-so desperate for the leftover chicken salad you’re forcing yourself to choke down. God knows you don’t have the energy to cook right now. You don’t have the energy to take out a proper plate either, because you know you’ll have to wash it after, and just the thought makes you want to sink into bed all over again. So you opt to eat your salad straight out of its Tupperware.

You sneeze, for what must be the twelfth time this morning alone, and as you do, you feel a piece of chicken go up your nose, which is a whole ordeal you’re just not prepared for so early in the day. Running to the kitchen sink, you’re sure you must be quite a sight in your ratty old bathrobe, choking and snorting in a desperate attempt to get the foreign body out of your nasal passage.

Somewhere between snorting it out and running yourself a glass of water, the face of your clean freak neighbour suddenly pops into your mind, black curls, beauty marks and all. The mask he was wearing had concealed half his face, but even in your depressed state, you’d thought he was handsome.

‘The pneumonia you’re gonna catch from that rainwater will be the least of your concerns!’

‘This place must be full of ingrates like you.’

‘That’s a bacterial infection just waiting to happen.’

Before he opened his mouth, that is.

‘Cover your damn mouth!’

You flinch, some of the water in your glass spilling out and onto the sleeve of your robe. Cursing, you reach for a dish towel to dry it off, but not before your memories start piecing themselves together.

‘Cover your damn mouth!’

Oh. You sneezed on him, didn’t you?

You remember your landlady warning you that morning about the new tenant who was moving in. ‘A real germaphobe,’ she said. ‘Took three hours to inspect every nook and cranny of the place, and he wore his mask the whole time. Too many germs in the air, he said.’

You think of how much you hated it when people sneezed without covering their mouths during flu season in college, especially when they were in the library cubicle right next to you. Oh gosh, you’d been standing right in front of this guy, hadn’t you? Your mucous particles had probably gotten all over him.

Some strange sense of remorse overtakes you, bubbling in your chest, and – wait, no, that’s the tingling from the VapoRub.

‘Disgusting.’

The way he said it, the way he looked at you like you were nothing – it was so reminiscent of your ex that it made you shiver.

Forget remorse. You must still be delirious from the fever.

Sakusa has been called an asshole his whole life by his classmates, his teammates, hell, even his friends. A ‘germaphobic asshole’? Sure, more often than not, actually. So really, although he made it a small goal for himself not to offend any of his new neighbours unnecessarily, he can’t say he’s feeling too guilty about what happened a few nights ago.

You looked like you crawled out of a sewer, and for all Sakusa knew, you were dripping disease-ridden, murky sewer water dangerously close to the inside of his apartment. And then you sneezed all your sewer germs on his face, which he had just thoroughly washed with facial cleanser and mineral scrub.

(And no, it’s not for the baby-bottom complexion, no matter what Atsumu says. He bought it because the product label said it was deep-cleaning and would lift all the dirt from his pores.)

Sure, he went off the rails a little bit, and maybe he did feel a tad guilty when he heard you crying through the thin walls of his apartment, but that all turned to bitter resentment when the sound of your sobs persisted until four in the morning.

And they have resumed every night since at varying times past midnight. Except now, your weeping is punctuated by coughs and sniffles, which is somehow infinitely worse because just hearing you hack up phlegm makes Sakusa feel nauseous. He knew you’d get sick, he knew it.

But it’s a hollow victory because he still has to deal with hearing you bawl your eyes out at one, two, three in the morning. How do you not pass out from dehydration? Are you hooked up to an IV that pumps you with fluids 24/7? He’ll never know.

What he does know is that the constant sobbing and sad music – Evanescence, really? – blasting from your apartment in the wee hours of the morning have shot his sleep schedule to hell. It’s reached the point where Coach Foster is seriously questioning whether having Sakusa move closer to the gym was really worth it. He’s just as drowsy at early morning practice as he was before, if not more so.

Today was one such day. Actually, all the days since he moved to this cursed apartment complex have been lousy. And he’s more than a little worried about how that’s going to reflect on the game tonight. Atsumu and Bokuto are finally starting to sync up better, and whatever Hinata learned in Brazil is clearly working, especially after the confidence boost he got after his superstar debut, so even if Sakusa’s a little off today, the rest of the team should still be able to cover for him.

The elevator dings and Sakusa steps off at his apartment floor. Just as he rounds the corner, he catches sight of a man he’s never seen before standing right outside your front door. Something in Sakusa tells him to wait behind the corner and see what happens. Concern? Not likely. Curiosity, maybe – specifically as to whether or not you look like a shrivelled prune after crying twice your body weight in water over the past three nights.

You open the door in a ratty pink bathrobe, hair a greasy, tangled mess and your eyes half-lidded, clearly drunk on Nyquil.

However, your eyes widen and your whole body suddenly snaps to attention once you see who’s at the door. Hmm. Interesting.

“Oh gross, you’re sick. What happened, get caught in the rain that night?” the man says, his voice drawling in a way that’s eerily similar to Sakusa’s. “I need my video camera back. The girl I’m flirting with won front-row seats to some volleyball game and she wants to record it.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and suddenly you’re laughing, dry, humourless, and more than a little congested from all the mucus taking residence in your nasal passages. It doesn’t take away from the hurt on your face or the tension in the air.

“That’s all you have to say to me?”

“What else is there? I made it pretty clear that we were over, you were the one who didn’t take the hint.”

“We were together for almost a year – people don’t ghost each other after that much time passes. People shouldn’t ghost period, it’s immature and cowardly.”

“Right, because nothing screams ‘adult’ like sobbing on the floor like a baby – God, in public, too.” The man closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose as his brows furrow in disgust. “You just couldn’t keep it together for ten minutes, could you? You embarrassed both of us in front of all my coworkers because you were just too stupid to admit that it was over.”

You freeze where you are, speechless. Then, your bottom lip starts to quiver and you spin on your heel, retreating into your apartment. For a second, Sakusa thinks you won’t come back. But you do, reappearing minutes later with a Fuji X-T2 that you shove unceremoniously into the man’s hands.

“You’re right. I was too stupid to admit that you were just a dirty, rotten bastard I never should have wasted my time with in the first place. Take this and please, for the love of God, never show up in my life ever again.”

You slam the door in his face so hard that it rattles on the hinges.

“You didn’t have to ask, sweetheart!” he hollers after you and storms away. He doesn’t see Sakusa as he rounds the corner, and ends up knocking into his broad chest in a way that must be painful if the grimace on his face and the hand coming up to rub his shoulder are anything to go by. He glares at Sakusa as he leaves, who returns the gesture in full.

Sakusa knows he can be an asshole sometimes, but if you compare him to the man who was just in front of your apartment, he could be considered a ball of sunshine in the same leagues of wholesome as Hinata. No wonder you’ve been sobbing for three days straight.

Sakusa is suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of guilt, the scathing remarks he made to you a few nights ago replaying in his mind like a bad movie. With great trepidation, he approaches your door and raises his hand to knock, but he pauses. You probably don’t want to see anyone after what just happened – least of all him.

So he lowers his hand, sighs, and takes a step to the left to enter his own apartment.

Shutting the door behind him, he bends down to remove his shoes when he hears you sneeze through the wall, followed by the sound of you blowing what sounds like a gallon of mucus from your nose. Sakusa’s mouth curls in disgust as he unties his shoelaces, but then a light bulb goes off in his head and he stops what he’s doing.

Although comforting others has never been one of Sakusa’s strengths, getting over an illness certainly is.

He should know – he caught a cold every two weeks when he was a kid because his immune system was about as weak as the flavour of buttered noodles. A memory begins to resurface in his mind: his mother staying at his bedside with damp rags and a hot water bottle as she brushed back his sweat-damp, matted curls, which in hindsight, must have been so unpleasant. He is in no way prepared to do the same for you in your germ-filled apartment.

What he can do, however, is leave you some of his mother’s home remedies that she taught him how to make when he first moved out on his own.

An hour later, Sakusa emerges from his apartment carrying a tray of cold meds, honey-lemon tea, umeboshi, and okayu, which he sets in front of your door gently before knocking and running to hide behind the potted plant in the hallway. He feels like a schoolboy, but he tries to maintain as much dignity as possible. Which admittedly? Isn’t much, especially when he has to crouch down to fully conceal his tall form.

Sakusa’s duffel bag is already packed for the game and slung comfortably over his shoulder, so as soon as he sees you exit your apartment, eye the tray of food warily, shrug and take it back in with you, he breathes a little sigh of relief and makes his way to the stadium.

At the game later, Sakusa spots your ex and his date in the front row, as expected. And although he hates to be petty, once the game ends and he sees Atsumu riding a victory high that makes him even more cocky than usual, the chance is just too good to pass up. He asks Atsumu for a rare favour.

“Please don’t ask why, but I need you to flirt with that girl over there.”

“But she’s with her boyfriend?”

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“Good point.”

When Sakusa returns home that night, he sees the empty dishes outside your door, already washed and dry. The sight makes him smile.

Chapter Text

Admittedly, you’re a little disappointed when you open your door in the evening and there isn’t another tray of assorted Japanese cold remedies waiting for you. Maybe you’re getting greedy now. Your new neighbour has been spoiling you for an entire week, but you haven’t sneezed or coughed once in the past two nights, and really, you’re more-or-less back to normal.

Truthfully, you’ve known it was him since the first night. He just doesn’t know that you know, and to avoid any awkward confrontations, you’ve been content to keep it that way.

You almost hadn’t taken the first tray into your apartment. There weren’t a lot of other tenants you were familiar with on your floor, and even fewer who knew you were sick in the first place, so this could’ve been a random gift from a stranger or another cursed object the universe sent your way. Maybe it was drugged. Or worse, poisoned.

Paranoia crawling to the forefront of your mind, you brought the tray of food into your apartment, but immediately after closing the door, you peered through the peephole to see if you could spot the random do-gooder – or creepy stalker – that left this admittedly very tempting meal on your doorstep.

So just imagine your surprise when you saw your germaphobe neighbour emerge from behind that ugly potted plant in the hallway, take one glance at your door, smile, and leave. The first thought that came to your mind was: Yeah, this is definitely poisoned.

The growling in your stomach overtook any sense of rationality, though, and before you knew it, one tentative bite of the umeboshi had turned into you scraping the last of the okayu from the bottom of the bowl and downing the last gulp of tea in your neighbour’s pewter mug (along with the cold meds he’d left behind, even though they screamed suspicious). All that remained of the umeboshi were the pits, and as you eyed them on their little ceramic dish, you cursed your lack of self-control.

You woke up the next morning feeling fine – more than fine, actually – and when another tray appeared at your door that night, carrying with it a plate of honey-soaked daikon, onigiri, and a steaming cup of ginger tea, you took it inside with relatively little hesitation. You felt stronger day by day, enough to start showering daily again and go out for groceries to cook on your own. In fact, you’d been feeling so good that a few days ago, you decided to wear an outfit that wasn’t from your box of Goodwill donations.

The only problem these days is that whenever you pass neighbour-boy in the hallway, he doesn’t make eye contact or utter a word to you, and you’re really starting to wish you’d left a note or a letter on those trays when they were still being delivered to your doorstep. The first few days, you played dumb when you passed each other in the halls because you didn’t want to embarrass him, and honestly, you were still kind of waiting on a formal apology – but this has been going on for a week now and you just cannot stand the awkward tension in the air when you see each other, or how he hides behind that damn plant and waits to take the next elevator just so he doesn’t have to be alone with you in a confined space.

(To be fair, that last one could be because you’ve been sick out of your mind until recently. But it still pisses you off to see him hovering behind the potted fern, especially when the plastic foliage barely conceals him. You’re not blind. And now you’ve come to hate elevators.)

So like the mature adult you are – screw whatever your ex had to say to you – you now find yourself outside your neighbour’s apartment, hand poised to knock, when suddenly you hear through the polished oak door:

“So I was spying on them from the corner and it turns out she got dumped that night by this total jackass. It sounded like a really ugly breakup too, she was crying on the floor where he works. Yeah, I know, even I felt bad for her, it sounded pretty pathetic… Why was he at her apartment? That’s the worst part, he was just picking up his camera for a date with this other girl, I swear this woman has the saddest love life I’ve ever–”

The door swings open and your neighbour stops dead in his tracks, his phone still resting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He’s wearing his signature mask – seriously, will you ever see the bottom half of his face? – but behind it, you’re pretty sure he’s gaping like a fish.

You, on the other hand, can barely conceal your disgust. You didn’t think it was possible to feel even more pathetic than you already do, but apparently the universe just loves to prove you wrong.

“You were spying on me?” you say, and you can hear your voice wavering already, but you ignore it and force yourself to carry on. “You know what? I came here to say thanks for the food and tell you that you’re not as much of an asshole as I thought you were, but it looks my life is just full of disappointments lately.”

You laugh, the sound void of any humour.

“What am I saying – you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Without another word, you open the door to your apartment and slam it behind you. The way it rattles reminds you of your last encounter with your ex, but you banish the thought from your mind.

Sakusa really isn’t sure where he went wrong. He doesn’t apologize a lot – maybe once when he was ten and broke his mother’s tea pot, or in high school when he burned a hole in his brother’s favourite jeans by trying to clean them with bleach – so it had taken a while just to muster up the courage to speak to you. Even then, he wasn’t sure what he would say, hence why he’d decided to call Komori for advice. Sakusa has been ignoring his texts now, mostly because after you stormed off, all Komori said was, “Dang, that’s rough, buddy. Make sure you pick up tomatoes for me at the supermarket.” Then he hung up.

Sakusa picked the most wrinkly, speckled bag he could find out of spite. He hopes they gave Komori food poisoning.

If he’d known things would turn out this way, Sakusa would’ve just apologized to you sooner, even if it meant fumbling over his words like an idiot. Maybe then you wouldn’t have grown sick waiting for him and decided to make the first move. The last thing he expected to see as he was leaving the house for his weekly grocery run was you outside his apartment hearing every word he was divulging to his cousin through the phone.

He was so shocked that he hadn’t even had time to feel embarrassed about you knowing that he was the one who left you food every night. See, that’s another thing. If he had known that you’d known, he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of hiding behind that damn plant every time just to make sure you took the food inside with you.

Another week has passed since the day you caught him on the phone, and Sakusa is starting to grow restless. He feels guilty for avoiding you all through that week when he was dropping off food at your doorstep, because he realizes now what a crappy feeling it is to be shouldered past in the hallway, ignored when he knocks on your apartment door, and – worst of all – see you use his own tricks against him as you hide behind that stupid potted plant to wait for the next elevator.

So he decides to bring it full circle.

It happens one day when he’s leaving his apartment for practice, duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he waits for the elevator. He hears you coming out of your apartment and locking the door as you argue with a co-worker through the phone, your voice getting louder as you approach.

“No, the Hong Kong project was supposed to go to our team this quarter. What do you mean? They gave it to Natural Resources? You’ve got to be kidding me! We were the ones who pitched it last meeting! Wait no, don’t put him on the– Uh, hi, Mr. Kimura, I heard that your team is taking the Hong Kong deal. No, it’s not that I think it’s unfair, I just–”

You’re so distracted that, as you round the corner, you fail to see Sakusa running to hide behind that cursed plant, bulky duffel bag and all. He would laugh at how quickly your voice changes when you’re talking to a superior – all fake smiles and pretty words – but he’s not willing to blow his cover and be accused of spying on you again.

As soon as the elevator doors open and you step inside, Sakusa bolts from his hiding place to join you in the lift, jamming the button to close the doors before you can even realize what's going on. Internally, he cringes at the fact that he didn’t spray the elevator panel with disinfectant first. He must be a lot more desperate than he thought.

On that note, he’s also a lot more nervous than he’d care to admit. This feels like the kind of half-baked, spur of the moment idea Hinata would come up with, and Sakusa feels so far out of his comfort zone that part of him debates whether he should just get off on the next floor and pretend this never happened.

Just as soon as the thought appears, Sakusa banishes it from his mind, instead turning to look at you. Your eyes are wide and you’re stammering some excuse into the phone so you can end the call as soon as possible.

“Um, you know what? It’ll be easier to discuss in person. I’ll be at the office in twenty minutes, see you then.” You hang up the phone abruptly, and once the initial shock subsides, your eyes narrow and you scowl at him. Sakusa estimates that he probably has about thirty seconds to make his case.

He takes a deep breath and launches into his apology.

“Look, I’m sorry for everything I said to you the first night – you were obviously shaken up already, and I shouldn’t have lost my temper. And I’m sorry for eavesdropping on you and your ex last week, that one was really an accident. I just happened to be there and I was only going to stay long enough to see that you were okay, because you were crying and sneezing and coughing so loudly the nights before that it was hard to sleep.”

For a moment, your eyes darken even more, if that’s possible, and if Sakusa were a lesser man, he would flinch at the sight. But he can already see the frown marring your forehead begin to soften, so he carries on.

“And then you guys started talking, and things got kind of heated, and I thought it’d just be worse if I let you know I was there. I should have just walked away. I’m really, truly sorry.”

A minute passes in silence, during which all the tension in your body seems to dissipate, and you slouch against the wall. For some reason, your eyes just look tired now. Defeated, the way Sakusa’s do after losing a game.

“You think I’m pathetic, don’t you? I heard everything you said on the phone, you know.”

Sakusa thinks back to what he said on the call, mentally kicking himself. For a while, silence resumes in the elevator. Then your self-loathing kicks in, and you crack.

“It’s not like I can really blame you–”

“You’re not pathetic,” he blurts out.

Silence reigns once more. And then, for the first time since he’s moved here, Sakusa lowers his mask so you can hear every word he’s about to say.

“You just gave too much of yourself to a guy who didn’t appreciate you. And that was kind of naïve, but you’re not pathetic – because unlike him, you actually tried.”

Your eyes go wide, but you don't say a thing. In fact, neither of you exchange a word for the rest of the ride. Eventually, the elevator dings and the doors open to reveal the bustling lobby of your apartment complex. Sakusa pulls his mask back over his face and readjusts his duffel bag once more as he makes to leave.

“Sorry again. I won’t talk to you when we run into each other if you don’t want me to, so–”

“Wait!” Your arm shoots out to grab the sleeve of his jacket and this time, he really does flinch. You let go immediately though, which he appreciates, but your eyes are glued to the floor.

“Thanks for… you know, saying that just now. It really does make me feel better. Actually, that’s the first time someone’s said I wasn’t a complete idiot for putting up with him." Your hand comes up to rub at the back of your neck, as if you're embarrassed. "My friends just said they saw this coming and that I should’ve, too… So thanks.”

You raise your head to look at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Thanks for the food, too. I’m sorry for sneezing on you that first night. And also for calling you an asshole… You’re actually okay.” The smile grows bigger until it finally reaches your eyes. It’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, and for the first time since he’s known you, it dawns on Sakusa that you can actually look happy.

“Now can we please just interact like normal human beings? I don’t want to have to tiptoe around you for the next three years or however long we’re gonna live next door to each other. I’m (L/N) (Y/N), by the way,” you say, extending your hand to him.

Sakusa blinks. Then blinks again. You really want anything to do with him at this point? It seems too good to be true after all he’s been through the past two weeks, but it sure would be nice not to have you shove past him in the hallway. And really, it’s quite time-consuming to have to wait for the next elevator just to avoid you every day. Coach Foster has been seriously questioning what the heck this move has done to him when, geographically, he’s so much closer to the gym now.

So he nods at you in lieu of a handshake and introduces himself properly.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Chapter Text

You used to think there was nothing worse than waking up to the sound of your 6AM alarm every day to get to work.

Now though, as you stumble out of your bed half-asleep with the piercing sound of the fire alarm echoing down the halls, you realize how wrong you were. You glance at the clock on your bedside table. It flashes the numbers 4:07, as if it’s mocking you. Bet you wish you had those extra two hours now, huh? You groan and feel around the wall for the light switch, not intent on burning alive here.

Isn’t there a question on every personality test that asks, ‘What would you grab in a fire?’ You’ve done enough of them with your friends to last a lifetime, so why now are you drawing a blank?

There’s not exactly time to take much, so you grab your phone off the nightstand, your house keys off your desk, and rush out to the living room to grab your purse off the couch, shoving both items inside. You thank the Lord that you left your laptop at work last night, hastily slinging the bag over your shoulder as you hurry to the foyer and jam your feet into a pair of flip-flops. For a moment, you think about the high school photo albums still on your bookshelf and the snow globe your parents brought back from Iceland, but you shake your head. There isn’t time.

You’re still doubting your choice of essentials when you emerge into the hallway, but one glance at Sakusa, who’s slamming his front door shut just beside you, and the thought is wiped from your mind.

Admittedly, seeing him leave every morning in a tracksuit with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder was kind of annoying the first month. It made you feel guilty for staying home every night to watch TV instead of going to spin classes with your coworkers, or playing basketball with your friends, or heck, even attending Pilates with your landlady. She’s invited you so many times too, and you always make some BS excuse, promising to take a rain check that you have no intention of actually following up on.

So yes, you feel guilty for looking down on Sakusa’s gym rat habits, because clearly, whatever he’s doing has worked. You almost forget that it’s 4AM, the fire alarm is ringing, and the entire building is evacuating, because you’re just too busy ogling a shirtless and very annoyed Sakusa as he and the other tenants herd you towards the exit stairs.

As you all clamber through the hallway, you notice that although Sakusa is bare from the waist up, he apparently had time to grab his mask? He must sleep with it on or something, otherwise he just has a very strange set of priorities. You don’t know which possibility is weirder, but they both seem equally likely.

“Excuse me, trying to get through!”

“Hey, watch where you’re going!”

“Every man for himself, move it, losers!”

As the more zealous tenants shove past you, Sakusa, and each other, you can tell that your clean freak neighbour’s on the verge of a mental breakdown, the skin-to-skin contact with all these people doing little to calm his nerves in what is already a pretty stressful situation. You try your best to weasel through the sea of bodies separating you from him, ducking under arms and murmuring half-hearted apologies until you find yourself at his side, finally reaching the stairwell.

He, as you expected, is finding this situation rather difficult to deal with – for all the wrong reasons.

“Oh my God, this is even worse than the hallway. It’s so poorly ventilated in here, I bet we’re all breathing air that was in another person’s mouth.”

“Sakusa, you’re already wearing a mask, doesn’t that filter it somewhat?”

He doesn’t even seem to hear you, wrapping his toned arms around his broad chest as he shudders.

“I’m gonna have to scrub my entire body down in the shower at least four times once this is all over. Even then, it’s going to feel like there’s dirt clinging to me all week.”

You roll your eyes. Whatever weird thoughts you had about seeing him half-naked have vanished, and your patience is wearing thinner and thinner as he continues on his tirade of why these escape stairs should be disinfected on a monthly basis.

“Oof!” You grunt as you're pushed to the side by the middle-aged woman who lives on the fifth floor. You rub the rapidly forming bruise on your shoulder, doing your best to stick to the wall to prevent further mishaps, but they just keep coming.

It’d be nice if you could be built like a brick wall like Sakusa. In the pandemonium that is the fire escape stairwell, you find yourself shoved every which way by people old and young, big and small. Even the landlady’s grandson, 4’11” and eighty pounds, pushes you out of the way, yelling, “Move it, hippo!” as he races down the stairs. You wore that onesie to take out the trash one time. Kids hold onto blackmail material for life.

Within ten minutes, you’ve already lost Sakusa in the crowd, which makes things even worse, because at least you could hide behind him to avoid being smushed by the other tenants. Now there really isn’t anything to shield you from the onslaught of frantic, sweaty bodies all scrambling down the stairs like their life depends on it – it sort of does, but you are pissed nonetheless. You wonder if this is what Mufasa felt like in that stampede. You sure hope not – it did not end well for him.

“Oh my God, we’re all gonna die!”

Fifth-floor lady’s husband has apparently taken a page out of his wife’s book as he pushes past the people behind you. However, unlike his wife, he weighs three hundred pounds, which does not bode well as he slams into you from behind and sends you flying down the stairs.

You wonder if in your past life, you were some kind of Olympic gymnast gifted with spellbinding grace and unwavering physical coordination.

The irony would make your clumsy forward somersaults down the stairs a hell of a lot funnier.

Thump. On your knees.

Thump. There goes your back.

Thump-thump-thump. Your butt stutters the rest of the way down, and you end up at the bottom of the landing with what you’re sure is a boatload of bruises and maybe a bone fracture. Meanwhile, the fifth-floor bozo who collided into you rushes past, and you wonder briefly if this is what a hit-and-run feels like. You could totally sue him for this, right?

That’ll have to wait. Both of your knees are bruised, there’s a searing pain in your left shoulder, and your tailbone in particular hurts like a little bishounen.

Truth be told, you’ve never been that close to any of your neighbours in the first place, but you decide right here and now that you want absolutely nothing to do with them. Ever.

Mostly because, even though you’re splayed on the floor writhing in pain, no one has stopped to help. They’ve all just side-stepped past you, which has you immediately thinking back to the night of your breakup when the exact same thing happened. Either people have grown especially awful as of late, or there’s just something about you that puts them off. You can’t help but think that both options are equally likely.

Eventually, the people passing you trickle down to none, and you begin to come to terms with the fact that you’re going to die here. Just then, a familiar masked, shirtless figure appears on the landing above you, descending the stairs like a guardian angel that’s come to your rescue. You smile hopefully. At least there’s one neighbour you can always rely on.

…That thought disappears as Sakusa steps over you to continue down the stairs.

Did that really just happen? He must be messing with you. He has to be.

“Sakusa, come back here and help me, you asshole!”

You hear his footsteps stop. He mumbles something under his breath – cursing you out most likely – and the footsteps resume, growing louder and louder and closer and closer until finally, his masked face appears before you, brows furrowed and the dark bags under his eyes an exact replica of your own. He just stands there for a minute, as if coming to terms with a truly unsavoury reality. Maybe for him, it is. He shakes his head, and whether the gesture is meant for you or himself, you can’t really tell.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he says. He turns so that his back is facing you and squats down. You raise an eyebrow.

“Well? Get on, I don’t want to burn alive in here.”

Oh. Is your neighbour Sakusa Kiyoomi offering you a piggy-back ride?

Hesitantly, you wrap your arms around Sakusa’s broad shoulders, barely suppressing a squeal as his own come under your thighs to hoist you up onto his back. He stands up immediately as if you weigh nothing and continues his way down the stairs at a pace that’s probably faster than your own, even when you were uninjured.

“Didn’t take you for the type to give piggy-back rides.”

“This way if I slip, you can cushion my back, neck and skull.”

“What about mine?”

“That’s the travel fee, sorry.”

You grimace, deciding not to dignify that last remark with a response. As you rest your chin on Sakusa’s shoulder, you notice that he smells like a mix of Lysol and that grapefruit-scented skincare pack you bought your coworker for the Secret Santa exchange last Christmas – the one with the deep-cleaning facial cleanser and mineral scrub that you were tempted to keep for yourself.

“You owe me big-time for this, I hope you know.”

You feel all the blood in your body rush to your face. Your adrenaline and rage-fuelled bravado from earlier are nowhere to be found as you remember that Sakusa is effectively still a stranger whom you’ve forced to carry you down the stairs like a pack mule.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Thanks. And, um… sorry for calling you an asshole again, it’s just sort of a habit at this point.”

“I’m used to it.”

An awkward silence reigns after that, during which your face grows warmer, if that’s even possible. You’re suddenly glad that it’s dark and Sakusa can’t see you, because you’re quite sure you resemble an overripe tomato at this point. It doesn’t help that Sakusa smells clean and fresh, or that you’re pressed up against his bare skin right now.

Sakusa starts huffing and puffing, and for a minute you panic thinking you’re too heavy for him after all, but when you lean forward to check if he’s okay, you notice that one of his curls has fallen into his eyes and he’s just trying to blow it out of his face. Ha. A lot of good that’s gonna do him.

You reach to tuck the lock of hair behind his ear, but in the process, you end up poking your finger into his eye and he freaks.

“Oh my, gosh…! Are your hands even clean? The eyes are the facial orifice most susceptible to infection! God, I should’ve just left you there!”

…Okay, false alarm. Whatever weird feeling stirring in your chest disappears immediately, and the heat in your cheeks is gone by the time you and Sakusa emerge into the cool darkness of the night to join the others.

Fire trucks line the street, the flashing lights of their sirens overpowering the dim street lamps as they illuminate every inch of your neighbourhood with an ominous red glow. Compared to the shrill screech of the fire alarm echoing endlessly in the enclosed stairwell, the ringing of the fire truck sirens is just a hum that fades into the background as Sakusa carries you over to the little lawn outside your apartment complex.

“Oh, you don’t have to carry me anymo–”

You fall to the ground with a plop as Sakusa dumps you on the grass. Sure, it provides a little bit of a cushion as opposed to the rock-hard concrete, but it’s still sudden enough that you don’t have time to brace yourself, and now the bruises on your back are crying out in agony.

As you rub your sore tailbone, you notice Sakusa peering up at the fire truck ladder, which is currently leading up to what you estimate is a floor or two above your own. A firefighter descends, and as he enters your field of vision, you notice that he looks a lot… cleaner than you were expecting. Where’s the ash in his hair, the smoke staining his face and uniform? Are those just details Hollywood puts in for the heck of it?

When the firefighter finally returns to the ground, he looks less than thrilled. You see him approach your landlady, who’s just shivering in her little old lady nightgown, bless her heart.

“Sakusa, can you carry me over there? I want to hear what they’re saying.”

“I’ve already done my good deed for the year, you’re on your own.”

You roll your eyes. Getting on your hands and knees, you crawl over to where the firefighter is engaging in what must be a pretty heated conversation with your landlady, if the twitch in his eye is anything to go by. The concrete beneath your hands is already scraping at the soft skin of your palms. Luckily, by the time you’re about ten feet away, you’re within earshot.

“A smoke alarm? On the seventh floor?”

“Yes, ma’am, it seems the tenant in 707 was baking and set off the smoke alarm in his apartment. I don’t know what kind of fire safety training he’s had, but he panicked and ran into the hall to pull the manual fire alarm box.”

…This has got to be a joke.

You’re out here with a bruised body and ego because some guy burned his snickerdoodles at the crack of dawn and decided to alert everyone in the building?

“Are you kidding me?” A voice from behind you startles you out of your thoughts and you peer up to see Sakusa, scowling. If he was going to spy on them too, why couldn’t he have just carried you over here?

“What idiot would do this?” he says, and for once you agree.

“Mrs. Takahashi, I’m so sorry for pulling the alarm!”

A young man with spiky salt-and-pepper hair comes bounding over to your landlady, dressed only in an apron, gym shorts, and flip-flops. Hmm. Maybe the universe is trying to pay you back for your dastardly love life by giving you some shirtless boys to ogle.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

You peer over your shoulder again to look at Sakusa. All the life seems to have drained from his eyes and his shoulders are slouched forward, as if he wants nothing more than to collapse in on himself. Spiky Hair overhears him and looks over, eyes widening.

“Omi-omi? You live here too?”

You snort, but before you can comment, Sakusa storms back inside your apartment complex with the other residents.

He returns minutes later with an even bigger scowl on his face, muttering under his breath as he helps you to your feet and supports you as you limp to the front entrance.

“Omi-omi, huh?”

“Call me that again and I’m pushing you down the stairs.”

“You’re a little late for that, bud.”

Chapter Text

By the time you got back to your apartment last night, it was a quarter past five and you had seriously debated just staying up and starting your morning routine early.

However, with your adrenaline gone and your body still aching all over, you succumbed to sleep as soon as your head hit the pillow, frozen peas, corn, and carrots lying atop your bruises to ease the pain.

Turns out you should’ve just stayed awake, because apparently, your body was so damn tired from the fire alarm last night that you didn’t hear your actual alarm go off.

Instead, you wake to the feeling of cold water pooling on your legs from the thawing vegetables, and as soon as you cross into the threshold of consciousness, you remember – oh crap – you have work today. Immediately, you jolt up from the bed and turn to your clock, praying to God that it’s still before 6.

7:26 AM. Oh crap.

Your sales team wasn’t happy when you took that sick day a month ago, but now you have a vague premonition they’re going to banish you to Textiles, where all the stylish women will mock your questionable fashion taste. The five of you are supposed to give a presentation on Phase 1 of the Hong Kong car parts project first thing this morning, and Natural Resources is just waiting for you to slip up so they can swoop in like the vultures they are and steal it.

(They’re more like seagulls really – obnoxiously loud, ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger, and the ones most likely to ruin a beach day by being whiny losers. Everyone knows it – they’re the ones who punctured the beach ball “accidentally” at the company retreat last year after losing three straight rounds of beach volleyball.)

You scramble out of bed, still sore but too distracted by the looming threat of a team transfer and Kimura’s smug face to really care at this point. You’re still pulling up your dress pants as you stumble into the bathroom, where you splash water on your face and towel it off so aggressively that some of the towel fibres end up in your mouth. There’s no time to worry about it now.

By the time you emerge into the hallway, still tugging on your shoes and buttoning your blouse, your watch reads 7:35, and you curse aloud because your usual train left five minutes ago. The next one won’t be here until 8:30, and you need to get to the office by 8:15.

Just as you finish shrugging on your blazer and locking the door, Sakusa bursts out of his apartment, mask askew and duffel bag half-zipped. You know you ought to feel sorry for him, but misery loves company, and apparently, that also applies to next-door neighbours both running late this morning.

At least he doesn’t have a train to catch – you don’t think he does, anyway. The very thought of Sakusa exposing himself to the public part of public transportation is laughable, and – wait. That just might work in your favour.

“Sakusa, you… drive to the gym, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“You do? Oh my gosh, can you please, please give me a ride? I’ll owe you forever.”

“You already owe me for carrying you down three flights of stairs last night. I don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for favours right now.”

“Come on! Where’s your gym?”

He’s silent for a moment, then rolls his eyes. “Aoyama,” he mutters.

“I’m right on your way, this is a sign! Please, please, please, Sakusa, I have a presentation today on a project I’ve been working on for months, and I just know Kimura’s gonna steal it from us if we screw up. Haven’t you ever wanted something so badly that you slaved over it day-and-night for weeks on end? If I fail, at least let me go down with a fight!”

Something you say must strike a chord in Sakusa, because he just sighs and mumbles over his shoulder for you to follow him. Five minutes later, you find yourself in the underground parking lot next to his silver Lexus.

Twenty minutes later, you’re beginning to think you would’ve been better off on the train as you and Sakusa finish wiping down the inside of his car with the rubbing alcohol and paper towels kept conveniently in his backseat. When you finally climb into the passenger side, the plastic seat cover crinkling stiffly under your still-sore tailbone, it’s 8:00 and you pray to God that Sakusa can just get you to work on time.

Oh, but while you’ve got him, you might as well ask.

“Do you think you’d want to join me and Mrs. Takahashi for Pilates sometime?”

Sakusa has just pulled out of the underground parking lot, and though he doesn’t say a word, the dead-pan expression on his face as he side-eyes you is answer enough.

“Come on, she loves you!” You hope the fake grin on your face is enough to convince him. She really doesn’t, but you don’t want to go alone and embarrass yourself in front of your landlady and all her grandma friends with your lack of physical coordination. Maybe if Sakusa’s there, they’ll be too busy drooling over his Greek God body to notice you falling over during the kneeling side kicks.

Sakusa hums thoughtfully, and while you wait on a response, you open the glove compartment out of curiosity. In it, there’s half a bottle of antibacterial hand soap and a Ziploc bag stuffed with about a dozen travel-size bottles of sanitizer. Why wouldn’t there be?

Upon closer inspection, you recognize the soap as the same discontinued brand your mom used to buy, Takane no hana. The hand-drawn flowers and green ivy on the peeling label make you think of the bubble baths from your childhood, as well as that time in middle school when you slipped in the shower and broke your arm. (That one’s not a very fond memory.)

“You use this too? I haven’t seen this stuff since I was in high school,” you say, turning the bottle around in your hands like it’s some ancient artefact.

Sakusa glances over to see what you’re holding. He nods.

“Yeah, I think that’s my last one. My family always used that brand at home, so I bought a bunch in bulk to take with me when I moved out.”

“And they’ve lasted up to now?”

“Yeah, but lately I can’t find the same brand anywhere. Careful with it. That stuff got me through four flu seasons in college, and whenever I get homesick, it helps me–”

You unscrew the top of the bottle to catch a whiff of white gardenias for the nostalgia run, but unfortunately, the lid comes off at the exact moment Sakusa hits a pothole.

You’re startled enough that you squeeze the bottle, and soap explodes everywhere – in your nostrils, on the passenger seat, on the gear shift, inside the open glove compartment, and Sakusa screeches like a pterodactyl next to you as he violently pulls over onto the curb.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and assess the damage, while you snort out the soap in your nose and reach for the paper towel to blow out what remains of the sudsy mess. You wonder if this is what fanfic characters feel like when they come down with Hanahaki disease, but the thought is pushed to the back of your mind as overwhelming guilt fills you.

“I am so, so sorry Sakusa, it was an accident, I just–”

“Save it,” he says, putting up a hand to stop the endless apologies on the tip of your tongue. “I’m too tired from last night to even yell at you.”

As he pulls out onto the street, you sheepishly bow your head and rip off some more of the paper towel to wipe down the rest of the car (you take it back, the plastic seat covers are a godsend). Neither of you exchange a word for the rest of the ride, and you have just enough time to pat yourself dry before Sakusa pulls into your workplace.

You check your watch. 8:12, it reads by some miracle, and you’re so happy you could cry.

“Thank you so much, Sakusa,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “I’m so sorry again. I promise I’ll make it up to–”

“Just go.” His words are clipped as he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. He doesn’t even look at you, and at this point, it’s not like you can really blame him.

So you hop out of the car, shut the door behind you, and by the time you’ve limped to the front entrance, the silver Lexus is already gone.

You arrive at the boardroom just in time for your presentation, the dirty looks given to you by your team members not enough to deter you after all the chaos you’ve seen in the past four hours. Some of them question why you’re late, others wonder why you smell like a South African flower garden, but it’s all good because the scent reminds Director Sato – the executive head on this project and the woman Kimura has been trying to butter up for weeks – of her honeymoon. She’s all smiles, so the rest of the board is all smiles, and your presentation goes off without a hitch. You see that condescending smirk slip right off Kimura’s face, and you couldn’t be happier.

Except later, when you go out with your coworkers to celebrate, all you can think about is your royal screw-up in Sakusa’s car this morning, and your heart feels heavy. You return home that night still sore, now tipsy, and fully intent on making things right.

Countless Google searches, three eBay listings, two Reddit forums, and one email thread later, you locate the nearest stock of Takane no hana hand soap, which, as it turns out, isn’t all that near.

It’s at some convenience store in Miyagi, which is two hours away by bullet train – not outrageously far, but not close. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and you were originally planning on sleeping in after the fire alarm scare last night, but now you’re having second thoughts.

Images of Sakusa leaving food at your door, rescuing you from what could have been a life-threatening situation, and getting you to work in time to keep Kimura’s ditty mitts off your project come to mind, and you decide that, hey, you do kind of owe him.

So you book your ticket, ice your bruises again with some frozen asparagus, and retire for the night. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.

You’re about an hour into your train ride when you get a call on your cell phone, which normally wouldn’t be an issue.

Except right now, as fate would have it, your ringer is on and set to full volume, meaning the Death Note OP is currently blasting through the otherwise silent bullet train.

♪ Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri! ♫

♫ Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara! ♪

“(Y/N)? It’s Sakusa, I got your number from Mrs. Takahashi. We’re meeting next month for Pilates at–”

“I really can’t talk right now, call you back later!”

The sleeping baby next to you is now wide-awake and bawling as his mother yells at you, all the occupants of the train now turning to watch. You apologize profusely and just nod your head when she describes you as inconsiderate and totally uneducated on proper etiquette. She concludes her rant by saying, with more than a little contempt, “Those clothes are absolutely horrendous! Even if you hadn’t woken my son, he’d cry just from seeing your ugly polyester pants.”

That last one hits a little close to home, but you just bow your head politely and offer to move to the back of the train so you won’t disturb her or her baby for the rest of the ride. To be fair, it’s more out of self-preservation than anything – your pride and sanity are already waning, and it isn’t even noon – but she doesn’t have to know that.

When you arrive in Miyagi, you reckon you have about an hour to get to the store for the agreed-upon meeting time. An hour and fifteen minutes, maybe, if Ukai Keishin is as kind and patient in real life as he is over email.

However, as you make your way down the street, you begin to lose confidence.

All the roads in Miyagi look exactly the same, and although the scenery is beautiful, being surrounded by rolling green hills in every direction doesn’t do much for your already poor sense of direction. A crow flies overhead, cawing at you condescendingly as if it just knows you’re an outsider.

This is going to be a lot harder than you thought.

Sakusa doesn’t know a lot about you, even after spending two months as your next-door neighbour, so when you hang up the first time, he dismisses it as just catching you at the wrong place, wrong time.

However, each subsequent phone call is about as productive as the last, and if anything, they just seem to be getting weirder.

“(Y/N), we’re meeting at a place called Hard ‘Core’ Workouts, but–”

“Bad time, Sakusa! Sawamura-san, he’s getting away! My train ticket’s in that purse, I can’t get home without it!”

Sakusa is startled, but he tries again a half hour later.

“(Y/N), are you there? What days work for you? I can only do weekends and not in the morning, so–”

“Agh! No, no, no, that’s never gonna wash out! Hey, Suga-sensei! I don’t care if you’re friends with Sawamura-san – keep your kids in line!”

And again.

“(Y/N), check my messages. We need to pick a day and time that works for everyone so Mrs. Takahashi can book early enough to use her coup–”

“Shiitake on toast, why does everyone play volleyball in this town?”

He doesn’t bother trying again after that.

You’re safely on your way home now, thanks to Sawamura-san. Leave it to you to be mugged first-thing in a picturesque, unassuming countryside town. That thief had slipped right past you, but before he could even turn the street corner, Sawamura had caught him like a true neighbourhood hero and returned your purse, train ticket and other belongings tucked inside safe and sound. Your encounter with his friend Sugawara hadn’t ended so well.

Ruefully, you peer down at your ugly polyester pants, which have been made even more hideous by the smattering of purple staining the white fabric. Right on your crotch, too. It could have been worse, you suppose – Suga-sensei could have been handing out apple juice today instead of grape, in which case you really would’ve just cut your losses and hitchhiked back to Tokyo.

Outside, the rays of the setting sun kiss the horizon oh-so beautifully as the Miyagi scenery passes by your train window. Unfortunately, you’re too busy nursing a new bruise on your forehead to appreciate the view. What was that girl’s name again? Natsu? She was short, but she sure could jump. That spike to the face hurt like hell, and you’re pretty sure this ice bag you got from the train staff isn’t nearly as effective as your own frozen vegetables.

“At least I got what I came here for,” you mumble to yourself, affectionately patting the two boxes of Takane no hana rare white gardenia antibacterial hand soap next to you. There’s no need to worry about a sleeping baby in your vicinity this time. The two boxes take up the seat beside you, and four more occupy the pair of seats across the aisle. You got a couple dirty looks from the other passengers as they walked by, but at this point, you’re too tired to care. You figure you’ll need to convince the train staff to let you use their snack trolley to wheel the soap out of here, but you’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

That bridge arrives, burning and on the verge of collapse, when your train finally pulls into Tokyo station. The automated voice announcing your arrival rouses you awake from your nap, and you wipe the drool off the corner of your lip before waving down the nearest attendant to ask an odd favour.

“I’m sorry Miss, we can lend you the trolley to move your cargo outside the train, but it has to be returned here before the doors close again. And that’s in... five minutes,” she tells you, looking at her watch impatiently. It’s not like you can even blame the woman; she’s just doing her job. Still, you aren’t thrilled at the prospect of having to move six boxes of hand soap out of the station all on your own.

So you call the only person you can…

“Sakusa? Sorry, I’ll be home in, like, a half hour, we can pound out the details for Pilates then. Yeah, today was crazy, sorry.”

…An Uber driver 500 metres away, because you have grown thoroughly disenchanted with cabs after the night of your breakup. You go to meet him outside and offer to pay a two thousand yen tip if he’ll please, please help you move half a dozen boxes of soap to the car, and though he’s wary at first, he agrees.

Unfortunately, as soon as the two of you have gotten the boxes into the lobby of your apartment complex, he gets a call to pick up some bar-hopping college kids down in Shinjuku, so you’re forced to call Sakusa to help with the rest.

“(Y/N)? What is all this?” he says as he steps out of the elevator, gesturing to the tower of boxes next to you. “Ew, why are your pants stained?”

“It’s a long story that I don’t have the time or energy to tell right now. Please help me get these to the elevator. They’re for you.”

“What? What’s in here?”

You open one of the boxes and pull out a bottle of soap identical to the one you obliterated in his car yesterday. You hold it in front of him and Sakusa leans forward to peer at it, squinting to read the label.

“Takane no hana? How? Why?”

“Took a bullet train to Miyagi this morning, had a wild time there, and bought off the entire supply from Sakanoshita Store in Torono. Why? Because I destroyed your last bottle, and you said this stuff helps curb your homesickness.”

“You remembered that?”

“Yeah, you said it right before you hit that pothole and I shot your soap to hell. I also owe you for, like, multiple favours at this point. Consider this my way of making it up to you.”

You’re about to clap Sakusa on the shoulder when you remember who you’re dealing with, and settle for a head nod instead, like the cool kids on high school TV shows. Sakusa just stares at the boxes next to you, his gaze flickering over to you briefly before returning to the soap.

“Don’t just stand there! I’ll take half, you take half. Come on, let’s get these to your apartment so I can go collapse in mine and sleep for twenty-four hours.”

Stooping over, you grab the top three boxes off your tower, groaning at the pain still lingering in your left shoulder. You’re stopped by a hand on your arm.

Sakusa’s hand.

You suppose this shouldn’t be as big of a deal as it is, considering you were pressed up to his bare back two nights ago, but the atmosphere feels different. Sakusa’s touching you voluntarily. In a non-crisis situation.

“Sakusa?”

His eyes are glued to the ground, but his hand doesn’t move.

“…Thanks,” he says, so softly you almost don’t catch it.

Before you can say another word, he takes the three boxes from your arms and heads to the elevator. Your eyes linger on his retreating back for a moment before you snap yourself out of your stupor, lift the remaining boxes off the floor, and join him.

“So, we still on for Pilates next month?”

Chapter Text

“Hey, hit me with that isopropanol!”

Sakusa stops wiping down the steering wheel long enough to chuck a bottle of rubbing alcohol at you as you approach. After carpooling with him for a month, Sakusa dares to say that you’ve finally gotten the hang of his cleaning routine. He doesn’t even have to hover behind your shoulder to make sure you get in the cracks between the seats anymore.

It’s a mutual exchange, he figures. Hitching a ride with Sakusa lets you sleep in a little longer on weekdays, and also prevents you from being exposed to all the sick people on the train. Sakusa counts the latter as a win on his part, because if you get sick, he could get sick, and he really doesn’t want to have to avoid you in the elevator again to protect himself from your germs.

“Did you send the extra soap bottles to your parents?” you ask from the passenger side, wetting a paper towel with alcohol to disinfect the door handles.

“Yeah.”

"What about your older brother?”

“He didn’t raise me.”

“And Komori?”

“I sent him one.”

“One box?”

“One bottle.”

“Little cheap of you, don’t you think?”

“You get one too.”

“One bottle?”

“One box.”

You stop what you’re doing to peer up at him curiously. Sakusa pretends not to notice, busying himself with cleaning the grooves of the already pristine gear shift.

“Are you sure? That’s awfully generous, you don’t have to give me that much if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not just for you,” he replies, finally raising his head to meet your eyes. “Send some to your mom. You said she likes that stuff.”

Sakusa turns his attention back to the gear shift, but out of his peripherals, he can see you cock your head to the side before shrugging. You tear off another piece of paper towel and move to clean the backseat, tossing your gym bag next to his duffel while you’re at it.

Truth be told, Sakusa is a little apprehensive about joining you and Mrs. Takahashi for Pilates today, but since you said she invited him specifically, he would’ve felt bad about declining. Besides, now that Komori’s gotten a girlfriend, he’s been telling Sakusa to expand his social circle so he’ll have people to talk to when Komori’s busy. Sakusa will never admit it, but he’s still sore about his cousin cancelling movie night last week, especially when Sakusa had been holding off on that new Netflix volleyball documentary so they could watch it together.

He has zero regrets about sending Komori a single soap bottle.

When the inside of the Lexus is spotless (you think it looks exactly the same as when you started, but cleaning gives your neighbour some peace of mind, so you keep your mouth shut), you climb into the passenger side as Sakusa tucks the alcohol and paper towels snugly between your gym bags in the backseat. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you for a minute when he hears you hiss in pain. Immediately, his head shoots up to assess the damage, finding you rubbing your left shoulder with a grimace.

“Sorry, I bumped into the car door as I was climbing in,” you say. He frowns.

“You sure you’re okay for today? I know it’s been a month since the fire alarm, but you should still be careful.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. Pilates isn’t a strenuous activity, so my doctor said it’d be okay. As long as I don’t get pushed down another flight of stairs, I should be fine.”

Sakusa still isn’t convinced, but he’s not going to make your decisions for you. So he shrugs, shuts the back door, and climbs into the driver’s seat.

“There’s no way in hell I’m carrying you again, just so you know. You’ll probably poke me in the eye like last time,” he says, adjusting his mask as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“It was dark! And I was just trying to help.”

“It wasn’t appreciated. Unless there’s a fire or flood, you’re on your own.”

You roll your eyes, muttering to yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and turn to look at the leaves changing colour through the window. Sakusa pays you no mind, turning on the radio to fill the silence. His taste in music is appalling, but thankfully, the drive is short. He pulls into the parking lot of the studio fifteen minutes later and you both head inside.

Sakusa’s not quite sure what he was expecting from this place. He appreciates the fact that the hardwood floors are so clean that they shine, and he has to admit that the bamboo furniture in the lobby is both eco-friendly and aesthetically cohesive with the hanging lampshades, but the potted orchids on the welcome desk and lifestyle magazines in the waiting area are a far cry from the plain white walls and metal water fountains of his usual gym. Instead of salonpas, the air is thick with the scent of lavender, green tea, and – oh, no, that’s right. Sweat is still sweat no matter where he goes.

“Looks like you’re pretty popular here. Not that there’s much competition to begin with,” you say, glancing around at all the women in the lobby staring at Sakusa and whispering to each other behind their hands. He’s been here all of five minutes, but one quick scan of his surroundings, and he can say with confidence that he’s the only male in the room.

Sakusa wonders if something was lost in translation when you told him about Mrs. Takahashi’s Pilates class, because he was under the impression that there’d just be a bunch of elderly women here talking about knitting. However, the young ladies surrounding him in every direction – they’re looking at him like he’s a piece of meat, God – indicate that you were either pulling his leg or badly misinformed. He hopes it’s the latter, otherwise he’s not saving you from this place even if there’s a fire.

Or a flood, for that matter.

“Sakusa-san! (Y/N)!” Your landlady approaches with open arms, and when you catch sight of her, you beam and wrap her in a tight hug. Sakusa hopes he isn’t expected to do the same.

“Mrs. Takahashi! How are you? Thanks so much for inviting us,” you say, loosening your grip and leaning back so you can look at her.

“It’s my pleasure! I’m surprised you could make it, actually. You’ve had to reschedule so many times I was starting to think you would never show, (Y/N).”

You chuckle nervously at that, but Sakusa doesn’t care to comment. Instead of a bone-crushing hug, Mrs. Takahashi greets him with a smile and a nod – for which he is eternally grateful – before guiding you both to the changerooms.

The one good thing about being in a class full of women, Sakusa finds, is that he’s got the place all to himself for once. Hinata’s not so bad, but Bokuto and Atsumu are constantly yelling and knocking into things in the team’s locker room, especially after a big win. When they defeated the Adlers for the first time, Atsumu started singing La cucaracha and convinced the rest of the team, save for Sakusa, to form a conga line right then and there. Some of the guys were only in towels, and the whole thing went viral on social media.

When Sakusa emerges into the main studio, he sees two rows of yoga mats neatly set up, forming an aisle down the middle where a woman wearing a megawatt smile and a bright yellow nametag walks up and down, greeting everyone who comes through. Piratisu, it says, and if that’s a joke, Sakusa hardly finds it funny.

He kicks aside one of the mats in the corner to make room for his own, the solid navy blue a stark contrast to the pastel prints and patterns that litter the rest of the studio. He bought it last week off Amazon, and even if he never attends Pilates again, he would say it’s a worthwhile investment – anything to not have to share germs and sweat with whoever used these mats last.

The sun streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling window on Sakusa’s left is already blinding him, but he considers it a small price to pay for this corner spot. This way, he’ll only have to sit next to one other person, and so long as it’s you or Mrs. Takahashi, he won’t mind.

…Except it looks like he’ll have to settle for you, since Mrs. Takahashi has just emerged from the changeroom and is apparently very, very popular here. The swarms of women surrounding her are all smiling and joking as they guide her to a spot in the very centre of the room, just so they can all get a chance to talk to her. The sight reminds Sakusa of Atsumu’s fan club, the only difference being that his landlady doesn’t give him high blood pressure like his teammate does.

That’s fine. He’ll just sit next to you.

…Except class is about to start and you are absolutely nowhere to be found. What the heck is taking you so long? Is your shoulder giving you problems again? Or your tailbone maybe? You said you were fine though, and if some stranger takes this spot before you, Sakusa is not going to be happy.

And lo and behold, some stranger has just plopped her butt right on the mat beside him.

She looks over at Sakusa with what she must think is a sultry look, but frankly, he thinks the half-lidded eyes make her look dimwitted and the attempted smirk just screams constipated.

“You must be warm with that mask on, babe. Take it off so we can see your face, c’mon. If it’s half as nice as your body, I’ll give you my number and you can hit me up after class, hm?”

Sakusa doesn’t even bother to dignify that with a response, and he pulls the mask farther up his face in defiance.

“That spot is taken,” he says, using the same tone that Hinata says gives him the willies. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to work on this woman.

“Hm? No, it’s not. I don’t see anyone here besides me, do you?”

“Look, I don’t want to make a scene, but if you don’t–”

“Welcome to Hard ‘Core’ Workouts! Great to see our regulars again – looking at you, Takahashi-san – as well as some new faces!” Dammit Piratisu, please shut up.

Sakusa tries to convince himself that you’re done with whatever was holding you up, and that you’re going to appear any moment now to save him from the she-demon making bedroom eyes on his right, but at this point, things are looking a little bleak.

“Sorry I’m late!” Ah, there you are.

Sakusa breathes a sigh of relief as soon as he hears your voice, but it’s short-lived as Piratisu strikes again.

“Oh, hon, you’ve come just in time. Don’t worry, there’s one more mat right here!”

Sakusa is forced to watch in horror as the instructor directs you to the opposite side of the room, his jaw dropping so wide beneath his mask that he’s sure he’s dislocated it. Maybe that’s good. Maybe he can get out of here with a swift trip to the ER.

“Alright, beautiful people! Let’s start with some abdominal curls!”

…To hell with it, he decides. He promised you and Mrs. Takahashi that he’d attend this Pilates session, and he’s going to keep his word.

But besides that, why is there tissue paper up your nose?

At this point, you’re not even sure you can blame fifth-floor lady’s husband for your fall down the stairs anymore – at least not entirely. Honestly, with how physically uncoordinated you are, there’s a good chance you would’ve gone flying down the stairs that night even without a three-hundred pound man colliding into you from behind.

You really didn’t mean to be late. How could you, especially with how many ‘rain checks’ you’d made prior to this with Mrs. Takahashi?

But even you couldn’t have predicted that you would drop your own water bottle in the changeroom, trip over it, and ram your face into the wall ten minutes before class started. Your nose had immediately started bleeding, but you would feel too bad if you cancelled on Mrs. Takahashi again when you were already here, so you’d pinched it for a few minutes before plugging it with tissue paper, rinsing the blood off your hands, and dashing out to the studio.

Fifteen minutes into the session, and your sloppy first aid seems to have been pretty successful.

You’ve gotten through ten reps of abdominal curls, twenty reps of bicycles, fifteen reps of donkey kicks, and honestly? You feel great – you’re sweating, your heart rate’s up, and your blood’s pumping, thankfully not out your nose. The workout music and the positive reinforcement you’ve received from Piratisu are really making you feel like you’re living your best life, and you regret not accepting Mrs. Takahashi’s invitation earlier.

As you balance on your forearm for the next twenty reps of clams, you peer over to where your landlady is surrounded by her friends, the laugh lines around her eyes especially prominent as someone says, “Hey ladies, you down to get some pi-lattes after this?” Maybe you’re becoming a cultured fitness snob too, because you chuckle along with the rest of the women at the subpar pun.

Peering over towards the other side of the room, you wonder if Sakusa’s having as great of a time as you are. It’s hard to tell with how far away he is, but even tucked into the corner, he sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re willing to bet anything that he brought that depressing navy blue mat from home, it’s so like him. Maybe you can go over and say hi once break is called.

“Excellent work everyone! Let’s take five, then we’re gonna hit it again with some toe taps!”

Oh. That went faster than you thought it would.

You fish the towel out of your gym bag to dab off the sweat that’s accumulated on your forehead, and copying the athletes on TV, hang it around your neck as you grab your now-dented water bottle for a long drink. You’re almost positive your nosebleed has stopped at this point, so you take out the tissue paper plug and throw it in the nearest garbage can as you head to the other side of the room to check on your neighbour.

Oh no. He’s not doing so well.

There’s a woman hanging off Sakusa’s arm and caging him into the wall, her whole body pressed into his as he tries to push her off without hurting her. His eyes look frantic, he’s short of breath, and you can tell the sweat dripping off his brow isn’t from the workout. She’s reaching her hand up to take off his mask now, and that’s when you decide enough is enough.

“Hey, leave him alone! You’re clearly making him uncomfortable!”

The woman turns to you, disinterest painted on her face. She doesn’t move from where she’s standing.

“You can have your turn with him when I’m done, chill,” she says before returning her attention to Sakusa. You gag at her words, grabbing her arm before she can touch him again. As soon as you do, she swings at you, trying and failing to break free.

“Let go of me!”

“Let go of him!”

“Why? He’s a guy, he doesn’t mind.”

“Yes, he does! You’re about to trigger an anxiety attack, are you blind?”

Some of the other patrons are beginning to look at the three of you and whisper now, but you barely notice, too occupied staring this woman down.

“Ugh, don’t be so dramatic, he’s fine. Which is more than I can say for you if you don’t let go of me, you little–”

The woman finally pulls her arm out of your grasp, rearing her hand back to slap you – but before she can, a new stream of blood starts flowing from your nose.

Dammit. You knew you should’ve kept that plug in.

“Oh my gosh, did Yuki-chan hit her?”

“She must’ve! Look, she’s bleeding again, poor thing.”

“It’s her first time here too! I knew Yuki-chan was trouble. Maybe if we all vote on it, we can get her banned.”

The woman – Yuki-chan – goes red in the face, pulling back from Sakusa as she looks around the room frantically, met only with disapproving gazes. Her face crumples as she hurriedly packs her things, slings her duffel bag over one shoulder, and storms out of the studio, shoving past a returning Piratisu on her way.

“Yuki-chan? Yuki-chan!” Piratisu calls as she goes. She turns to look at your group, confusion written on her face. “Everything okay here, ladies?”

“(Y/N)’s nose started bleeding again, Sensei! Yuki-chan hit her,” your landlady says with a pout, the rest of her posse murmuring their agreement.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, (Y/N). Do you need to leave? We’ll refund you fully, no need to worry,” Piratisu says with a kind, if pitying, smile. You nod, your voice coming out nasally from how you’re pinching your nose.

“I think that’d be best, yeah. Sakusa’s my ride, so would you mind if I took him with me?”

“Of course, whatever you need. I’m so sorry again, I hope this doesn’t deter you from coming back. It’s usually such a warm, welcoming environment, but Yuki is… Well, she’s a little aggressive.”

You give a wry smile as you nod again. When you turn to Sakusa, you find him already staring at you, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He shakes himself out of his daze as he stoops to roll up his mat, pack his duffel, and accompany you to the other side of the room to help you gather your things. You tell him he doesn’t need to, but he insists on carrying your gym bag too.

By the time you make it inside his car, your nose is still gushing enough liquid to rival Nachi Falls, and you’re half-expecting Sakusa to kick you out right then and there, but he just supplies you with tissues wordlessly.

“Are you okay?” you say, your voice still nasal.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, pulling another tissue from the box he keeps in the car.

“Okay, I’m glad.” Now that that’s out of the way, you can ask the real questions. “What the hell happened back there, Sakusa? You had no problem telling me off the first night, so why couldn’t you stick up for yourself in front of that bimbo?”

He’s silent for a minute, and the way he refuses to meet your eyes makes you feel so bad that you decide you better just apologize. Before you have the chance, though, he answers.

“You and Mrs. Takahashi were having such a good time," he says softly. He goes silent again, and then he mutters, "I didn’t want to ruin it."

...Oh.

Oh, that makes you feel so much worse, but you can’t deny that the gesture is also sickeningly sweet.

“Sakusa, that’s really nice of you, but if you’re not comfortable, you need to say something. Yuki totally violated your physical boundaries. I don’t care if you’re a boy and she’s a girl – she was wrong, okay?”

You hope the seriousness of your words isn’t cheapened by the fact that your voice sounds like Donald Duck’s right now, but there’s not much else you can do. Luckily, Sakusa just nods.

“Okay. Thanks, (Y/N),” he says, and you can’t see it beneath his mask, but he smiles. He shifts the car into drive, and soon, the two of you are on your way home.

“You can pick the music this time," he offers.

Thank goodness. You’re not ready to spend another car ride listening to his nameless indie bands again.

Chapter Text

You take a hand off the steering wheel to tug your cardigan a little closer around your shoulders, the nip of the autumn air somehow still present even with the seat-heaters on in Sakusa’s silver Lexus. At least you’ll get to say you drove a luxury car once in your life. It’ll only be for thirty minutes to the airport and back as you drop him off for his flight, but it still counts.

“It’s so exciting you guys are going to Belgium! The best place my company’s sent me to was Okinawa for the annual retreat. Kimura’s team totally ruined the experience for everyone, though.”

“It’s just work, it’s not that exciting,” he says, and the answer makes you frown. Even if it was just for work, you’d kill to go to Europe, especially on an all-expenses-paid trip like Sakusa. If he’s this indifferent about it, he must not have a very fun job.

“Sakusa, what do you do for work, exactly? You never told me, so I just assumed you went to some normal office job after hitting the gym. Sort of like me, minus the workout,” you say, taking your eyes off the road for a moment to peer over at him. You find him already staring at you, a brow raised in confusion over the top of his mask.

“What do you mean? The gym is where I work,” he says, and you immediately feel guilty for assuming he spent all his free time there because he had no other friends to hang out with.

“Um, that’s cool! Very, uh… cool. Do you work as an athletic trainer or something? For a specific sport, maybe?”

“Professional volleyball,” he replies, and yeah, you can definitely see that. You bet Sakusa screams like a banshee as he drills those poor souls on push-ups, sit-ups, wind sprints, and whatever the hell else volleyball players do to stay in such great shape. The fact that he’s actually training professional athletes is a surprise, though, and an impressive one at that.

“That’s amazing! What are the players like?” you ask.

Sakusa takes a moment to think about that one, silence reigning in the car as he leans back in his seat, considering. He finally responds a minute later.

“They’re all great to work with, but I’m only close to three of them outside volleyball. One is a womanizer, one burns cookies at four in the morning, and one is just super, super positive all the time – I really don’t know how he does it.” Sakusa pauses to shake his head. “There are also days when they all share the same brain cell, and it really gets on my nerves sometimes.”

“If even you’re saying that, they must be pretty chaotic,” you say, chuckling to yourself. You’re glad that Sakusa’s got friends at work, though – famous ones, too. You love your coworkers, but like you, they’re all pretty low on the swag meter. Maybe Sakusa can introduce you to the team some time, just so you can cross meeting a celebrity off your bucket list.

“So you help them condition their bodies, right?”

“I… guess you could say that. I push them pretty hard in practice, but they keep me on my toes, too. Oh, we’re here. Thanks for driving, you saved me the long-term parking fee,” he says as the airport finally comes into view.

As you pull into an empty parking spot, you ask only half-jokingly, “Do you need me to go in with you? You can use me as a body shield to protect you against the crowds.”

Sakusa just scoffs.

“Right, because you handled crowd control so well during the fire alarm two months ago,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he unbuckles his seat belt. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

You wait for him to retrieve his luggage from the trunk before you wave goodbye through the car window, Sakusa returning the gesture with a nod. Only when you see him enter the terminal do you pull out of the parking lot to begin the trip back home. As you leave, you think you see a shock of salt-and-pepper hair running towards the airport, and it immediately reminds you of Snickerdoodles on the seventh floor, but that can’t be right. If it is, it must be just a coincidence.

When you return to the apartment, there’s a package outside your door waiting for you – an ivory gift box wrapped with a satiny pink ribbon. Tucked beneath the ribbon is a crisp white envelope covered in red hearts, and when you pull it out to examine, you see the words ‘To Kiyoomi, My Love’ written on it in big, fancy cursive letters.

Looks like Sakusa isn’t single after all. Must be a long-distance relationship, considering you’ve never seen him bring a girlfriend or boyfriend to the apartment before. You wonder why the idea of Sakusa dating someone else makes you feel just a tad disappointed, but the thought is fleeting – more importantly, you have no means of contacting his significant other and telling them they’ve got the wrong address. But if it’s a one-time thing, it’s not a big deal, right?

Except it’s not a one-time thing. Another package arrives later in the evening, and you find three more at your doorstep after coming home from work the next day. You move the new arrivals to the rapidly growing stack of gifts in the corner of your living room, the colourful wrapping paper clashing with the rest of your monochrome apartment. It’s alright, you tell yourself – Sakusa will be back by the end of this week, and then you can dump all this junk on him.

Not that it’s junk, per se – at least not all of it. There’s the usual stuff you’d expect from a significant other, like chocolates and love letters, but by the third or fourth day, there are value packs of umeboshi showing up on your doorstep, along with a six feet tall plushie of what appears to be a black dog. A wolf, maybe? And it’s only after you spend the better part of an hour lugging the thing into your apartment that you decide, hey, this is a little too much for one person to be sending unless they’re some kind of multi-millionaire. And although Sakusa is many things, you just can’t see him as a boy-toy for some rich old widow.

Is he a player then? Seems more likely, especially when you stop to examine all the cards and letters that have been sent to him – the handwriting on each is completely different.

You’re tempted to ask Sakusa yourself, but at the same time, you’d rather not be charged for an international call. Besides, you don’t really have the guts to ask in the first place – Sakusa’s just your neighbour, maybe a friend at this point. And the last thing you want to do is bother him while he’s away at a tournament. You’ve been to a professional fitness class just once, and only for half the allotted time, so you really have no idea what Sakusa does as an athletic trainer or how busy he might be because of it. If you’d thought to ask what team he works for before he left, you would’ve tried to catch their game on TV. Maybe you could’ve even seen Sakusa hovering around for a second or two in the corner.

Oh well. You can always catch a rerun later.

Sakusa has spent the last seven days cursing out the hellion who assigned roommates for the hotel, because whoever it was stuck him with frigging Atsumu of all people.

Sakusa would take your post-breakup crying over Atsumu’s late-night phone calls to his girlfriend any day. Both make it impossible to sleep until well past midnight, but at least you don’t make him feel like gagging by whispering the words sweetie, baby, and darling in an obnoxious Kansai accent while giggling under the covers like a lovesick fool. Maybe Sakusa should be happy that Atsumu’s finally settled down with someone, but the fact that he still has to listen to him flirt 24/7 makes it hard to care.

Atsumu also has a bad habit of leaving food everywhere, which wasn’t a problem the first few days because the cleaning staff came by every afternoon to sweep away the mess. But during a late-night snack, maybe on the third or fourth day, Atsumu left a half-eaten onigiri on the floor, which Sakusa had the misfortune of stepping on first thing in the morning. He’d been so, so tempted to just chuck Atsumu out of the fifteen-story window right then and there – he would’ve, too, but the Jackals had had a game that same afternoon and couldn’t afford to lose their setter.

However, the final straw comes when Sakusa walks into their shared bathroom to take a much-needed shower, only to find Atsumu slathering his hands and forearms in his rare white gardenia antibacterial hand soap from Miyagi. Something in Sakusa just snaps, and since their last game was today, he seriously does consider throwing his teammate out the window. Maybe then the Jackals will have an excuse to sign Kageyama next season.

“Atsumu, what the hell are you doing?!” Sakusa demands, crossing the bathroom in three long strides to snatch the bottle out of his teammate’s hands. Atsumu flinches, furrowing his brows at Sakusa not so much out of anger, but more out of confusion.

“What’s the big deal, Omi? Ya told me my B.O. was especially bad this morning, and this stuff makes me smell like a South African flower garden.”

Sakusa did indeed say that, and yes, the scent of white gardenias is a hundred times more pleasant than the smell of Atsumu’s sweat, but that really isn’t the point here.

“Do you know how precious this stuff is? Specifically this bottle?” he says, waving it in front of Atsumu’s face with one hand as he uses the other to point at the label aggressively. Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“No, should I?”

“This was a gift from a friend, so keep your filthy hands off,” Sakusa growls, stooping down to tuck the soap bottle safely in the cabinet beneath the sink. Atsumu, on the other hand, is even more lost than he was before – as well as offended.

“My hands aren’t filthy, ya just said this stuff is antibacterial! And what friend? Does anybody really hang out with you besides the three of us and Komori?”

Sakusa pauses in shutting the cabinet door, his forehead wrinkling into a frown. His shoulders stiffen, and he suddenly feels defensive, though he’s not sure why. With more force than necessary, he closes the cabinet before drawing himself up to his full height so that he towers over Atsumu.

“I have my neighbour,” he says.

“Your neighbour?” Atsumu asks disbelievingly.

“Yeah, we carpool.”

“And that’s enough for you to call them yer ‘friend’?” Atsumu arches one eyebrow accusatorily, shifting his weight to one leg as he looks Sakusa up and down. “Ya don’t even call us yer friends, you reserve that label for Komori and Ushiwaka only.”

Sakusa snorts, even though the action always makes him feel undignified, like one of Atsumu’s squealing pigs.

“Yeah, because Hinata’s my junior, Bokuto’s a pet, and you’re the one I'd sacrifice to my sleep paralysis demon."

Atsumu’s lip curls into a sneer as he finally reaches over the sink to turn on the faucet. While rinsing the soap off his hands, he asks, “What makes your neighbour so special then, hm? Ya moved there like what – three, four months ago? That’s not long.”

Sakusa stops scowling at the ivory suds swirling down the drain to look up at Atsumu. He’s… actually not quite sure what to say to that, because for once, his teammate kind of has a point.

Memories of the past four months flicker through Sakusa’s mind, some sticking out more than others. He’ll never forget how you sneezed on him the first night, or avoided him for a week, or poked him in the eye during the fire evacuation, but you’ve come through for him a few times now, and he’s grateful for it.

“My neighbour went to the same hellish town that raised the freak duo just to buy that soap you’re using. It’s a rare, discontinued brand that’s wasted on you,” he says, beginning to strip down. As he pulls his shirt over his head, he adds, “She also saved me from being sexually assaulted, which is the exact opposite of what you did at the banquet last year, you manslut.”

Sakusa takes some small satisfaction in the scandalized expression Atsumu makes at that last comment, his eyes going wide as he sputters.

“Hey! I’ve turned a new leaf,” Atsumu says as he reaches for a towel to dry off his hands. “And I only introduced ya to Miki-chan that time because you looked so pitiful by yourself in the corner.”

“I was there on purpose, you idiot. You of all people should know I hate crowds at this point,” Sakusa says as he climbs into the shower stall. The sweat and grime from their last game has been clinging to his skin for the past hour, and after dealing with Atsumu’s annoying ass, there’s nothing more he wants right now than to feel his body go numb beneath the steam.

“By the way, anything weird coming in the mail these days, Omi?”

The sound of the running water drowns him out completely.

You, 9:32PM: Hey, I’m here. U need me to go inside?
Sakusa, 9:34PM: No, it’s fine. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.
You, 9:34PM: Can’t believe the only time u let me drive the Lexus is to pick u up. I forgot how much I hated waking up early for the train until this week T_T
Sakusa, 9:37PM: The only reason I’m letting you drive my car is because I absolutely refuse to ride in a cab. You never know who’s been in there before you or if their germs are still lingering on the seats and door handles.
You, 9:38PM: Yeah, I hate cabs too. For a different reason tho

You place your phone in the cup-holder as you lean back in the driver’s seat and sigh, looking out the window to admire the bright lights that illuminate the airport runway outside. They seem to go on forever, extending endlessly into the distance to lead the way for yet another airplane as it descends from the sky.

There’s a knocking on the passenger window that steals your attention, and you unlock the doors so that Sakusa can let himself in.

“How was the tournament?” you ask as he climbs into the passenger seat and buckles his seat belt.

“It was okay. We got knocked out in the semi-finals, but I can tell we’re playing more cohesively than we did at the spring tournament in Seoul.”

“That’s good, congratulations!” You smile fondly as you pull out of the near-empty airport parking lot, catching a glimpse of Sakusa out of the corner of your eye. It’s endearing how he uses the word we, like he considers himself part of the team too. He must have a really great relationship with the players, even if he is just their athletic trainer.

“Thanks,” he responds dryly, and for a few minutes, a content silence passes through the car.

You shatter it with little hesitation.

“So, Sakusa… you’re quite a popular guy, huh?”

Sakusa does a double-take and looks over at you like you’ve grown a second head, his eyes wide and disbelieving. You don’t understand what the big deal is. If he’s seeing people, he should just own up to it. You’re both adults.

“You are… the first person who has ever said that to me,” he says slowly, taking care to enunciate each of his words like he’s afraid you won’t understand him. You find it patronizing, and the corner of your eye begins to twitch in annoyance.

“Yeah? There’s a mountain of gifts for you in my apartment that would beg to differ.”

“...What? What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Sakusa, I’m not judging you. Whether you’ve got some rich old lady wrapped around your finger or a line-up of girls at your beck and call, it’s none of my business.”

“(Y/N), I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightens as you turn at the next intersection.

“I’m talking about the thirty jars of umeboshi taking up all the space on my coffee table, and the pile of love letters next to my laundry hamper, and that obscenely large stuffed dog that’s been blocking my view of the TV for four days now,” you say, trying and failing to keep your tone even as you feel your patience wear thin.

Sakusa’s silent for a moment, which you take as an admittance of guilt. You wonder why the sense of victory that fills you feels so hollow, but it lasts only for a moment.

Because then he decides to cop out again.

“(Y/N), I legitimately cannot tell if you’re joking right now.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, Sakusa…!” You take a deep breath to compose yourself as your knuckles turn white from how hard you’re gripping the wheel. “Fine, you can see for yourself when we get home.”

The rest of the drive passes by in tense silence, waves of anger radiating off you that even Sakusa does not dare provoke. Neither of you exchange a word on the elevator ride either, and it’s only when you pull him into your apartment that you finally deign to speak to him.

“See? I told you you’ve been getting presents in the mail. Or I guess I’ve been, on your behalf,” you say, your calm returning now that you’ve finally forced Sakusa to face the truth. “You really need to tell whoever you’re seeing that you live in unit 602, not 603, by the way.”

You study Sakusa’s expression as he takes in the sight of a week’s worth of lovers’ tokens burying every surface of your apartment. First he flinches at the mess, then his eyes go wide as he realizes just how much of it there is, and then he squints in confusion as he stalks over to the pile of letters next to the hamper. He picks one up and rips it open carelessly, throwing the envelope over his shoulder. It flutters down to the ground as he unfolds the note.

Whatever he reads makes him scowl, and the note quickly joins the envelope on the floor before Sakusa pulls out his phone from his pocket.

“Oi, Miya! Why the hell did you leak my address to the fans? Simps for Sakusa? Is that what they’re calling themselves now? Ugh, that’s not the point, never mind. I’m gonna murder you at practice on Monday, I swear to God you little… Atsumu? Atsumu! Dammit, he hung up.”

…Fan club?

“What kind of athletic trainer has a fan club?” you voice aloud.

“Athletic trainer?”

“Yeah, you said you’re an athletic trainer for the team.”

“What? No, I didn’t. I’m a volleyball player, MSBY Black Jackals. That’s why I moved here in the first place, so I could be closer to the gym where we practice.”

Oh. Oh wow.

“So, those presents that came this week… Those were from your fans?”

“Yeah, you didn’t bother to look at the stack of fan mail?”

“I didn’t want to intrude on your privacy!” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest in a pathetic attempt to protect some of your dignity.

You cannot believe how utterly misinformed you’ve been this whole time. You can definitely see Sakusa as a volleyball player, though, now that the image has been painted for you. His broad shoulders, his long legs, the creepy thing he does where he bends his wrists all the way back in both directions… You’ve been living next to a celebrity this whole time and you didn’t even know it.

Gonna cross that one off the bucket list.

“So you’re, like… famous then?” you ask. He grimaces.

“I… guess you could say that, yeah,” he says, and with his confirmation, everything begins to sink in.

It feels kind of strange now, when you think about it. You sneezed on a professional athlete, screamed at him multiple times, had him carry you out of a building – God, that one just makes you cringe now – and even carpooled with the guy. And although part of you is relieved that Sakusa’s not a boy-toy or a manslut, the other part feels a little… sad, almost? He seems so unattainable now, even as a friend.

Can you even call yourself his friend?

“I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding Sakusa, I just thought you were… and then I… and then you were denying it in the car, and I–”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, brushing you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m sorry you had to store all this junk at your place; I’ll make sure to clear it out by tomorrow. And I’ll tell Mrs. Takahashi that I won’t accept any packages unless they’re from family.”

He moves to retrieve his luggage from where it’s still sitting in your front foyer, and you suddenly feel guilty for yelling at him when he must be so exhausted from the tournament.

“Hey, Sakusa? I’m sorry again. Sleep well, okay?” you offer as he opens the door to leave. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. His mask covers the bottom half of his face as always, but after four months, you can distinguish his smiles from how the corners of his eyes crinkle, just a little. The way they do now.

“Okay. You too.” And with that he turns back around, closing the door behind him.

You sigh, your shoulders just barely relaxing when, suddenly, the door opens again and your body snaps to attention.

“Sakusa, what’s–”

“Thanks for being my friend,” he says quickly before slamming the door shut. The shuffling you hear through the wall a moment later tells you that he’s finally returned to his own apartment. A minute passes, during which you process his last sentence.

“Oh,” you say to no one, and you feel a shy smile tug at the corners of your lips.

Guess that answers that question.

Chapter Text

Sakusa’s never cared much for it himself, but even he has to admit that the massive following Bokuto’s accumulated on social media is impressive. With a million followers on Twitter and nearly twice that number on Instagram, there’s no doubt that most of the new Jackal fans they’ve had surging in are a result of Bokuto’s popularity. Sakusa doesn’t mind, though – quite the opposite, in fact. To him, anything that brings the public’s attention to volleyball and the Black Jackals is a good thing.

However, that doesn’t mean he wants to be affiliated with Bokuto’s side gigs in any way, shape or form.

“Omi-omi! Can you grab me the cinnamon from the pantry? It’s behind the big bag of whole wheat flour,” Bokuto calls as he crosses into the living room to answer the door.

Sakusa is seriously starting to regret filing that complaint to Coach Foster last month about Atsumu leaking his address. In his own defence, though, he couldn't have predicted that telling Coach about the ten garbage bags’ worth of junk he collected would prompt him to look into Sakusa’s fanclub. Turns out, he’s quite popular – Simps for Sakusa has got around two hundred thousand members and still growing.

Sakusa hates the business side of sports sometimes, because shameless self-promo is the whole reason Foster forced him into a media appearance in the first place. It was either guest-star on Bokuto’s YouTube cooking channel or participate in the V-League’s charity fundraiser, a kissing booth in Shinjuku. He was told they’d just be cheek kisses, but even still, the idea of putting his lips on a stranger’s face without knowing where they’d been or what diseases they were carrying had made Sakusa gag.

And so, it was with great reluctance that he’d agreed to appear on Baking with Bokuto.

“Sorry we’re late! Traffic was crazy today and Tsumu-san almost got into a fight with some guy in the lobby,” Hinata says as he removes his shoes in the doorway of Bokuto’s apartment. Atsumu trails in behind him, and when he meets Sakusa’s eyes, he gives a lazy grin that instinctively makes Sakusa groan.

If he knew he’d be guest-starring with the two of them today, Sakusa would’ve just gone to the kissing booth and refused to take his mask off. Because honestly? With Bokuto running the show, there’s no way this can end well.

Unsurprisingly, they come across their first crisis before they can even start filming.

“Don’t worry about it, Shoyo! Omi just got here, too,” Bokuto says, making his way back into the kitchen as he reaches around behind him, trying and failing to tie the strings of his apron into a knot. “Our camera guy’s a little late though, he should be– Oh, he’s calling!”

Bokuto grabs his phone from the island with flour-coated hands, and the powdery white smudges they leave on the screen make Sakusa cringe.

“Hi Okubo-san! What? In labour? Okay, yeah, go take care of your wife! Yeah, don’t worry about us! If you’re looking for names, I think Kotaro– Aw, he hung up,” Bokuto says with a pout.

Sakusa, on the other hand, makes a mental note to buy this baby organic formula and a Gucci onesie when he has the chance.

“Does this mean I can leave?”

Bokuto looks at him with a frown.

“Hey now, Omi-omi. I know this is your first time, but on Baking with Bokuto, the show must go on! I can’t let my subscribers down, they’re expecting me to keep up with my weekly upload schedule.”

“But Bokuto-san, who’s gonna film for us?”

“How about yer neighbour, Omi? The two of you are friends, aren’t ya?”

Sakusa seriously wishes he’d made good on his threat to murder Atsumu when he had the chance, because now Bokuto and Hinata are looking at him with wide eyes, and for some reason, it’s making Sakusa very self-conscious.

“I don’t want to bother her,” he says lamely, eyes glued to the ground. It’s true enough. It’s the weekend, so he knows you’re not working today, but on the off-chance that you do have plans, he doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Omi-san, you have a friend here? I want to meet them!” Hinata pipes in, and Sakusa curses his junior’s big, sparkly eyes and perpetually sunny disposition, because he can already feel himself starting to crack.

“Shoyo, I really don’t think–”

“It won’t even take them long to get here since they live in the building! You should at least try, Omi-san.”

Sakusa sighs and reaches for the phone in his pocket. He’d die before saying it out loud, but he knows he’s weak for Hinata and he hates it.

“(Y/N), are you busy right now? We’re trying to film something at Bokuto’s place, but our cameraman can’t make it and we need someone to fill in. One of us? No, Bokuto wants shots with all of us together, so we need an extra person. A camcorder? What is this, 2005? You don’t need to bring anything, we’ll just use Bokuto’s video camera. Yeah, some of the guys are here, but it’s just Shoyo and Atsumu. What do you mean? I’ve already told you all their secrets, if anything they should be scared to meet you. Okay, it’s unit 707. Yeah, see you in a few. Thanks.”

As soon as Sakusa hangs up, he’s met with a flurry of protests that he really should’ve seen coming.

“Omi-san!”

“Secrets?! Yer kidding!”

“Omi-omi, that’s low!”

Sakusa just shrugs. It’s true he’s divulged more about the team to you than he probably he should have, but it’s not like it’ll make a difference.

“Anything I told her she would’ve figured out after being around you three for ten minutes. You’re all dumbasses on a regular basis.”

That triggers a new chorus of complaints, but Sakusa knows he’s right, so he just ignores them.

On the elevator ride to the seventh floor, you run through every conversation you’ve had with Sakusa in the past month about his teammates. At this point, you feel like you know them as well as he does, but it can’t hurt to review.

You were pretty shocked when Sakusa revealed to you that Snickerdoodles was a member of the team: Bokuto Kotaro, outside hitter. Same position as your neighbour, but that’s where the similarities end, because unlike Sakusa, he’s also very loud and predisposed to some pretty intense mood swings.

Miya Atsumu is the womanizer, but according to Sakusa, he’s gotten into a serious relationship lately and has mellowed out a little. You’re not sure how much you believe that, considering he’s the same man who leaked your address to Sakusa’s fanclub, but you can’t say you really mind anymore. After all, Atsumu is the reason you now have a six-foot jackal plushie in your room to use as a second bed.

Hinata Shoyo is cute, positive, incredibly hardworking, and not-so-secretly your neighbour’s favourite. Sakusa hasn’t told you that himself, but you’ve figured it out from the way he always perks up when you ask about how his kouhai’s doing on your morning car rides. You think you’ve heard the story about the attack combination he brought back from Brazil at least five times now, but Sakusa always gets so excited talking about it that you’re happy to listen.

The elevator dings and you step out into the hall, heart racing. You can’t help it. It feels strange to finally be meeting the people you’ve only heard about in Sakusa’s stories, but he seems to be close to all of them, so how bad can they be?

You take a deep breath and knock on the door of unit 707 three times. Not a minute later, Sakusa appears in the doorway to greet you, and you breathe a sigh of relief at his familiar masked face.

“Hey, thanks for–”

Except he’s pushed out of view a second later by three decidedly unfamiliar bodies. No, two. One of these men you’ve seen twice now, and you sincerely hope he’s nothing like his first impression made him out to be.

“Oya-oya, who do we have here?”

“603-san, welcome! Sorry for leaking yer address.”

“You must be Omi-san’s friend!”

You recognize Snickerdoodles – no, Bokuto – immediately by his spiked silver hair, and you can conclude from the blond’s comments that he must be Atsumu, which means the tiny one with big brown eyes is Hinata. You can see why Sakusa is so fond of him now – you’ve known him for only thirty seconds, but he looks so small and huggable that all you want to do is take him in your arms and squeeze the life out of him.

You could probably get a restraining order for that, though, so you refrain.

“Move it, you’re blocking the doorway!” Sakusa yells as he pushes his teammates aside. They stumble into each other, and for a moment you fear they’ll all fall into a heap on the floor, but unlike you, they have the grace to remain upright. Hmph. Athletes.

“Hi, I’m (L/N) (Y/N)! Nice to meet you,” you say, taking a bow as you step into Bokuto’s apartment.

“I’m Bokuto Kotaro!”

“Hinata Shoyo!”

“Miya Atsumu, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

You wonder briefly if they always speak in succession like this, bombarding people with three answers at a time, but Atsumu’s comment makes you raise an eyebrow. You’re a little taken aback, but it’s true, so you just nod slowly before removing your shoes and placing them neatly in the rack by the door. The smirk on his face grows, but you don’t mention it.

“Thanks so much for your help, (L/N)-san,” Bokuto says as you follow him and the others into the kitchen. The mess of ingredients on the island and scattered appliances on the counters startle you – no wonder Sakusa sounded so dejected over the phone – but you try not to let it show on your face as Bokuto gives you a run-down of your job.

“So today we’re going to be making caramel apple cupcakes! I’m gonna need you to film this in five sections: the buttercream frosting, the wet ingredients for the batter, the dry ingredients for the batter, the caramel sauce, and then assembly at the end. If all goes well, I’ll put some extras in a Tupperware for you and you can take ‘em home!” Bokuto concludes his speech with a big smile and a wink, and his overwhelming energy must be contagious, because you suddenly feel so ready to get started.

Honestly, you have no idea what Sakusa was talking about – Bokuto’s such a nice guy. And you’re about to tell him as much when you realize with belated shock that, hey, they’re filming a cooking show today. No, scratch that.

A baking show.

…Which is so incredibly ironic and downright terrifying considering who’s hosting. Your bruises may have healed, but the fire alarm incident still isn’t a fond memory for you.

You lock eyes with Sakusa from across the room, trying to communicate telepathically that no, this probably isn’t a very good idea. By some miracle, the message seems to get across.

“I know, but if the smoke alarm goes off, at least he won’t alert the whole building this time,” Sakusa says out loud, which totally undermines the point of telepathic communication.

“Bokuto-san?” Hinata asks.

“Oi, Bokuto, you did that?” Atsumu says, already dissolving into a fit of wheezes as Bokuto goes red in the face and rears on Sakusa.

“Omi-omi, you promised not to tell!” He turns to you suddenly, eyes pleading. “Don’t worry, (L/N)-san, I promise I’ve gotten much better. Nothing will go wrong today, I guarantee it.”

You hope you’re not being overly optimistic by choosing to believe him, but Bokuto’s award-winning smile tides you over. He emerges from his storage closet a moment later with a tripod and high-tech video camera that puts your old camcorder to shame, and you’re secretly grateful that he takes the time to set them up for you, because you probably would’ve dropped both if you’d attempted to do it yourself.

Bokuto takes another ten minutes to teach you the controls, and after learning how to start and stop, pan left and right, and zoom in and out, you’re feeling pretty confident. By the time Bokuto starts his intro, you can’t even remember what you were so worried about.

“Hey, hey, hey, welcome to another episode of Baking with Bokuto! First things first: big congratulations to our cameraman Okubo Daisuke on the birth of his first child! He can’t be here today, but we’ve got a special friend here to help us out,” he says, winking at you from your place behind the camera. “Speaking of special friends… I’ve got three surprise guests joining us today to make my friend Inomata-san’s famous caramel apple cupcakes! First up, we have my forever-kouhai, Hinata Shoyo!”

“Buttercream, scene 1, take 1!” You make the call in an awkward half-shout, still self-conscious about being surrounded by so many people you don’t know, but Bokuto gives you a thumbs-up. The action fills you with new confidence and you square your shoulders, smiling at him.

Hinata comes into the frame looking half-nervous, half-excited, and fully adorable. You can almost see him bouncing on the balls of his feet and the sight reminds you of Mrs. Takahashi’s Pomeranian. He almost drops the bowl of butter as he guides the chunks into the saucepan, but he catches it at the last minute and Bokuto’s whispered, “We can edit it out later,” from beside him makes you laugh.

Apart from that, Hinata starts off pretty strong, actually. He takes care to stir the butter constantly so that it doesn’t burn while browning, and his naturally outgoing, earnest personality comes through great on camera.

“Hello everyone! I’ve been looking forward to being on Baking with Bokuto for a long time now. Thank you for always supporting the Black Jackals! We’ll give it our best this season, so please look forward to it!” Hinata sets the wooden spoon down for just a moment so that he can give a 90° bow to the camera. And honestly, you can relate to the butter on a spiritual level right now, because you too are melting inside. You thought it was odd that someone could so wholly capture Sakusa’s affection, but you understand why now.

“Buttercream, scene 2, take 1!”

…You can also understand all those times Sakusa picked you up from work utterly pissed off and ranting about ‘that damn tangerine boy’.

“Okay, so now that the browned butter has cooled, Bokuto-san said to beat it with this hand mixer,” Hinata says, showing it off to the camera like a product placement. It might be. You really have no idea how the business side of professional sports operates, even after all those conversations you’ve had with Sakusa.

Before anyone can stop him, Hinata turns the mixer onto the highest setting and plunges it into the butter. Chunks spew everywhere, and even with his quick reflexes, by the time Hinata’s pulled the mixer out of the bowl and turned it off, only about two-thirds of the original contents still remain.

“Uh, daijoubu, daijoubu!” Bokuto chants as he rushes from behind the camera to join an utterly mortified Hinata on-screen. You really don’t think you can believe him this time, and from the strained smile on his face, you don’t think he believes himself either.

You peer over at Sakusa beside you. His body is shaking and his eyes are wide. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to have a stroke, and it’s not even his kitchen that’s covered in chunks of butter.

“Should I yell cut?” you whisper to him. He doesn’t even look at you.

“There’s butter on the ceiling.”

“…So is that a no?”

“Batter, wet ingredients, take 1!”

In the two minutes you’ve been filming Atsumu, all he’s done is measure some oil, whole milk, and vanilla extract, but it’s enough to make you wonder if he’s the member of the team that gets all the commercial and modelling deals, because he’s so comfortable on camera – a little too comfortable, in your opinion, because he just won’t stop flirting.

“Hello beautiful viewers, here’s hoping that these cupcakes will come out as sweet as all of ya watchin' out there!” Atsumu pours the teaspoon of vanilla into the mixing bowl, then he looks straight into the camera and winks. You honestly consider it a talent that he can say all of that without cringing.

Sakusa’s got it covered, though. You can already see his fists balling up from the corner of your eye, and you know it’s just a matter of time before he storms in front of the camera and makes a scene.

“I need to rinse my eyeballs and purge my mind of everything I’ve just seen and heard, jeez,” he mutters under his breath beside you, pinching the bridge of his nose over his mask.

“And that’s everything we need,” Atsumu says eventually, looking down at the bowl of ingredients in a way that shouldn’t be sensual, but somehow is. Then he picks up the whisk lying on the table, holding it up for the viewers to see. “Guess which setter’s gonna whisk ya off yer feet? Hint: it sure as hell ain’t Oikawa.”

“Cut!” Bokuto shouts for you, and you’re grateful that he does because you’re pretty sure Sakusa was seconds away from decking Atsumu over the head. “Tsum-tsum, you can’t say that on camera or else all the Oikawa-stans are gonna unsubscribe!”

“Let them! They’re all a bunch of tasteless pigs anyway!”

“Should I start the second take?” you ask, again whispering to Sakusa.

“No, I’m enjoying this.”

“Batter, dry ingredients, take 1!”

You’re about five minutes into Sakusa’s portion of the video, and of the three you’ve filmed so far, he definitely moves with the most grace in the kitchen. He’s meticulous, which you had assumed already, and never makes any extraneous movements. There’s one problem, though: he hasn’t said a thing.

All you can hear right now is the sound of sugar, flour, baking powder, and cinnamon grating against the metal bowl as Sakusa whisks them together. Bokuto, for one, is not happy.

“Cut! Omi-omi, please say something! If you want to start an ASMR cooking channel, do it on your own time. This is Baking with Bokuto, and Baking with Bokuto is exciting! (L/N)-san, please do something!”

You do a double-take, shrinking in on yourself as your eyes grow wide.

“M-me…?”

You’re kind of surprised that Bokuto’s just deferring Sakusa to you, and frankly a little panicked, because you have no idea how to make Sakusa start talking on a program he so clearly didn’t want to be on in the first place.

“Um… Sakusa, why don’t you try narrating the steps aloud? And, uh, Bokuto-san, maybe you can prompt him with questions?”

Bokuto looks at you thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as he goes silent for what must be the first time today. You panic for a moment, thinking you might’ve said something wrong, but a moment later, he nods.

“Okay, let’s try it. Batter, dry ingredients, take 2!”

You begin the second take, looking at Sakusa over the top of the camera and giving him an encouraging smile. Now that he’s expected to talk, he looks… stiff, for some reason, and although you knew it before, it’s now become very apparent that he’s always cooked alone.

“So… right now, I’m whisking the dry ingredients together,” he says in the smallest, most awkward voice you’ve ever heard from him. He tries his best to make eye contact with the camera, but the longest he can actually look into the lens is three seconds (you’re keeping count). And for some reason, part of you finds it… endearing, almost. You’ve never seen him like this before.

“Omi-omi, you cook much?” Bokuto pipes in from behind the camera. Sakusa hums, his shoulders beginning to relax a little.

“Yeah, mostly my mom’s old recipes. They help boost my immune system and keep me going for long practices.”

You smile at that, memories of okayu and ginger tea left on a breakfast tray outside your door now coming back to you. Maybe one of these days when Sakusa’s free, you can convince him to teach you how to make all his home remedies.

“Um… I’m gonna cube the apples now,” he says, breaking you out of your reverie as your attention flicks back to the camera.

Sakusa peels the skins off deftly before slicing one of the fruits in half, and it’s only when he’s begun cutting the apple into slices that Bokuto hits him with another question. You have to admit, your opinion of Bokuto has shot up exponentially since the last time you saw him, but you can confirm by what he says next that he indeed has zero sense.

“Ever been in a relationship, Omi?”

The knife slips and Sakusa hisses in pain, clutching his left index finger. You can already see a small pool of red collecting on the kitchen island, and Sakusa himself looks just about ready to pass out.

“Cut!” you shout, in both senses of the word. “Sakusa, are you okay?”

Sakusa doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at you. He’s too busy staring at his own blood leaving his body, and now he’s begun to sway on his feet.

“Bokuto-san, why would you ask him that?” Hinata demands from where he sits on your left.

“I don’t know! I was just trying to spice things up! You okay, Omi?”

Sakusa stumbles out of the kitchen and down the hall, to the bathroom presumably. A look of wide-eyed terror is still frozen on his face, and your heart almost stops when he trips over a floorboard, but his sense of physical awareness is still keen enough that he catches himself.

“I need… soap and water… and antibacterial ointment and a bandage…” he mumbles, and if the situation wasn’t so serious, you would laugh at how consistent his priorities are.

“Oh my God, Bokuto-san! You broke Omi-san!” Hinata cries out, and honestly, there’s nothing you can say to refute that. Sakusa disappears down the hall, and the three of you eventually hear the bathroom door close as the sink starts running.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Bokuto kind of collapses in on himself as his hair deflates. With a loud sigh, he says, “I’ll get the Polysporin,” before hanging his head and shuffling back to the living room.

“Uh… should someone go check on him?” you ask, looking between Hinata and Atsumu uncertainly.

“Oh no, Bokuto-san’s always like that."

“I think she meant Omi, Shoyo."

“Oh yeah, maybe.”

You, Atsumu, and Hinata all look at each other expectantly, and when it becomes clear that no one’s ready to volunteer, Bokuto makes the decision for you by returning to the kitchen, taking your hand, and placing a tube of Polysporin in your open palm.

“There are Band-Aids in the cabinet above the sink. Tell Omi I’m sorry for being such a terrible host, teammate, and person,” Bokuto says, his lip quivering as his eyes grow moist. You weren’t so sure before, but now you can definitely see why Sakusa warned you about his mood swings.

“We’ll deal with him. Just check on Omi.” Atsumu pats you on the shoulder and you nod, making your way down the hall until you hear the sound running water behind one of the doors. When you open it, you find Sakusa bent over the sink, holding his finger under the faucet as he washes out the wound with soap. It doesn’t seem to be too deep from what you can tell, and it looks like some of his sanity has finally returned now that it’s been cleaned. You sigh in relief, and it’s enough to notify Sakusa of your presence.

“I’ve got your ointment. Band-Aids are in the cabinet, according to Bokuto. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, yeah,” he replies as he rinses the last of the soap off and pats his hands dry with a clean towel. You hand him the ointment and he wastes no time in slathering it onto his finger. The silence that follows feels awkward, and you rack your brain for anything to say to relieve the tension in the room.

“That was a really personal question Bokuto asked. It would’ve caught me off-guard, too,” you offer. Sakusa doesn’t say anything as he caps the ointment and grabs the Band-Aids from the top cabinet, next to a big bottle of styling gel. The silence returns, and you’re about to tell a bad joke you heard from work when, finally, Sakusa says something.

“…If I’ve never dated anyone before, does that make me weird?”

Your mind goes blank for a minute as you process what he just said. Considering Sakusa’s job, tidiness and culinary expertise, you’re a little surprised at the reveal, but upon seeing the insecurity in his hunched shoulders and the doubt in his eyes that won’t meet yours, you immediately soften.

“No, it doesn’t make you weird,” you say softly. “Everyone takes things at their own pace, and you clearly spent that time doing something that was important to you. That’s why you’re living your dream now, and I for one think that's really amazing.”

He raises his head to look at you, and you smile.

“I mean it. And besides, it’s a good thing that you’re waiting for the right person. If you go rushing into something, you’ll end up like me.” You cut yourself off with a weak laugh.

“Not exactly,” he says, and the fact that he’s still talking fills you with relief. “I would never wander in the rain barefoot and catch pneumonia, no matter how badly I got my heart broken.”

You can’t help but snort, and his brow furrows at that, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“If you’re okay now, I think we still need to film Bokuto’s portion of the video.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Whatever Atsumu said to Bokuto seems to have worked, because when you return to the kitchen, he’s all dopey smiles again and his hair seems to have sprung back to its usual state. When he sees Sakusa, however, his face falls and you fear that he’ll start sulking again, but after your neighbour smacks him upside the head and tells him he’s fine, Bokuto smiles oh-so wide, and you can’t help but find it cute.

You film Bokuto making the caramel sauce as the cupcakes bake, and when they’re finally assembled, you try one and decide that he is, in fact, a much better baker than you’ve given him credit for. Or maybe it’s just the culinary talents of the other three, you can’t really tell.

“Thanks for coming everyone!” Bokuto says as he sees you off at the door, a Tupperware filled with leftover cupcakes clutched tightly in your hands. “I’m gonna run next door to give some to Inomata-san now. He’s gonna be so impressed!”

“Inomata? Ya mean that forty-year-old I saw in the hall?” Atsumu asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s great! Most of my recipes come from him,” Bokuto says. He bids you all farewell again before heading back into his apartment to pack some cupcakes for his neighbour. You don’t stick around to meet Inomata, instead heading to the elevator where you part ways with Hinata and Atsumu. You awkwardly try to brush them off as they thank you again, and soon, you and Sakusa are walking back to your apartment.

“That was fun, Omi-omi.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that.”

“Sorry, Sakusa.”

You keep walking, but Sakusa stops, prompting you to turn back around to look at him.

“Sakusa, you coming?”

He’s silent, and for a moment you’re afraid he’s having traumatic flashbacks from his slip in the kitchen today, but then he finally speaks.

“…Kiyoomi.”

“What?”

“You can call me Kiyoomi.”

Sakusa suddenly surges forward, brushing past you to enter his apartment. He shuts the door behind him without another word, and for about a minute, you just stare at the polished oak wordlessly. Then you start laughing, letting out the hyena sounds you’ve been holding back all day as you unlock your own apartment door and let yourself inside.

Chapter Text

Sakusa has never believed in karma.

But now, standing naked, wet, and shivering in the comfort of his own apartment, he’s starting to think that there really is some divine power out there, one that must’ve heard all his complaints during the three-week training camp in Brazil. If that’s the case, then their timing’s a little harsh – he just flew back in this morning, you were too busy running errands to pick him up from the airport, and he is still very, very jet-lagged. There’s been a violent throbbing in his head since he landed, but the constant fatigue that’s been clawing at his consciousness for the past twenty-four hours is gone now.

…Mostly because he’s drenched from head-to-toe in the lone spurt of water his shower just produced. And in the mid-December cold, it’s causing him to shake like a Chihuahua .

Sakusa wraps his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to conserve what little body heat he’s still producing, and as his teeth chatter, he fiddles with the shower handles, the levers, the thermostat – hell, even the settings on the handheld nozzle that he’s never touched before – but the water just won’t turn back on.

And because Sakusa’s not keen on catching hypothermia, he decides it’s time for Plan B.

Still shivering, he slides open the shower door and hobbles over to the cabinet where he keeps his fresh towels. If anyone on his team saw him right now, they’d laugh their asses off – Atsumu specifically – but at this point, Sakusa can’t find it in himself to care. He mulls over his options as he dries off, hopping from side to side to generate more body heat and restore the circulation in his toes.

Sakusa knows exactly three of his neighbours (you, Bokuto, and Mrs. Tadashi), two close enough to ask for a favour (you and Bokuto), and by process of elimination, only one clean enough to consider borrowing a shower from (you, because Bokuto is, and always will be, a complete and utter mess).

Conveniently, you’re also the closest to him geographically, and if that isn’t a sign from the universe, he doesn’t know what is. He just hopes you’re home by now.

Decided, Sakusa pulls on the fluffy white bathrobe hanging on the hook beside the cabinet, the one that the Brazilian hotel staff gave him as a gift after he complained to them for the fifth time that he needed his room disinfected twice daily. The robe does little to warm him, but he ties the sash around his waist without a second thought. There’s no time to get dressed when there are germs from both the airplane and cab ride still clinging to him, and honestly, he’ll break into your apartment at this point if it means he’ll get to take a hot shower.

Teeth still chattering, Sakusa grabs the change of clothes he left on the bathroom vanity, pulls on his mask, and nearly slips as he dashes to the front door, ice-cold water dripping down the backs of his legs. When he makes it to the foyer, he slides on the closed-toe sandals he bought for the training camp before shutting his apartment door behind him and going to knock on yours.

Sakusa doesn’t notice that the shirt balanced on top of the pile of clothes he was carrying is now on his apartment floor. It fell when he stumbled in the hall, but he was too busy cursing under his breath to notice.

“Kiyoomi?” You thought you were cold, but the way Sakusa shivers at your door clad only in a bathrobe – a rather revealing one at that, but you force your eyes not to wander – tells you that a couple hours at the Christmas market this morning probably isn’t much to complain about.

“Shower. Now, please. Move,” he says in a deadpan voice, shoving past you before you even have the chance to respond. Not like it’s much of a feat, really. His Greek God body seems to have gotten even more impressive after the training camp, if that’s possible.

“That’s all you have to say to me after three weeks? Didn’t you miss your carpool buddy?” you ask, half-teasing and half-annoyed as you close the front door and follow Sakusa into your apartment. “You didn’t even ask if–”

The glare Sakusa throws over his shoulder is ice-cold, even more so than the biting December wind that almost gave you frostbite this morning. Part of you feels like you have the right to yell at him for barging in, but the other part – the one that actually wants to live, at least to see Christmas this year – tells you it’d be better to just back off.

And you do, watching wordlessly as Sakusa stalks down the hallway, pulling open door after door until he finds your bathroom, sighs in relief, and disappears inside.

Well, alrighty then. Six months of living next to Sakusa have definitely produced weirder circumstances, you figure.

When you finally hear the water running, you sigh to yourself and shuffle over to the couch, collapsing onto it and snuggling one of the throw pillows to your chest. You were really hoping to take a hot shower after getting back from the outdoor market, but it looks like that’ll have to wait. At least your Christmas shopping’s done.

You peer over to the corner of the living room where this morning’s efforts sit in four tote bags stuffed to the brim with holiday cheer. There’s a pair of hand-knitted mittens for your mom, a sweater with a cheesy pun for your dad, a set of matching mugs for you and your coworkers, and even something for Sakusa.

You spent twenty minutes debating whether or not you should buy him a gift, but after glancing around at all the couples crowding the market, you decided that, screw it, Christmas could be a holiday for friendship too – to hell with the fifty-year long Japanese traditions that said otherwise.

A ding! from your phone breaks you out of your reverie. You lean over, grabbing it from where it sits on the coffee table to read the incoming message.

♥Mom♥, 11:24AM: Are you home right now?

You furrow your brow curiously at that, but reply anyway.

You, 11:24AM: Yeah, why?

♥Mom♥, 11:25AM: Dropping off some tangerines. Meet me at your front door

That makes you smile. It’s been at least four months since your mom last popped by, and even though she calls every weekend, it’ll be nice to finally see her face-to-face again. You can’t even find it within yourself to be mad at her for not calling beforehand – must be the holiday spirit in the air.

With a happy sigh, you hop off the couch to hide your presents, grunting as you pick up two bags in either hand and waddle down the hall. You can still hear the water running from your bathroom, and you thank God that Sakusa was too busy throwing a tantrum this morning to see his gift in the corner.

Wait. Oh crap.

You drop the bags.

Sakusa is in your home. In the shower, specifically.

And he’s butt-naked.

You leave the bags where they are to make a mad dash back to the living room, grabbing your phone off the couch and scrolling to your messages furiously.

You, 11:28AM: Actuasly mom, idk if thst’s a good ifea

You, 11:28AM: I tjink I mihght be comiing diwn wiyh smth, just domt come ok?

The typos make you cringe, and you pray to God that your mom is tech-savvy enough to understand your broken texting. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to be a problem.

The fact that she’s already in the elevator, however, is.

♥Mom♥, 11:30AM: Omw up already. Dw I won’t stay long

You curse under your breath, pacing back and forth anxiously as you rack your brain for ideas. Unfortunately, the sound of the shower and the threat associated with it drown out all semblance of rational thought, and you think you’re about ten seconds away from screaming when there’s a knock at your door.

Oh, God. You are so not prepared for this.

You run to the bathroom, pounding on the door and praying that Sakusa is almost done – if he is, then he can just hide in here for the time being, but you can’t risk him wandering out half-naked with your mom around.

When there’s no response, you try calling his name, but it isn’t loud enough to be heard over the running water. You’re about to yell, then think better of it, remembering your mom is still right outside your door.

So you curse again – your language has become so much more colourful since Sakusa moved here – and decide to move to Plan B.

You hop over the tote bags in the hallway as you dash to the foyer, your mom’s voice sounding very irritated as she calls your name and raps her knuckles on the door incessantly.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N), come let me in! Do you know how long it took to drive here?!”

You open the door breathlessly, hoping you can blame your flushed cheeks on the cold. And oh, your mom doesn’t look too happy.

“Sorry, Mom,” you say instinctively as you take the box of tangerines from her arms. You set it down on the table by the front foyer before taking her coat and hanging it up in the closet.

“You don’t look sick to me,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she removes her shoes. Crap, you forgot about that. You hack up a few fake coughs, but you’re caught off-guard by what she says next.

“Oh, you’re looking a little warm, though. Do you have a fever? I can stay if you need me to.”

You silently curse your inherent lack of athleticism. A little bit of running around and you’re already red-faced and winded.

“No! You really don’t need to, I’m completely fine!” you rattle off, plastering a fake smile on your face that you doubt is even a little convincing.

“Oh, good! Then I can stay for a while without worrying about getting sick.”

For a moment, she sounds so much like Sakusa that you just stand there, gaping, but you shake your head and continue to trail after her as she walks farther into the apartment. You consider just telling her the truth and hoping she believes you, because you know that your mother walking in on a naked Sakusa showering in your bathroom can only end in complete mortification for all parties involved.

“Um, Mom, remember my neighbour? The one I bought soap for?” you ask as she collapses onto the couch with a sigh. Like mother like daughter.

“Of course! Getting that soap in the mail was the best surprise I’ve had in a while. Where’d you even find that stuff? There isn’t a single store in town that stocks it.”

“Mom, that’s not the point, he’s–”

“By the way, I thought I heard the water running earlier, but it stopped a while ago. You should get that looked at, maybe call your landlady,” she says, and you feel like you’re about to pop a blood vessel again, this time from holding back your screams.

“Mom! I’m trying to tell you that he’s–”

Wait. The water stopped? When? Does that mean Sakusa’s...?

Crap, you really don’t have time now.

“Look Mom, my neighbour’s shower bro–”

“(Y/N)? Have you seen a grey tee shirt anywhere?” You hear Sakusa’s voice call you from the hallway and you curse, out loud this time.

“Oh, you germaphobic asshole.”

You groan, resigning yourself to your fate as you turn to see Sakusa emerge into the living room. And then you gasp, because it really, truly feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs when you see that, although he’s in his sweatpants, he is also very shirtless.

Sakusa’s too busy towelling off his hair to even look up, so you and your mom both sit, stunned silent, for about ten seconds until he notices that you have company. Sakusa at least has the decency to look shocked, maybe embarrassed? And if it’s the latter, then no, six months of living with him have never produced circumstances weirder than the one you currently find yourself in.

You’re sure that Sakusa’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks must match your own right now, and you know you should probably explain to your stuttering, sputtering mother just what the hell is going on, but you can’t seem to find the words. You take so long, in fact, that your mom beats you to it.

“(Y/N), is… is this your boyfriend?” Your jaw hits the ground, your voice finally returning.

“No! No, oh my gosh, no!” You’re not sure why you sound as defensive as you do, but there’s no time to ponder it now. “No Mom, he’s–”

“I’m just her–”

Your mother’s scandalized gasp cuts off both you and Sakusa, and if you weren’t so flustered by this whole situation, you would almost feel bad for your neighbour. His face is so red that he looks about a minute away from spontaneously combusting, and the way his eyes flicker anxiously between you and your mother is reminiscent of the Pilates class three months ago, which is enough to make you worry.

“(Y/N), I know the breakup was hard on you, but a one-night–”

“Oh my God, Mom, that’s not what this is, if you would just listen– ”

“You’re right, there’s no way you could score a guy this pretty,” your mother says, eyeing Sakusa warily. You sigh, too relieved to even feel offended at this point, and you’re about to finally get a word in when she cuts you off with another gasp.

“Wait. Don’t tell me he’s a prostit–”

“Mom!” You can’t help but yell now, and boy does it feel good when the room finally goes quiet. “He’s my neighbour, okay?! My germaphobic neighbour whose shower broke this morning, so I leant him mine! He’s not a prostitute, or a stripper, or my boyfriend, or whatever else you’re thinking, so please just calm down and stop jumping to conclusions!" By the time you’re done ranting, your face is as red as Sakusa’s and you’re panting heavily.

Your mom’s eyes widen at your outburst, but you can see relief flooding her face already as her shoulders relax and she slumps back into the couch cushions.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she sighs, and when her eyes flick back to Sakusa, yours follow. He looks so awkward just standing there and rubbing the back of his neck, but you can tell that at least a little bit of his composure has returned now that the air has been cleared. And wow, without the robe blocking your view, you can’t help but shamelessly ogle his bare chest.

…Now that you think about it, his state of undress is probably a little suspicious in the context of a platonic relationship.

Looks like your mother just realized that too.

“Then why is he shirtless?!” she screeches, and you flinch, the bottled-up frustrations fuelling your confidence from earlier now well and truly gone. Sakusa finally chooses to speak, and if he wasn’t on the other side of the room, you’d smack him over the head for his poor timing. And his choice of words.

“She’s seen me like this before,” he says, and even though it’s true – flashbacks of the fire alarm four months ago briefly cross your mind – that’s really not what your mother needs to hear right now.

“What?!”

“He means shirtless, Mom, not fresh from the shower!”

“I repeat, what?!”

“Ma’am, don’t worry, it wasn’t just (Y/N) who saw me. There were others present,” Sakusa tries to explain, and you think your soul just left your body. Even if it’s the last thing you do, you’re gonna dial up Atsumu once this is all over and ask him to throw a big, crowded house party at Sakusa’s apartment.

“ Others present? I thought you said he wasn’t a stripper?! (Y/N), what is going on?!”

Better focus on getting out of this alive first.

“Bye Mom, thanks for coming,” you say, standing in the doorway now short of breath and completely exhausted. That hot shower is looking even better than it did an hour ago.

“Mm-hm, take care.” She says it with a gentle smile, as if she wasn’t threatening to disown you thirty minutes ago. Turning to your left, she says, “It was nice meeting you, Sakusa-kun. Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Sakusa is still here – now fully clothed – and you’re grateful that he stayed behind to help you explain yourself, even though moral obligation practically dictated it anyways. His mask is back on now, and with it, his usual state of impassive, unshakeable calm has returned. No one would ever know he was accused of prostitution half an hour ago.

And honestly, it’s such a shame that today’s incident also involved you, otherwise you could’ve used it as blackmail material on Sakusa for life.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says to your mother, and she nods, looking a little sheepish now. It’s not like you can blame her.

“(Y/N), are you sure you don’t want to come to the Hamadas’ Christmas party next week?” she asks, and just the thought of spending Christmas Eve in formalwear eating devilled eggs with people you hardly know makes you groan.

“Yeah Mom, it’s fine. They’re your friends, not mine.”

“I know, but won’t you be lonely?”

You scoff at that. You know she means well, but the pitying look in her eyes just makes you feel worse about yourself. Besides, you’ve already got a game plan.

“I will not be lonely, Mother. Christmas isn’t just for couples. I’ll order some KFC and watch a movie, maybe stay up and binge-watch a drama, I don’t know. At least I have the day off work.”

You will yourself not to flinch under her scrutinizing gaze, but eventually she just sighs and dismisses you with a wave of her hand. Thank goodness. At this point, you really don’t have the energy to get into another fight with your mother.

“If you say so,” she says. She checks her watch and frowns. “I should get going, the train’s coming in fifteen.”

“Okay. Love you, be careful!”

You and Sakusa wave to your mom from the doorway as she disappears down the hall, and when she’s out of sight, you let out the sigh you’ve been holding in all morning. Then you turn to face Sakusa.

“Ask Mrs. Takahashi to take a look at your shower. You’re never using mine again,” you say, grumbling as you stalk over to the couch. You hear Sakusa close your apartment door before he enters the living room to join you. Funny, you can’t remember inviting him in.

“If you’re ordering KFC for Christmas Eve, make sure you do it sometime today. You usually have to call weeks in advance, so you’re late as it is. Not that that’s anything new,” he says, and you would normally roll your eyes at how the insults sneak in even when he’s giving advice, but there’s something bigger to address here.

How the hell does he know all this?

“Kiyoomi, do you usually spend Christmas alone?”

He nods. “Yeah. My family’s not religious, so we don’t make a big deal out of it. Komori and I talked about doing something a couple months ago, but that was before he got a girlfriend. I think they’re going out for dinner on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh. I see.”

You want to ask more – if he ever gets lonely, if he’s jealous that all his friends are dating, if he’s bothered in the slightest that he won’t see his parents till New Year’s – but the calm, composed look on his face tells you that the answer to all of those is probably no. And you feel sad that you can’t say the same.

“I’ll… order now,” you tell him instead, reaching for your phone to call the KFC location in Shibuya. Turns out, they’re fully booked with deliveries that day.

That’s fine. You try Shinjuku next.

They’re booked too.

And so are the locations in Aoyama, Harajuku, Ginza, and even Ikebukuro.

“How is that even possible?” you wail, smothering your face with one of the throw pillows in frustration.

“Told you,” Sakusa says. You remove the pillow just so you can glare at him.

“I’m assuming you ordered in already?”

“Yeah, before I left for Brazil.”

“Before you left for… That was in November! ”

“And now I have chicken. Can’t say the same for you,” he says, and the fact that there’s not even a lick of sarcasm in his voice pisses you off even more, because everything he said is true.

“You’re mean, Kiyoomi,” you say, slouching even farther into the couch cushions as you stare at the wall. From the corner of your eye, you can see Sakusa looking at you pensively, and if you know him as well as you think you do, he’s about to…

“I’m not sharing with you.”

…Crack. Wait, hold that thought.

“You’re kidding! I even let you use my shower!”

“It’s your fault I was covered in cab germs in the first place! I told you I was coming back today weeks in advance. What was so important that you couldn’t make it?”

“I was Christmas shopping! I even bought something for you, you ungrateful cow.”

You scowl at him, scooting over to the far side of the couch just to put as much space between the two of you as possible. You could probably still return the gift if you went now. Wait, did you keep the receipt? You shake your head, it doesn’t matter. You could just keep it for yourself if you really wanted to, otherwise –

“…Fine, I’ll share with you,” Sakusa grumbles, forehead wrinkling into a frown when you peer over to look at him. “But there’s a game that day, so I won’t be home till late.”

Honestly, you would eat fried chicken with him at four in the morning if it meant not having to spend Christmas alone.

“That’s fine! Wow, this is so exciting!” You clap your hands together as you grin from ear-to-ear, anger forgotten. That is until he speaks again.

“You should shower. You, um... you smell like sweat,” he says before rising from the couch to exit the living room. The chorus of thank-you’s on the tip of your tongue completely vanishes as you glare at his retreating back.

“And whose fault do you think–”

The sound of your front door shutting cuts you off, and you just sit there, seething. Maybe if Sakusa’s really late coming back, you can just pick up the chicken from his front door and eat all of it yourself.

Chapter Text

Throughout his life, Sakusa has been criticized for being apathetic, needlessly harsh, and totally oblivious to other people’s feelings. The first two are true, but Sakusa’s ready to argue with anyone who will listen that no, the third one is not.

There’s been something bothering Atsumu for the past couple months, and at first, the signs were so subtle that Sakusa was the only one who caught them; even then, he didn’t think too much of it. It was kind of weird, sure, how Atsumu ran to check his phone every time they had a break, and the fact that he stopped making fun of Bokuto’s dorky dance moves wasn’t lost on Sakusa either. But it was only after their trip to Brazil that he, along with the rest of the team, started to suspect there might be something wrong.

Sakusa’s used to being the crabby one when they travel overseas – the hotel staff in Belgium, Argentina, South Korea, and now Brazil can attest to that – but for all three weeks of their training camp, it was Atsumu that the team took to avoiding.

Bokuto had been jet-lagged for three days straight because he had the misfortune of sitting next to Atsumu on the plane. Every time he dozed off, he’d be woken up seconds later by Atsumu shaking his shoulders and yelling at him for snoring too loudly. When they finally landed, one of the camp organizers – some guy who only spoke Portuguese and English – got a very confusing rant in Kansai-dialect Japanese about how he was getting fingerprints all over Atsumu’s limited-edition Tumi suitcase. Even Hinata, the poor soul who drew the short straw and had to room with the guy, wasn’t safe.

Sakusa stayed with Bokuto in the next room over, but even with the supposedly sound-proof walls in the hotel, they could hear every word from next-door.

“Oi, Shrimpy! I thought I told ya not to leave yer duffel bag at the foot of my bed! I could’ve tripped and broken something!”

“But, but…! Tsumu-san, it’s six feet away and tucked against the wall!”

“Do ya know what’d happen to my career if I tripped over yer junk and hurt myself?! It’d be over, and it’d be all yer fault, so stop being such a slob, ya little tangerine!”

Sakusa would’ve laughed at the irony of that if it wasn’t for the bitter, almost volatile tone of Atsumu’s voice. Hinata came over to his and Bokuto’s hotel room a few minutes later seeking refuge, and after a long discussion between the three of them, they came to the decision that as long as Atsumu’s gameplay wasn’t affected, it wasn’t their place to pry. And that served them well, since his performance throughout the camp was exemplary, just like always.

Except today, they have an actual game. And he’s totally off.

“Left!” Sakusa yells as he charges forward, leaping off the ground. The ball leaves Atsumu’s hands, flies by Sakusa before he can even swing his arm, and hits the ref dead in the face. The man doubles over in pain as he clutches his bruised nose, but after a moment, the whistle is blown and he motions to the opposing team. First set, Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Sakusa asks him, half-annoyed and half-concerned as they make their way over to Coach Foster with the rest of the team. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, just balls his fists up and stares at the ground with his teeth bared in a scowl. His whole body is shaking, and although Sakusa has trusted Atsumu in every game they’ve ever played together, he doesn’t think that’ll be the case tonight.

Halfway through the second set, Foster seems to think so too.

Atsumu’s head is down, his jaw is tight, and there are angry tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he brushes past Sakusa on his way to the bench. Sakusa doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look so ashamed of himself. It’s jarring – sad, even – to see someone as prideful as Atsumu finally fall from grace. It’s only made worse by the fact that he’s replaced with a fresh-out-of-college rookie the Jackals picked up from the last V. League draft.

Honestly, considering the fact that this is his first time playing in an official game, the kid holds his own pretty well. The Rockets still win in straight sets, though, and the Jackals are absolutely devastated as they make their way to the locker rooms.

No one even says anything; no one needs to. They all just change in silence, and although everyone is disappointed, the waves of anger and shame radiating off of Atsumu overpower anything anyone else is feeling by at least ten-fold. Sakusa knows it, and he’s pretty sure all his teammates do too, but eventually, the tension in the air grows so thick that their captain just has to say something.

“Miya,” Shugo starts, careful to keep his voice even and tone neutral. “What happened out there tonight?”

Atsumu slams his locker shut, eyes flashing, and Sakusa braces himself for what he’s sure is going to be another scream-fest. But it never comes.

Atsumu just closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is bare, broken and honest in a way that Sakusa’s never heard it before.

“I’m sorry. I’ll snap out of it next time, I promise, I just… I’m sorry.”

He zips his jacket, shoulders his duffel bag, and he’s out of the locker room before anyone can say another word. Hinata makes to go after him, but Sakusa stops him with a hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head no, and Hinata listens.

Atsumu never thought he’d be spending Christmas Eve alone in a bar with only two other patrons: a balding, middle-aged man with a beer belly and Sapporo to match, and a woman about the same age with greying hair pulled back into a frizzy ponytail. They’re sitting together in the corner booth actually, smiling like they’re the only people in the room – they are, for the most part – and the sight makes Atsumu feel even more pathetic than he did before.

He looks down at the old-fashioned he’s been nursing for the past ten minutes now, swirling it around so that the rye whiskey catches the dim light of the lampshade hanging overhead. The coppery colour reminds him of Ayako’s eyes, and the fact that he’s still thinking about her makes him scoff. He knocks back the rest of the glass and slams it against the splintered wood of the bar, the alcohol burning his throat.

Atsumu’s been popular since high school. Back then, he didn’t have a registered fanclub online, but the girls still came flocking to every game with banners, posters, and even pre-written cheers that annoyed the hell out of him, yes, but definitely boosted his ego.

There are even more of them now, in fact. Atsumu’s Squealing Pigs – he’ll never understand fangirl logic, but it’s not his place anyway – has nine hundred thousand members and counting, coming just short of Bokuto’s one million. Where Atsumu wins, though, is in the number of women he’s actually dated. And in that category, he probably surpasses not only Bokuto, but everyone else on the team, too.

The unfortunate thing is that up until this year, all of Atsumu’s relationships have only lasted a couple weeks, maybe two months at most. And more often than not, it’s because the girls are always so insecure and clingy that they never give him space to breathe. That worked out just fine in his high school and college days; he was too busy trying to build his career to worry about dating anyways. But after entering his twenties and securing a spot in the V. League, Atsumu had thought it best to finally settle down with someone.

Someone like him, just to avoid all the problems he had in the past. Someone confident and flirty and laidback, someone exciting and mysterious who would keep him on his toes.

He met Nakamura Ayako, an actress and singer, at the V. League celebratory banquet a year ago. And she was so beautiful, so magnetic and graceful and elegant, that in hindsight, Atsumu knows he was done for the moment he laid eyes on her.

They dated for eight months, and the first six were probably the happiest of Atsumu’s life. She was always a little distant, but it was so refreshing that it just made him want her more. He thinks back on it now, and the memories make him scowl: how he had to beg her to wear the jewellery he bought for her; how even when he was in a different time-zone, he had to call when it was convenient for her or not at all; how he was never allowed to reveal their relationship to the public because ‘it wasn’t good for her career’. Everything she made him do hurt his pride, but he didn’t even notice, really, because Ayako was more than enough for him.

Again, the thought makes Atsumu scoff. He waves down the bartender and orders another whiskey.

The last two months of their relationship were difficult, at least for him. Ayako had to make a temporary move to Osaka for a movie shoot, but Atsumu was content to keep things up long distance if that’s what worked for her. Except, it felt like he was the only one trying.

She was never the most responsive before, but from the minute she left Tokyo, he was the only one calling and texting, even though – and Atsumu’s pretty sure about this – his schedule was just as busy as hers. In fact, he got so desperate that he was about one smirk away from making love to the camera on Baking with Bokuto. Anything to make her angry, or jealous, or just catch her attention, but it didn’t even work.

And Atsumu has ghosted people before – more times than he’d care to admit, sure – but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that’s what was happening to him. It was just the distance, he told himself. It had been too long since they’d seen each other, and she was just feeling lonely.

Atsumu reaches into his jacket pocket to take out the train ticket he bought weeks ago in secret. Tokyo to Osaka, departing December 24 th , 23:00. The fact that he was actually going to surprise her on Christmas Day makes him laugh now, and he crumples the paper in his palm before throwing it at a trash can eight feet away. It rolls off the edge and onto the floor, like it’s mocking him, but Atsumu can’t find it in himself to go and pick it up.

Instead, he reaches into his other pocket for his phone and opens his messages. There are new ones from Hinata, Bokuto, and even Sakusa, but he scrolls past them to see the one she sent this morning.

Ayako, 7:32AM: it’s over. i’m sorry

No explanation. And it didn’t even make Atsumu sad, really, just angry – not at her, but at himself. Because in those four words, the reality of his situation finally sank in, and he realized what a pathetic, needy, lovesick fool he’d been this whole time.

What’s worse is that he let his feelings get in the way on the court tonight, like a rookie with little experience and even less regard for his team – worse than a rookie, even, since they swapped him out for that college kid. The game happened an hour ago and Atsumu’s head is already starting to feel fuzzy from the alcohol, but every receive, set, and serve he flubbed tonight replays in his head with perfect clarity. His grip on the phone tightens as he reaches for his glass.

Atsumu knows he’s got a lot of pride, but it used to be okay because he had the skill to back it up. That wasn’t the case tonight, and he’ll be damned if he lets it happen again, but for now, there’s a cold, unfamiliar feeling of self-loathing creeping up his spine and into his heart.

“Gimme something stronger,” he tells the bartender. The words come out slurred, but Atsumu doesn’t even notice.

☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:19PM: In the elevator now, should be there in a couple minutes

You, 10:20PM: Ok, the KFC got here ten minutes ago but I’ve been keeping it warm in my apartment dw

☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:20PM: Ok, I’ll pay you back half the bill. You didn’t start without me, right?

You, 10:21PM: WHO DO U THINK I AM?!

☺Kiyoomi☺, 10:21PM: Wow, relax. You can come out, we’ll eat in my apartment. I don’t think you’ve ever visited.

You, 10:22PM: That’s cuz u said I would track in my ‘sewer germs’ -____-

The memory makes you grimace as you hop off the couch, adjusting the oversized Christmas sweater you threw on for the occasion. You were initially going to wear your pyjamas, but you had nothing else to do today, so you went to the trouble of fixing up your hair, makeup and outfit to celebrate the holiday. At least Sakusa will see you, so it’s not a complete waste.

You pick up the bucket of fried chicken on the coffee table and transfer it to one arm, using the other to pick up the big paper bag carrying coleslaw, biscuits, and the special chocolate layer cake that KFC only sells for Christmas. Your business mind applauds their use of limited edition items to tempt the public into buying their food, but for you personally, it isn’t appreciated. It was hard enough not starting on the bucket without him – Sakusa probably wouldn’t even notice, who actually counts the pieces? – but store-bought cake with cheap icing never looked so good. Maybe because you haven’t eaten since this morning.

There’s a knock on your door and you let out a sigh of relief. You can finally put that grumbling in your tummy to rest.

“Coming!”

You’re careful not to drop anything as you walk to the front foyer, mostly because you know Sakusa will never forgive you if you do. Gingerly, you set the paper bag down to open the door, and a masked Sakusa stands to greet you. There are water droplets hanging in his black curls from the snow outside, and it’s probably just the hallway lighting, but from this angle, they look like tiny stars.

“Where’s the cake? Did you eat it?” he asks, and that brings you back to reality immediately.

“Of course not! It’s in here,” you say, grabbing the bag from where it sits behind you in the foyer. You hold it out to him with a frown, but he ignores it as he accepts the bag from your hand and motions for you to follow him. You grab the wrapped present you left by the door earlier before tagging along.

The inside of Sakusa’s apartment is exactly what you expected: spotless and minimalistic, with lots of empty space and blank walls that make it look hardly lived-in, like a listing in a magazine rather than someone’s home. There’s a sofa and a TV in the open living room that you can see from here, and when Sakusa leads you into his kitchen, you have to wonder if he even eats in here regularly because the countertops – wow, are those granite? – are not just clean, they’re sparkling.

“Make yourself at home,” Sakusa says, removing his mask. He takes out the sides and cake a moment later, placing them on the kitchen island before turning around to grab two plates from one of the upper cabinets.

“We both know you don’t mean that,” you reply, setting your bucket of chicken next to the rest of the food, and Sakusa’s present on one of the counters. “My home is a space where I eat, sleep, and live like a human being. Yours looks like it could be a surgical suite.”

Sakusa hums thoughtfully at that as he sets the plates down and reaches for two mugs.

“That’s true. Be comfortable, but don’t move anything from its spot, and for the love of God, do not spill any food or drink, or I will vacate you from the premises.” His tone is completely serious, and although you probably would’ve rolled your eyes at that a month ago, it just makes you laugh now.

“Whatever makes you happy, Kiyoomi.”

“Do you want tea? Ginger is good because it’s flu season right now and it helps–”

“Boost the immune system, I know. Yeah, sounds good.”

By the time you finish filling up both plates with chicken, slaw, and biscuits, the kettle has stopped whistling, and Sakusa is pouring a steaming mug of tea to hand off to you. It warms your fingers, which have been freezing all day even with the space heater on, and when you take a sip, the flavour reminds you of the trays of food Sakusa left during his first week at the apartment. The memory makes you smile as you join him on the couch.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me eat here instead of at the table. What if I spill something?” you ask as you plop down on the seat cushions. They’re firm, unlike your own, and the force of the impact makes you wince.

“If that happens, I’m kicking you out, but clean-up shouldn’t be too bad. It’s like the seats in my car, remember?” You do. Running your hand over the glossy plastic covers wrapped around the couch cushions, you begin to consider the benefits. You’ve been known to spill something here and there – maybe more than that, if you’re being honest – but you don’t know if you can sacrifice your comfort for the convenience.

“Rough game tonight, huh?” you ask, biting into a drumstick. You watched it from beginning to end, and it’ll never cease to amaze you how confident and focused they all are on the court. Sakusa looks like a different person almost, and you would never believe that the little guy who can jump a metre in the air is sweet, naïve Hinata if Sakusa didn’t confirm it beforehand.

Hinata reminds you of that girl you ran into in Miyagi, actually – the one who spiked a ball into your face.

“Yeah, it was… tough,” Sakusa says, slipping on a pair of latex gloves before digging into a chicken thigh. You didn’t even see him take them out.

“Everything okay with Atsumu?”

Sakusa is silent for a moment, just staring down at his plate before shrugging.

“I don’t know. He’s been kind of stressed the past couple months, and it got worse during the training camp, but I didn’t want to pry. I think it’s something personal.”

You nod slowly. “I’m sorry. That must be tough on him. You guys, too.”

“Yeah,” Sakusa says, and an uncomfortable silence fills the air, one that you have no intention of allowing to continue. It’s Christmas Eve, and even if you’re single in a country that uses this day to celebrate romance, you’re going to enjoy yourself.

“So when’d you start playing volleyball?”

“Hm? Oh, when I was really young. My brother got me into it, actually.”

“And you didn’t send him any soap?”

“He didn’t raise me. We’ve been over this.”

You find out that Sakusa’s first time playing volleyball was at a kids’ day camp his brother was volunteering at, and that leads into a story about how he burned a hole in his brother’s jeans with bleach in high school. Naturally, that leads to a story about how you tried to tie-dye a T-shirt once, only to have the colours wash out because you mixed the dye with hot water instead of warm like it said in the instructions. At one point, you turn on the TV and flick through the channels until you see a showing of Home Alone. The movie’s already halfway over, but the two of you wait for the scene where the Wet Bandits get tangled up in all of Kevin’s traps before returning to your conversation, the sound of the television fading into the background.

The time goes by much too quickly for your liking, and it’s only when both of you have polished off a slice of cake that you decide to give Sakusa his present.

“Stay here, I’ll be just a second.” You hop off the couch and dash to the kitchen, where the little box you brought with you still lies on the counter. Hopefully he’ll like it, but after all the effort you put in to acquire this thing, you don’t even care. It wasn’t even at the Christmas market; you had to search up the nearest in-person location to buy one, which happened to be at a mall five train stops away.

And apparently there are a lot of other germaphobes in Tokyo, because the line-up to purchase one of these things snaked around three other stores and a Cinnabon stall. No wonder you couldn’t make it to the airport in time.

“Here,” you say, handing the wrapped box to Sakusa as you re-enter the living room. You plop down on the couch, gently this time, as he tears the wrapping paper off by the tape to eliminate any mess. It’s so characteristic of him that you have to smile.

“‘Phone sanitizer and charger’?” he reads from the label, looking up at you curiously.

“Yeah, it’s a little box that you put your phone inside, and it uses UV light to clean it while it’s charging. It’s supposed to kill 99.99% of germs – thought you’d appreciate that. It’s small enough that you can bring it around when you travel, too.”

For about a minute, Sakusa’s gaze flickers back and forth between you and the box in his hands. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a funny look in his eyes: they’re wide with disbelief, but then they soften with something akin to gratitude – fondness, maybe? The thought is wiped from your mind when he finally smiles, and although you’ve always loved the subtlety of seeing just his eyes as they crinkle at the corners, there’s a whole other feeling that fills you now that you can see his entire face.

“Thank you, (Y/N). This is really thoughtful,” he says, and for some reason, the way he looks you in the eye makes your heart stutter, just for a second. You’re not sure why your face is getting so warm now – maybe it’s his imported space heater. You should ask him where you can get one.

“I have something for you, too,” he says, and you’re almost grateful when he finally leaves the room. He returns a moment later with a tiny gold gift box, and when you open it, you’re a little surprised, but you have to laugh.

“Kiyoomi, this card is for a year-long membership to Hard Core Workouts .”

“Yeah, because you seemed to have a good time. And you said that one of your New Year’s resolutions was going to be exercising more regularly, so I thought it’d be good. See, it even includes sessions at their sister water aerobics studio,” he says, gently taking the card from your hands so he can flip it over to show you. Aquarobics. Hm. You’ll have to check it out sometime.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi. I really like it,” you say, and even though there’s a laugh still bubbling out of your chest, you mean it.

“If you’re really scared about going alone, I’ll tag along with you, but only if you agree to stay within a five foot radius at all times,” he says, looking you dead in the eye.

“That’s sweet of you,” you say, and a moment passes before you tag on, “Merry Christmas, Kiyoomi.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

And it really is. You think back to last year, when you spent the holiday with your ex at a restaurant that you made reservations at, gave him a gift that you prepared, and got cut off in the middle of telling him how much you loved him by a call from his ‘workplace’ – you’re not even sure how true that is now – before he had to leave for an emergency.

You picked up the tab, of course, and the fact that he didn’t buy you anything for Christmas was a disappointment, but not a surprise.

Sakusa must’ve spent that Christmas by himself. You probably would’ve been better off doing the same, but it’s hard to say because you’re nowhere near as independent as he is.

“Kiyoomi, I didn’t ask before, and I hope you don’t mind now, but… do you ever get lonely spending Christmas by yourself?” you ask, returning the card to its box as you set it down on Sakusa’s coffee table.

“No, not really,” he replies. “I have volleyball recordings to keep me busy, Komori before he got a girlfriend, and if I really needed to, I could always call some of the guys on the team to keep me company.”

Yeah, that’s about what you were expecting.

“It doesn’t feel like anything’s missing , really,” Sakusa continues, rubbing the back of his neck as he searches for words. “It’s not like there’s a void that needs to be filled, it’s just… it’s like a plain onigiri. Which is perfectly fine on its own, but if you put an umeboshi in it, then it’s even better.”

…What?

You’ve grown accustomed to most of Sakusa’s quirks and flaws in the six months you’ve known him, but he’s never been one to make analogies – let alone one so obscure – so you can’t help but be a little perplexed right now.

“And what is this metaphorical umeboshi supposed to represent?”

“Spending Christmas with someone I care about, who cares about me.”

There’s an awkward silence that fills the room after he says it. Awkward for you, at least, because your cheeks are even redder than before, so much so that you can’t really blame it on Sakusa’s luxury space heater anymore.

“It’s sort of like, hmm…” He pauses a moment before continuing. “I was content with my life before, and then after I moved, all these crazy, annoying things kept happening to me. But somehow, my life feels a little brighter now. And if I moved back to my old apartment tomorrow, I would probably still be fine, you know? It’s not like I’d be too sad to function or anything, I just…”

He trails off for a moment, staring at the ground to think before raising his head to meet your eyes again. “I think I’d just miss this place a little bit.”

You had your doubts before, but now you are most definitely sure that there’s a weird tension building in the room.

“You’d miss this place, really? Including me?” You ask it teasingly in hopes of clearing the air, but it backfires because his reply is dead-serious.

“Yes. Of course.”

And now the silence is back with a vengeance, and you feel like you could drown in it.

“Kiyoomi, do you–”

You’re interrupted by a knock on the door, but Sakusa hasn’t moved, and you’re content to stay where you are too.

“Do you–”

The knocking persists, except this time, it’s accompanied by a voice. A familiar one.

“Oi, Omi-omi! It’s me! Answer the door, ya freak… come on!”

“Is that…?”

“Atsumu?!” Sakusa runs for the door, his eyes wide and movements frantic, sloppy almost. You follow behind him, entering the foyer just as he opens the door to reveal a very drunk Atsumu slumped against the wall, eyes hooded and a smile lazier than usual curved around one side of his face.

“Omi-omi! You really, hic … answered the door for me…” He shoves past Sakusa, but doesn’t get very far before collapsing in the foyer face-first, only a few feet away from where you’re standing. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, Atsumu rolls onto his back to look up at Sakusa.

“Sorry, I must look so pathetic right now…” he slurs, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as he says between hiccups, “Shoyo’s, hic, on a train to Miyagi… and Osamu’s, hic, makin’ deliveries… and even Bokuto, hic, is havin’ a boys’ night with Akaashi… I didn’t know where else to go…”

Atsumu starts laughing, but the sound quickly dissolves into quiet, pitiful wheezes as he removes his hand from his eyes and looks straight up at Sakusa.

“Ayako dumped me. Actually, hic… she dumped me months ago… I just, hic, didn’t realize it until now…” The words give you flashbacks to that night in the rain, when you came home drenched and utterly destroyed, both physically and emotionally. It’s been months now, and you thought you were okay, but seeing the same thing play out in front of your very eyes makes your heart ache.

“Should I call Osamu?” Sakusa asks, squatting down so that he’s eye-level with Atsumu. His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“No!” Atsumu jerks up suddenly, shaking his head. “No, I… I’m too tired to, hic, move right now. Can I just, hic, crash here?”

And there’s no way in hell Sakusa’s going to agree to that, you’re almost positive, but either Christmas miracles do exist, or Sakusa’s a lot nicer than you give him credit for, because then he says:

“Sure, yeah. Of course. Can you stand?”

“Think so…” Atsumu tries to get up, but he immediately stumbles and falls to the ground again. As he groans, Sakusa just sighs.

“(Y/N), would you–”

“On it.”

You and Sakusa each drape one of Atsumu’s arms over your shoulders as you lift him to his feet, and although it takes some grunts of effort on your part, you eventually manoeuvre him onto the couch.

Sakusa disappears to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, leaving you alone with Atsumu.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” you say, patting his head instinctively. He doesn’t flinch like Sakusa, so you assume he doesn’t mind. “I know it sucks right now, but things will get better. They did for me at least, and I was ghosted for two months before he dumped me on our anniversary.”

Atsumu rolls over on the couch to glare at you, but the gesture isn’t particularly intimidating when his eyes are half-lidded under the influence of what must’ve been a gallon of whiskey. “Well I, hic… got dumped on Christmas Eve, so who’s really, hic… more pathetic here?”

“I don’t think that’s something to brag about,” Sakusa says as he re-enters the living room, glass of water in hand. He passes it to Atsumu, who gulps it down greedily before collapsing into the sofa again. He winces. Yup, you’ve been there.

The water seems to sober him up, at least, because he looks at you and says, “Sorry, 603-san. That sucks. Thanks for… trying to make me…” Atsumu interrupts himself with a yawn, and a moment later, he’s snoring peacefully on the couch. Sakusa comes over to turn him on his side.

“Sorry about this,” he says to you, and you shake your head.

“Don’t worry about it, I had fun. Let me know if you need help with him. I’ve got experience.” You try to wink, but close both eyes at once, and Sakusa lets out a rare laugh. The weird tension in the room has dissipated with Atsumu’s entrance, and you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved.

“Merry Christmas, Kiyoomi.”

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

Chapter Text

Three weeks have passed since Christmas Eve, and much to the relief of Sakusa and his teammates, Atsumu has basically returned to normal. He shows up to practice on time, he’s focused during training drills, and his performance on the court is back up to its usual standard. If anything, he’s gotten even better, and Sakusa chalks it up to the fact that he’s been staying late every night to practice – usually until the custodial staff kicks him out.

(They’re all a bunch of gossips, but Sakusa loves them anyway because they keep the place from smelling like sweat all day long.)

“Oi Miya, great job today!” Shugo claps Atsumu on the back as he swings his duffel bag over one shoulder and leaves the locker room.

“Thanks, Captain.”

Yes, everything is back to normal.

“Tsumu-san! There’s a new restaurant in Shinjuku that’s supposed to have the best pork buns in Tokyo, do you wanna–”

“Sorry Shoyo, not today.”

…Except for the fact that Atsumu hasn’t spoken a word to anyone on the team that wasn’t about volleyball. Sakusa never thought he’d miss his mindless rambling so much.

“Uh… okay, fine! Why don’t we all stay behind for late-night practice? We haven’t done that in forever!” Hinata’s eyes are wide and pleading, sparkling in the way that only he seems capable of, and Sakusa and Bokuto both peer over curiously. Atsumu just sighs.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that.” Hinata doesn’t relent, and with just the four of them in the locker room, there’s nowhere for Atsumu to run. So he sighs again, already unzipping his jacket as he says, “Fine. Two-on-two, let’s go.”

Hinata lets out a sound too high to be a roar and too low to be a squeal, but it conveys his excitement just as well. Likewise, Bokuto lets out a “Hey, hey, hey!” before changing out of his winter jacket and into a fresh T-shirt. Sakusa doesn’t doubt that they’re both genuinely happy about getting a late-night session in – Hinata wasn’t lying, it’s been ages since they held one altogether – but he knows there’s an ulterior motive here.

At this point, Sakusa’s the only one who knows what happened to Atsumu on Christmas Eve, and he knows it’s killing Bokuto and Hinata to be left in the dark, but it really isn’t his place to say anything. Hell, it’s possible that Atsumu’s own brother doesn’t even know.

On Christmas Day, Osamu came to pick him up from the apartment first thing in the morning, and without the alcohol in his system, Atsumu was a lot less vocal than he’d been the night before. All he did was thank Sakusa for letting him spend the night, and then he was trudging behind Osamu to leave, his head hung low. He didn’t even refute any of the insults Osamu threw at him, and there were some pretty nasty ones mixed in there.

Even though he’s never mentioned it again, Sakusa’s sure that Atsumu remembers everything he told him that night, because whenever they lock eyes during practice, Atsumu immediately looks away with some odd emotion painted on his face. Embarrassment? Shame?

It’s not like Sakusa can ask.

“I call Tsum-tsum!” Bokuto calls behind his shoulder as he races out of the locker room and onto the court. Atsumu just groans as he stalks out behind him, and Hinata whines about the teams as he unlocks the storage closet and pulls out the ball cart. Sakusa can’t help but be offended by that, but he really shouldn’t be – he knows better than anyone that Hinata and Bokuto are just here to pester Atsumu for answers like they’ve been doing all month.

(Honestly, the whole team’s been worried, but as long as Atsumu is doing his job on the court, it’s not like they can really say anything. That hasn’t stopped the two of them, though, no matter how much Sakusa tries to ward them off.)

“Tsum-tsum, nice serve!” Bokuto’s shout echoes around the gym as Atsumu glares at him, still holding the ball. Bokuto shrinks in on himself at that, offering a silent fist bump in apology that has Atsumu rolling his eyes. He tosses the ball high in the air before his feet leave the ground and his palm connects with it, hurtling the ball into Sakusa and Hinata’s backcourt.

Bam! “Shoyo, nice receive!” Sakusa calls as the ball sails through the air.

Hinata gives him a strained smile, his teeth clenched in pain. Sakusa can’t blame him. Honestly, no matter how many times he picks up Atsumu’s serves, they still make his forearms hurt like hell, too.

“Omi-san, left!”

Sakusa sets the ball, and he curses under his breath because the toss is way too close to the net. He knows he should cut himself some slack, seeing as their last two-on-two game was months ago, but… Wait no, hold on. It’s not too close. If Hinata can just–

“Tsum-tsum, you ever gonna tell us what happened on Christmas Eve?”

“Oi, Bokuto. For the last time, nothing–”

Sakusa’s known from day one that Hinata’s got good reflexes, but even he can’t be expected to stop mid-spike on account of Atsumu yelling at Bokuto.

It doesn’t help that Atsumu is positioned in the frontcourt, either.

Bam!

“…Oh my God, Shoyo broke Tsum-tsum!”

Atsumu collapses to his knees as he clutches his nose, the ball bouncing away innocently as all three of his teammates look on in horror. He groans in pain, and Sakusa’s sure that his nose is bleeding at best, broken at worst. Maybe both, but he’s keeping his fingers crossed, at least for Hinata’s sake.

“Tsumu-san, I’m so sorry!” Hinata comes bounding over to the opposite side of the court, ducking beneath the net as he joins Atsumu on the floor to kneel by his side. “Are you okay?”

Atsumu lifts his head up but doesn’t even look at him. Instead, he glares daggers at Bokuto, who yelps as Atsumu finally stands and stalks over to him, hands off his face and blood flowing freely from his nose. The red staining the floor would normally make Sakusa cringe, but the look on Atsumu’s face is murderous and demands attention.

“Oi, Bokuto! Ya wanna know so bad?!” Atsumu’s lip curls into a sneer as Bokuto gulps nervously. The tone of his voice is reminiscent of the hotel in Brazil, but this time, it is absolutely dripping with contempt.

“I got dumped , okay?! I got dumped over text on Christmas Eve like an ugly, clingy loser , and it messed with my head so bad that I effed up on the court!” Atumu’s breaths are coming in heavy pants now, and there are angry tears pooling in his eyes. The expression on his face reminds Sakusa of the Christmas Eve game.

“God, I’m so pathetic…” Atsumu says in a broken whisper, voice cracking on the last word. Even from where he’s standing, Sakusa can tell that he’s shaking from head-to-toe. He’s hanging his head now too, as if he doesn’t want them to see the emotions on his face.

A moment passes by in silence. When Atsumu lifts his head for the second time, the look in his eyes makes Bokuto not only flinch, but take a step back.

“ Goddammit Bokuto , why the hell are ya so persistent?!” He’s screaming now, and the sound echoes everywhere in the empty gymnasium. “Thank God I went to Sakusa’s place that night! Do me a favour, would ya? Stay the   hell outta my personal life!”

He shoves Bokuto to the side as he storms off to the locker room, slamming the door behind him so hard that it rattles on the hinges. Bokuto’s eyes are wide with guilt and shock, glued to Atsumu’s retreating back -- when it’s gone, he just stares at the locker room door wordlessly.

“You guys shouldn’t have pushed him like that. Look what you did,” Sakusa says weakly. Even he can’t find it in himself to scold them properly, not when Bokuto’s hair has literally deflated to half its normal volume.

“Omi-san! You knew and didn’t tell us?” Hinata demands, eyes flashing. Sakusa’s tempted to bring up the fact that he was the one who spiked the ball into Atsumu’s face in the first place, but that wouldn’t be productive at this point.

He sighs. “Okay, idiots. Guess there’s no point in hiding it now…”

By some miracle, the next day is Saturday, which means the Jackals don’t have practice. Sakusa’s sure that Bokuto and Hinata probably need some time to process everything, and Atsumu could really use a chance to cool off.

Ring-ring-ring!

Speak of the devil.

Well, the devil’s twin, but close enough.

“Hey Osamu, what’s up?” Sakusa says, resting his phone in the crook between his neck and shoulder as he pauses the volleyball recording playing on TV. “How’s your brother?”

“Could be better, but ya probably knew that already.” And there’s not much Sakusa can say to that – it’s true, after all – so a long silence ensues instead. Osamu breaks it with a sigh. “What happened at practice yesterday?”

Sakusa takes a deep breath before diving into the hellscape of that particular memory. “So Bokuto and Hinata were being dumbasses again…”

And he tells Osamu everything. How Hinata suggested staying late, how Atsumu took a spike to the face because Bokuto distracted him, how Atsumu then blew up and spilled everything before cursing Bokuto out – not like he usually does, but with actual intent – and leaving without another word.

He hears from Osamu that Atsumu’s been okay, physically at least – he’s still eating well, showering regularly, and hasn’t had any alcohol since Christmas Eve. Sakusa hums in approval. Atsumu is still a professional athlete after all, and he’s got too much pride to let himself go like that. It’s literally in the job description.

Osamu also throws in some details that Sakusa could’ve really done without, like how during the first week, Atsumu went club-hopping and brought home a different girl every night. Only thing was, they all looked like Ayako, which made him emotional halfway through, so he ended up sending them home before anything could actually happen. Osamu had to deal with the aftermath of that, and needless to say, he wasn’t happy.

“So all these girls just storm out cursin’ out Tsumu, and yeah, I can live with that ‘cause I do it all the time – but then they start comin’ onto me, Sakusa, me! Ya know what it’s like to have a girl crawl all over ya, and she won’t let go even when ya say no, so ya have to pry her off?”

Sakusa grimaces, memories of your first Pilates class flashing through his mind. “Yeah, must be tough,” he deadpans through the phone.

“I need ya to come over, Sakusa, I just… he won’t talk to me. And he banned Bokuto from the house, and he doesn’t want Hinata to see him like this, so… yer kind of my last option?”

“Flattering, thanks.”

“Ya know what I mean! C’mon, please?”

Staying at this apartment for seven months must be making Sakusa soft, because he feels his heart tug a little bit at the earnest tone in Osamu’s voice. He wants to help, he really does, but he’s never been in a relationship, let alone gone through a breakup as messy as Atsumu’s, so he’s not really in any position to be offering advice.

…But you are.

“Okay, Osamu, I’ll come over. Can I bring a friend?”

“Ya really will?! Okay, yeah, sure, whatever ya want. See ya in a bit!”

The line clicks, and as soon as it does, Sakusa scrolls down to your contact to ring you up. His thumb hovers over the call button, and in his mind, he rehearses what to say to you for a minute before shaking his head and pressing it. He’s being ridiculous.

“Kiyoomi? What’s up?”

“Need a huge favour. Can you come with me to Atsumu’s place? I need you to talk to him.”

“What?! Oi, Sakusa , I don’t even know him.” Sakusa flinches when you call him that. He’s not sure when he got used to you calling him by his name, but he knows now that he can never go back.

“When I told you that you could ask me for help, I meant along the lines of me telling you what to say to him.” Even though Sakusa can’t see you, he can hear the frown in your voice. He can understand why you’re so sceptical, but he’s really running out of options here.

…Screw it, he’s gonna go for it.

There’s one trump card that Sakusa’s been saving for months now, and he really didn’t want to use it this soon, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“You poked my eye during the fire alarm. You owe me.”

“I poked your– Really, you’re still holding onto that?!”

“You never apologized!”

“…Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’ll only accept the apology if you come over to Atsumu’s place to talk some sense into him.”

You’re silent for so long that Sakusa fears he lost connection, but a moment later, you finally grumble your answer.

“…Fine. I’ll text you my location, Sakusa.”

It’s his turn to frown when you hang up. He’s still not sure why it bothers him so much to hear you call him that, but it’s probably nothing.

“Samu, I already told ya I don’t want any more onig– 603? What’re ya doin’ here, who let ya in?”

You find Atsumu lying on his bed, setting a volleyball again and again over his head, but he stops immediately when he notices you at the door. And wow, from the sight of his room alone, you can understand why Sakusa always refers to him as his polar opposite.

Half his bookshelf is strewn on the floor in messy stacks of manga volumes, and – hey wait, you’ve read some of these.  Volleyball posters hang all over the walls and ceiling, photos from high school sit in odd corners of his desk and nightstand, scribbled sticky note memos are posted all over the window, and a framed Black Jackals jersey hangs over his bed: Miya, 13.

Atsumu’s place looks lived-in and intimate, traces of him evident in every inch of the space. It’s messier than Sakusa’s apartment, not that that’s a bad thing. It’s just… different.

“Oi, I asked you a question like a minute ago.”

“Kiyoomi! Kiyoomi let me in, um… Hi, Miya-san. How’s it going?” You internally cringe at how shaky your voice comes out, and Atsumu’s responding eye-roll doesn’t do much to reassure you.

“Why’d he send a stranger? Go home, I don’t wanna speak to anyone.” Atsumu places the volleyball on the ground and rolls over onto his side so that his back faces you. The sight reminds you of a child throwing a fit, which is odd considering he’s a grown man who stands a head taller than you, if memory serves you right.

“Hey, I know things are tough right now, but–”

“Why’re ya talkin’ as if ya know me?” He sits up suddenly to glare at you, and if you weren’t so used to seeing the same expression on Sakusa, you would probably flinch. “We’ve only met once.”

“Twice, actually. I was at Sakusa’s place on Christmas Eve.”

“What? I don’t remember that.” Atsumu narrows his eyes at you as if he thinks you’re lying, and you sigh. This is going to be a long afternoon.

“I doubt you remember a lot of things, you were pretty wasted that night.”

“Hey, don’t ya dare go judgin’ me!”

“I wasn’t–”

“Ya don’t even know what happened!” He crosses his arms in front of his chest defensively, as if daring you to go on. When it’s clear you have no intention of refuting that last comment, he lets out a sigh, and all the anger seems to drain out of him. Instead, his eyes go dull and his shoulders slouch forward, like he wants nothing more than to just disappear.

“I wish ya’d all just leave me alone. None of ya know how I feel right now.” He rolls over to lie on his side again, except this time, the way he buries his face into his pillow reminds you of a child that was just scolded. You feel waves of sympathy begin to stir in your chest as you approach the bed.

“I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“Whaddya mean?” Atsumu says, his voice still muffled by the pillow.

You debate whether you should just give him a vague overview, or at the very least, leave out the more embarrassing details, but it’s not like Atsumu can really judge you when he’s in the same boat. And it’s been seven months at this point anyway, you can do this.

…But it’s still hard, and you find yourself only able to speak after about a minute. What’s worse is that your silence has made Atsumu curious now, and he’s removed his face from the pillow to stare at you.

You take a deep breath for what must be the fifth time now, and, bracing yourself, you begin.

“…My ex started ghosting me after almost a year of being together, and I guess in his mind it was over, but I didn’t want to believe it. So I decided to surprise him at his workplace for our anniversary,” you say, the words coming out numb as you stare at the ground. You can feel Atsumu’s gaze burning through you, and it takes everything in you to ignore it.

“But when I got there, he had this other girl hanging off his arm. And then he went on and on about how I was his psycho ex who was too dumb to realize we were over, and then I tripped in my heels on the way out – seriously, I should just sue Steve Madden – and before I knew it, I was sobbing on the ground in front of all his coworkers. Like, it wasn’t pretty.”

Your voice gets stronger as you continue talking, and although you’ve given at least five separate accounts of this story to your friends, this is the first time you’ve been able to do it without crying. There’s an odd sort of strength you derive from that, and as you recall the last couple details, the sheer absurdity of it all has you ranting.

“And then, I realized I left my train pass at home, and since no cabs would take me, I had to trudge home in the pouring rain! Without an umbrella. Barefoot. Don’t ask,” you warn, finally meeting Atsumu’s questioning gaze as your story draws to a close.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but the perpetual slouch in his back is gone now, and his eyes seem a little more alive than they did before.

“…Why’re ya telling me this?” he asks after a minute.

“Because sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than someone you know,” you say, thinking of black curls and beauty marks. “When people care about you, it can be hard to open up because… they care about you? And you don’t want them to think you’re weak, or make them worry, and you’re scared you’ll fall apart even more if you know they’re there to catch you…”

Your thoughts stray to your friends and family, and how you waited longer than you probably should’ve to tell them about the breakup. You still feel guilty about it, but it was just so hard at the time. The sound of Atsumu shifting on the bed brings you back to the present.

“Sorry I’m making all these assumptions, I just thought you might be the same way since–”

“Since I haven’t talked to anyone,” he interrupts, and you’re grateful for it because you really didn’t want to be the one to say it aloud.

“…Yeah. So why don’t we give it a try?”

Atsumu cocks his head as he eyes you suspiciously. The way his gaze flickers back and forth over your face makes you feel oddly self-conscious, but eventually, he nods slowly and scoots over on the bed to make room for you.

“…Did part of ya ever know it was over? And ya just didn’t wanna believe it?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he asks the question, but the fact that he’s talking at all is a good sign. You smile kindly, and his eyes flick back up to your face for just a second before returning to his sushi-printed bedspread.

“Yeah, I think I knew deep down. There were always signs, but he made me feel so special in the beginning that I just dove in headfirst and ignored them.”

Atsumu nods almost imperceptibly, but he still doesn’t raise his head. A moment passes in silence before he asks his next question.

“It hurt worse when ya planned somethin’ special for him before he broke things off, didn’t it?”

“Of course! I made reservations at this really fancy restaurant two months in advance, and they charged me for cancelling!”

“Yeah, I never got refunded for my ticket to Osaka either. I was even gonna see my mom.”

You can tell by the way Atsumu’s eyes go wide that he didn’t mean to let that slip out. He looks so completely dumbfounded that you almost feel bad for the guy, but you pat his shoulder twice before smiling encouragingly.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You can see from Atsumu’s open blinds that the sun has gone down now, leaving the sky an inky black too saturated with Tokyo smog to see the stars.

“No way! Omi made ya food?”

“Yeah, half out of pity I think. He spied on me and my ex from behind the plant, remember?”

“Right, right, almost forgot. Ya must be the first person besides Komori who’s tried his cooking. How was it?”

“Great. Amazing. Five stars. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”

Atsumu laughs at that, and you wonder how the time passed by so quickly. There’s a bit of lingering sadness still weighing him down, and his eyes don’t carry the same flirty twinkle you saw when you first met him, but you can tell he’s feeling better than he was a few hours ago.

“When you feel up to it, you should try talking to your brother and the guys,” you say, uncrossing your legs on the bed to stretch them out. You cringe at the prickly feeling in your calves as the blood recirculates. “I know Kiyoomi doesn’t show it, but he’s been worried sick.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on Atsumu’s bedroom door, and it opens to reveal a familiar face.

“Hey (Y/N), it’s almost midnight, we should probably get going. Hope you’re feeling better, Tsumu,” Sakusa says, the look in his eyes earnest despite the childish nickname.

“Yeah, thanks Omi.” Atsumu turns to you. “And thanks, 603.”

“My name is (L/N) (Y/N),” you say with a sneer, emboldened by the fact that you’ve been post-breakup venting with this guy for six hours now. “Call me (L/N)-san, please.”

“603 has a better ring to it. Ya can just call me Atsumu, all the guys do anyway. ‘Miya’ gets too confusing now that ya know Samu, too.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Sakusa frown at that, but it’s gone before you can tell. You pay it no mind.

“Okay, Atsumu-san. Kiyoomi has my number if you ever need to talk.”

“Okay. Thanks again!”

Atsumu sends you off with a wave as you follow Sakusa out of his bedroom. Osamu comes out from the kitchen to thank you too, and the bag of onigiri he’s prepared to-go makes you realize that it’s been hours since you last ate.

“Wow, this is really good, Kiyoomi,” you say as you bite into one on the car ride home. It took some convincing to get Sakusa to let you eat in the Lexus, but after reminding him that you just sacrificed your whole evening, he was quick to relent.

“Say that again.”

“…This is really good?”

“No, all of it.”

“...Wow, this is really good, Kiyoomi?”

Sakusa hums, satisfied, but you’re too busy polishing off a second rice ball to pay him any mind.

Chapter Text

“Well hey there, neighbour,” you say, smiling cheekily as you climb into the passenger seat. It’s only around 6PM, and even though the days have been getting longer, the winter sun’s still pretty elusive past 3 or 4. You don’t mind, though – Sakusa always parks in the same spot, so it’s not hard to find him.

“How was work?” he asks as you buckle your seatbelt.

“Not bad! We’re actually preparing for the company’s anniversary party right now, so things are a little busier than usual.” Sakusa hums thoughtfully.

“Yeah, the V. League banquet in the spring takes a lot of work too. Bokuto clogged the chocolate fountain last year, and I thought the event planners were gonna kick him out right there, but Atsumu talked them down.”

“Pfft. He’s good at that, huh?” Sakusa glances at you from the corner of his eye as he pulls out of the parking lot, but says nothing.

“How’s Bokuto, by the way? Atsumu told me he apologized, but I wasn’t sure if they made up or not.” You’re hoping they did. Atsumu’s been pretty bent out of shape about it, and he probably deserves to be, but it’s been adding to his insecurities lately and you just want him to be okay.

“Oh yeah, Bokuto’s fine. He’s a pain in the ass when he gets down on himself, but he bounces back pretty quickly. I think he’s kind of occupied at the moment, though. You remember his neighbour, the depressed one who bakes? He has a crush on this water aerobics instructor and she’s holding this couples’ class for Valentine’s Day, so he was gonna go just to ask her out, but he needed a partner. So Bokuto told him he’d go.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” You’ve grown a little disenchanted with Valentine’s Day this year, but if that isn’t the most adorable, Bokuto-esque thing you’ve ever heard, you’re not sure what is.

“Yeah, the class is at Aquarobics. It’s included in your membership, remember?”

“Oh, maybe I’ll go too then!” What a coincidence. You’ve been meaning to use up Sakusa’s Christmas present, but it’s been a little tough to fit in around your weekly talks with Atsumu.

You peer over to look at him now, and from the way he’s blinking a little too often and side-eyeing you every ten seconds, you can tell he wants to say something.

“You’ll… need a partner, though.”

“Oh, you’re right.” In your mind, you consider which of your coworkers might be free that day, when suddenly, a face pops into your head. It’s so obvious that you don’t know how you didn’t think of it before.

“I–”

“I’ll ask Atsumu!” You shoot up in your seat, fishing out your phone from the depths of your purse. “Taking up new hobbies is supposed to help you get over a breakup anyways. Hey Atsumu… do you want… to come to water aerobics… with me next weekend?” And send.

“…If he says no, I could–”

“Oh, he responded! Is that okay with Omi? What, why wouldn’t it be? Yeah, of course.”

“You know, I–”

“Oh, he said he’ll come!” You turn to Sakusa with a big smile, but the answering frown marring his face has you deflating, just slightly, in your seat. You feel your earlier confidence begin to wane. “Why, is it a bad idea?”

He sighs, and the tension in his brow releases. “No, it’s just… Maybe I should go, too. Keep those guys in line in case something happens.”

And yeah, that’s fair. From your brief stint as a camerawoman on Baking with Bokuto, up until Atsumu taking a spike to the face last month – Sakusa gave you all the details afterwards – you can see why having a responsible, mature adult around would be a necessary insurance.

“Sure, sounds good. Do you have someone you can ask to be your partner?”

And oh, there’s that frown again. Sakusa narrows his eyes at you as he pulls into the parking garage beneath your apartment.

“ …I’m sure I can find someone.”

True to his word, Sakusa does find a partner to accompany him, and it’s exactly who you were expecting.

“(L/N)-san, hi! Isn’t this exciting?” Hinata says with a wave and a megawatt smile as he emerges from the changeroom in volleyball-printed swim trunks. His eyes are almost… sparkling? And on anyone else, it would look strange, but on him it just seems to fit.

“Yeah, for sure! Is Kiyoomi still changing?”

“Mm-hm. He’s disinfecting his swim shoes, but he should be out soon.”

“Yeah, sounds like Omi,” Atsumu comments from your right. “But Shoyo, you weren’t added to the group chat, were you?”

“What? You guys made a new group chat without me?” Hinata asks, a pout on his lips as his sparkly eyes grow decidedly dim. And normally, it’d be enough to tug at your heartstrings, but he’s really not missing out on much.

The messages Bokuto’s been sending to the group chat he made with you, Sakusa, Atsumu, and Inomata have ranged from barely sound to utterly nonsensical. They’re mostly possible scenarios in which Inomata can sweep his crush off her feet, and while you appreciate the enthusiasm, half of Bokuto’s plans are subpar at best, while the others are just doomed to fail. The one you all rejected immediately was Bokuto flinging himself into the pool on a rope swing while Inomata shields the instructor from the splash with his body.

The most ridiculous thing about the group chat is that it’s unironically named Inomata’s very amazing and super reliable matchmaking squad. But hey, maybe now that it’s D-Day, your rag-tag crew will pull through.

“Oh, hey Shoyo!”

Speak of the devil.

Bokuto almost slips on the pool deck while running over to join you, and you have to wonder how he ever became a pro athlete when he’s so clumsy all the time. Then again, you probably don’t have the right to comment.

“Bokuto-san! What’s this about a group chat? Why didn’t you add me?” Hinata demands, fists balling up at his sides. The action shouldn’t be cute, but on him, it really is.

“Eh? Oh, that group chat,” Bokuto says, wiggling his eyebrows at Hinata. “Shoyo, there’s nothing to worry about. Daijoubu, daijoubu!”

After looking around for eavesdroppers, Bokuto leans down to whisper loudly in Hinata’s ear. “I’ll tell you the specifics later, but we’re about to play Cupid for that man over there.”

He points to a rather jittery Inomata standing ten feet away, legs shaking and giant eye bags visible even from here, and gosh, you’re starting to feel nervous for him. Inomata looks about a sniffle away from a mental breakdown, and from the odd time you’ve seen him in the halls, you’re pretty sure he’s acquired even more grey hairs than he had before. If he’s rapid-ageing as a result of Bokuto’s utterly ridiculous ideas in the group chat, then yeah, you can sympathize.

“Hey, I know that guy!” Hinata says, and both you and Bokuto cock your heads to the side curiously. Atsumu just scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, that’s the idiot who dropped a bottle of mayonnaise in the lobby,” he says, turning to look at Inomata with a scowl. “I can’t believe he yelled at ya for stepping on it. Weren’t ya even a little mad?”

“Hm? Not really, it was my fault. I feel worse for you – you slipped and fell in the puddle of mayo that squirted out.”

You try to cover up your laugh with a cough, but from the way Atsumu glares at you, you can tell it wasn’t very successful.

“Yeah, and that would’ve been enough to yell at him, but then he got mad at ya! Of course I had to do something.”

“I appreciate it, Tsumu-san, but that made the elevator ride with him really, really awkward. It was worse cause he and Bokuto-san live on the same floor,” Hinata explains, now turning to look at you.

Atsumu just scoffs again. It suddenly makes sense why he was never a hundred percent on board with the whole matchmaking thing – in fact, you’re pretty sure the only reason he agreed to it is because he still feels bad about yelling at Bokuto. Part of you finds that a little endearing, actually.

Somewhere between Hinata waving at Inomata like a maniac and Atsumu grumbling beneath his breath, Sakusa emerges from the changeroom. And no matter how many times it’s happened before, you will never get used to (or tired of) seeing him shirtless.

“Omi-omi, ya made it!” Atsumu waves him over, and Sakusa rolls his eyes from above his mask as he approaches. He’ll have to take it off before he gets in the water, and part of you is a little excited that you’ll get to see his whole face today.

“Of course I made it. I can’t let you dumbasses get (Y/N) kicked out of her first class,” he says, and you’re not sure if it’s the humidity in here, but your cheeks are starting to feel awfully warm. You turn away from your group so that they won’t see your tomato-red face, and while doing so, you finally take note of the other couples standing around the pool.

And wow, there are a lot of mixed reactions to you and the rest of your squad.

“Oh my gosh, are those the instructors? They’re gorgeous!”

“Tch. I don’t see what’s so great about them.”

“Hon, look! Wow, all the best-looking guys really are gay. Or maybe they’re just friends?”

“Hey, I’m good-looking! And straight!”

“I think the blond one came with that girl. Ugh, she’s so lucky!”

“Wow, babe. Hurtful.”

You probably should’ve seen this coming after Sakusa’s experience at Pilates. The sight of four shirtless male athletes congregated at the rope swing was sure to draw some attention; you just didn’t realize how much. You’re almost starting to feel bad for the men as they watch their girlfriends ogle your rag-tag team of matchmakers, but at least the gay couple by the swirly slide is enjoying themselves.

“The one with the mask is the best-looking for sure! Those abs are everything !”

“No babe! It’s the one with the spiky salt-and-pepper hair, just look at his arms!”

At least you aren’t blushing anymore. Of course, you can’t say the same for your companions – even with his mask on, you can see Sakusa’s ears turning bright red, and the sight makes you giggle.

“Welcome everyone, to Aquarobics’ Valentine’s Day couples’ class. You’re dating, you’re happy, we get it, ” a decidedly unenthusiastic voice greets from the shallow end of the pool. You would’ve expected Inomata’s long-time crush to be a little… peppier, but from the way his shaking increases ten-fold, you can tell this is Arobikusu. She’s pretty, you’ll give her that. Actually, her face reminds you of someone. Someone a lot more enthusiastic, someone–

“Hello everyone, my name is Piratisu! I’m here as a special guest to demonstrate the partner aerobics exercises with my sister. If you’re interested, I also lead Pilates sessions at Aquarobics’ sister studio, Hard Core Workouts! Please, come into the pool so we can get started!”

It’s a bit strange to see your Pilates instructor wearing a one-piece and goggles instead of her yoga gear, but she’s still as radiant as ever. When she sees you climb into the pool, she gives you a big, toothy grin and a wave that you return enthusiastically. She does the same for Sakusa, but he just nods, and Atsumu kind of laughs at that as he guides you to an empty corner of the water.

“Inomata!” Bokuto’s shout has you all looking over to where his neighbour has ripped part of his swim trunks on the pool ladder. “Daijoubu, daijoubu!” Bokuto calls, and the way he says it has you thinking of butter on the ceiling.

Inomata, now utterly mortified, successfully unhooks the part of his swimsuit caught in the ladder. Really, the rip only goes from the bottom of his pocket to the hem, so it isn’t so bad. Bokuto’s next comment, however, is.

“Um… Wow , Inomata! Just look at those thighs! Any woman would be so lucky to have you!”

Inomata now looks like he’s about to have a stroke, and there are chuckles erupting from everywhere in the pool. Arobikusu looks thoroughly unimpressed.

Off to a great start, then.

“Okay ladies and gents, we’re starting this session off with a pace run. You’re gonna stand face-to-face with your partner and run in place in the water, but make sure your legs are fully submerged at all times. Oh, and let me make myself clear – you better keep those knees up!”

The way Arobikusu is directing this class makes it feel more like a boot camp than a relaxing Valentine’s Day fitness activity, but maybe that’s only in comparison to her sister’s classes. The good vibes at Hard Core Workouts are something you dearly, dearly miss right now.

As you pump your legs up and down in the water, you feel sweat start to accumulate on your forehead even though you’re barely jogging.

“Ugh, my thighs burn! How are you even doing that?” you ask Atsumu, who’s basically sprinting at this point. He just kind of smirks at you, and you feel the sudden urge to smack him.

“Pro athlete, kind of in the job description. Ya know what isn’t?”

“What?”

“ This.” Atsumu splashes you with water, and as you sputter, wiping stray droplets from your face, you decide that yeah, you really want to hit him.

“Oi, Miya! See, this is why you're last on Kiyoomi's speed-dial!”

“Wow, low blow.”

“Take that!”

You splash him right back, using both hands for maximum effect. He’s got an unfair advantage because he’s taller though, and you find that out the hard way as he repeatedly soaks your hair, face, and shoulders with pool water. You can’t help but laugh as you try and fail to dodge his attacks, and it’s only when Arobikusu yells at you for disrupting the class that you stop.

From a few feet away, Sakusa looks at the two of you forlornly, but you’re too busy keeping up with Atsumu to notice. Hinata does, though. And he badly misinterprets it.

“Omi-san, take this!” He splashes the water so that it hits Sakusa straight in the face, instantly regretting it when Sakusa’s whole aura begins to darken.

“… Shoyo.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Don’t use that voice, I told you it gives me the willies!”

From a few more feet away, Bokuto is again trying to sell Inomata like a piece of meat at an outdoor market. The volume of his yelling captures everyone’s attention, and you didn’t think it was possible for him to rattle off something cringier than he started with, but apparently you were wrong.

“Golly, Inomata-san! You’re running even faster than me, a professional athlete ! You must have excellent lower body strength, and what a handsome face to boot! The ladies must love you!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at Bokuto, and you seriously fear for Inomata’s health because he looks like he’s going to pass out at any moment. Arobikusu looks more than a little annoyed that her class has been interrupted (again), but Piratisu just laughs and tells her, “See, now that’s what I call positive reinforcement. You should try it sometime, works wonders for my students.”

And yeah, you have to agree with that one.

“Alright lovebirds, stop your canoodling because we’re moving on to rock-and-rolls. You’re going to hold your buoys and face each other to start,” Arobikusu deadpans, assuming the position with her sister. “After that, you’re going to tuck your legs to your chest, kick forward so your feet touch your partner’s, tuck in, kick behind you, tuck in, and kick forward again. Then repeat. Two sets of ten reps, let’s move it, scrubs!”

Clearly, Piratisu’s suggestion for positive reinforcement has inspired no change in her crabby sister. You’re starting to think Inomata would be better off just spending the night alone, maybe do some baking. Those are your plans, after all.

You can barely keep a handle on the buoys as you tuck your legs into your chest awkwardly, almost somersaulting sideways before Atsumu reaches out a hand to steady you. By the time you figure out how to remain upright, you’re faced with a new problem.

“Ow! Slow down, Atsumu!” you yelp as his foot collides into your waist again. Every time he kicks forward, you’re still tucking your legs in, and if you can’t get this timing right, you’re pretty sure you’re going to have a boatload of bruises to show for it in the morning.

“Okay, sorry, sorry, my bad,” he says, planting his feet on the ground as you do the same. “Let’s try speaking the steps out loud.”

“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve ever said.”

“Ouch, 603.” The monotone of his voice is so similar to Sakusa’s that it makes you laugh. As he gets back into position, you follow. “So tuck… kick forward… tuck… kick back… Hey, that’s it!”

“Wow, I’m doing it!” You smile up at Atsumu, and his answering nod makes you grin even wider. 

When you peer over to your right, you see Sakusa staring and you wave enthusiastically. He doesn’t return the gesture, but his eyes never leave yours.

“Omi-san, now!” Hinata whisper-shouts. “Hello? Omi-san? Omi-san!”

You break eye contact with your neighbour as your gaze travels to a distressed Hinata, who has now given up on getting Sakusa’s attention and is currently swimming over to the deep end. Oh, no. Bokuto didn’t. He didn’t.

This is one plan you were wholly against, and you were oh-so relieved that no one was willing to volunteer for it, but you should’ve known that Hinata would be down for anything. No one even notices as he executes a perfect breaststroke, winding up about ten feet away from the rest of the class. They do look over when Bokuto starts screaming. Again.

“Goodness me! Hinata appears to be drowning!”

To be fair, Hinata is a much better actor than you expected. From the way he’s violently thrashing around in the water, you would never believe he was swimming with perfect form just seconds earlier if you hadn’t seen it with your own two eyes.

“Hey, I think Mayo Man’s makin’ his move,” Atsumu whispers from behind you, and you quickly glance over to where Inomata is climbing out of the pool to retrieve a lifesaver from the deck. Before he can do anything though, Piratisu has hopped out of the water, grabbed a nearby rescue board, and is already jumping into the deep end as Bokuto tears his hair out in frustration.

Hinata just has to play along at that point, pretending to choke on water as Piratisu guides him back to the shallow end. Everyone is clapping and cheering for her already, save for Atsumu, Sakusa, and Bokuto, and you hate to gloat, but you knew this plan was doomed from the start. So you cheer for her with the others.

“Go, Piratisu!”

And poor Inomata is still standing on the deck, lifesaver in hand, but no one takes much notice of him. In fact, he's looking at your Pilates instructor with so much wonder in his eyes that you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind being thwarted again.

Even after insisting that he was perfectly fine, Hinata’s medical screening takes longer than he hoped it would, so Arobikusu is already on the last exercise by the time he joins you again.

“Okay, pretty simple here, folks. You and your partner are going to hold either end of a kickboard so that you’re facing each other, and you’re both going to flutter kick until one of you is knocked out of place or gives up. Probably the latter, considering you’re all a bunch of–”

“ Oh -kay! Let’s get started, shall we?” Piratisu interrupts, clapping her hands together and smiling just a little too wide as the corner of her eye twitches. And man, you thought Sakusa was the crabbiest person you knew, but Arobikusu is really giving him a run for his money. You glance over to the bench he’s been sitting on since Hinata left, and you laugh as your little sunshine child drags him back to the pool by the arm.

“Ready, partner?” Atsumu says, bringing your attention back. He holds the kickboard out to you and you smile, grabbing onto it.

“Of course,” you say as you take your feet off the bottom of the pool to float on your stomach. You’ve only been kicking for about a minute when Atsumu starts to slip backwards, and for a minute, you’re absolutely thrilled – then realization dawns on you and you scoff.

“Hey, are you letting me win?”

“Course not, 603.”

“Sure about that?”

“Ya really need to trust me more.”

The mischievous glint in his eyes tells you everything you need to know, but it’s too late in the class to get mad, so you decide to play along. When you finally propel Atsumu into the pool wall, you let go of the board and start cheering for yourself while he claps.

“Omi-san! Stop letting me win! Are you even trying?”

“Huh?” Hinata is growling at Sakusa from a couple feet away, but before your neighbour can formulate an appropriate response, Bokuto hoots like an owl and you nod to Atsumu.

“Looks like you’re up, Tsum-tsum.”

“Hey, only Bokuto can call me that,” Atsumu replies before looking over at Inomata and groaning. “Mayo Man’s lucky Bokuto likes him so much, else I’d never agree to this.”

You cover your mouth with your hands – both to feign shock and cover your cackling – as Atsumu brings his knee to his chest and clutches his calf, face twisted in a pained expression.

“Ow! I’ve got a cramp in my leg, someone help me!” You steal a quick glance at Inomata, who’s whispering something to Bokuto uncertainly. Bokuto just nudges him with his elbow and gestures over to you and Atsumu, and with a final sigh, Inomata begins wading over to you.

“I can help,” he calls, and just when he’s within range, Arobikusu herself pushes him out of the way. You’re not even sure when or how she got here, but what’s certain is that Inomata could not look more dejected than he does right now.

“Inomata-san, you’re overstepping! This is my class, I’m sure I can take it from here,” she says, and now she’s shoving you out of the way too so she can sidle up to Atsumu. This whole situation gives you flashbacks to Pilates, but to be fair, that could be because your instructor is standing just a couple feet away.

“Hey, I thought it was really brave of you to take action like that,” she says to Inomata, offering him a shoulder pat and a sympathetic smile. “Don’t mind my sister – she’s just not in the best mood today. Single on Valentine’s Day, you know? I am too, but you don’t see me complaining. I’ll probably bake some red velvet cupcakes for myself and call it a night.”

You weren’t sure before, but right now, Inomata’s eyes are definitely sparkling like Hinata’s.

The kickboard exercise is, in fact, not the last activity. You’re absolutely delighted when Piratisu guides you all out of the pool for some post-workout stretches. As you come out of a sun salutation, Atsumu makes conversation beside you.

“I still can’t believe ya got Omi to come.”

“Oh no, you got it wrong. He came here all on his own.”

“Right,” he drawls sarcastically, and you peer over to frown at him.

“I’m serious!”

“Sure… but he was surprisingly chill about letting us partner up.” The way Atsumu says it has you thinking back to the texts he sent you when you invited him here. Is that okay with Omi? The furrow in your brow deepens, and you cock your head at him curiously.

“…Why would he mind, exactly?” Atsumu raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend pair off with another guy for a couples’ class.”

“Your girlfri–” It takes a moment to click, but when it does, you do a double-, triple-, and then quadruple-take. “Woah, woah, woah, when did I ever say Kiyoomi was my boyfriend?”

“Ya mean you guys aren’t dating?”

“ INCOMING!” Before you can respond, Bokuto comes flying in on the rope swing like a Japanese Tarzan – there was a unanimous vote against this, come on – and neither you nor Atsumu react quickly enough to run to safety. He does, however, have time to yank you into his chest and shield you with his arms as about ten gallons of water splash all around you.

(It’s not enough to keep you dry considering how much water Bokuto displaces from the pool, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.)

When the pseudo-tsunami is over and you finally open your eyes, you peer up to see Atsumu’s face barely an inch from your own. You’re close enough that you can feel his breath on your neck and see specks of gold in his brown eyes, and now your cheeks are becoming uncomfortably warm.

Before either of you can say anything, you scramble out of his hold and look around nervously, praying that no one saw. Luckily, most of the other patrons are too busy spitting out pool water and cursing at Bokuto to pay the two of you any mind.

…Except for Sakusa, whose jaw drops open as his eyes widen with confusion and shock. There’s something else there, too, something in the furrow of his brow and the flare of his nostrils that you can’t quite pinpoint. You bite your bottom lip so hard it almost bleeds, because dammit, he was the last person you wanted to see.

The thought appears before you can stop it, and you don’t even have time to wonder where it came from because Arobikusu is now calling for security to vacate Bokuto from the premises.

“Get him out of my studio! Good riddance!” You know Bokuto could probably take down both of these scrawny guards if he really wanted to, but he just lets them drag him away like a ragdoll, already sulking. You almost feel bad for the guy. He was just trying to help a friend, after all, misguided and idiotic as his attempts were.

Arobikusu suddenly rounds on Inomata, who is now utterly drenched after trying (and failing) to protect her from the splash zone. She jabs a finger into his chest accusingly as she continues her rant. “And you, Inomata, I have had it up to here with you! I know you’re completely enamoured with me – and really, who could blame you? – but this is too far!”

As she watches Inomata cower in fear, Arobikusu rubs her chin thoughtfully and sighs. “You know what? I’ll go on one date with you tonight, one, if you promise never to show up to one of my classes again.”

And with that, Inomata’s entire demeanour shifts. But he’s not excited, or relieved, or any of the other things you were expecting. He just looks… disgusted. Which gives way to realization, which gives way to calm, which gives way to self-assurance. You’re pretty sure the man just had an epiphany before your very eyes, and from the set of his jaw, he is damn well going to do something about it.

“Actually Arobikusu, I don’t need your pity. I have no intention of coming back anyways. It’s too bad, but I guess we’re not as compatible as I thought,” he says, and for the first time since the class started, he’s stopped shaking like a leaf in the wind. As he squares his shoulders, he starts walking towards… Piratisu?

“Hi Piratisu-san, I’m Inomata, but I guess you probably knew that already. I’ve got a new recipe for red velvet cupcakes I’ve been working on for a long time. It uses browned butter and mayonnaise, if you want to come over tonight and do some baking.”

Piratisu’s eyes widen, and then her whole face lights up, but before she can respond, her sister interrupts.

“Piratisu, no! You can’t have a date on Valentine’s Day if I don’t have one, that’s… that’s… that’s not fair!” Arobikusu is nearly shrieking at this point, and if she hadn’t been such an insufferable harpy for the last hour and a half, you might’ve felt some pity for her.

…And would you look at that? Piratisu seems pretty done with her sister as well. Looking Arobikusu straight in the eye, she says, “You know what, Inomata-san? I’ll be there,” and it’s enough for you and Hinata to start cheering, social convention be damned.

Even Bokuto, who’s still getting dragged away, fist-bumps the air triumphantly and yells, “Hey, hey, hey! Go Inomata!” Inomata turns to you all with a grateful smile on his face and two thumbs up, and the rest of the class starts clapping as well.

“Guess all’s well that ends well, wouldn’t ya say?” Atsumu says as you start heading towards the changerooms.

“Honestly, after all we– Hey, where’s Kiyoomi?” You stop in the middle of the crowd to look around, mumbling apologies to the annoyed patrons who curse and shove past you.

“Oh, he’s in the changeroom already. He went after Bokuto-san jumped into the pool,” Hinata replies, gently nudging you to follow the crowd. You do, but the expression on Sakusa’s face from earlier is still frozen in your mind, and it makes your chest feel heavy.

“So ya really aren’t dating him?” Atsumu asks, and that jolts you back to reality.

“No, I’m not! We are not dating, for the last time!”

“Eh? But Tsumu-san said you guys spent Christmas together,” Hinata chimes in, and Inomata may be fine, but now you think you’re on the verge of a stroke.

“I– That was– Atsumu!”

“Well, it was true!”

Sakusa doesn’t say a word on the drive home. And it’s not because he’s mad, really, he’s just… tired. Being around so many people has always exhausted him, and the little germaphobic voice in his head is still cursing him out for going to a public pool, something he swore he would never do. In fact, he’s still not sure why he came today, not when every rational part of him screamed, No, stay home, but you’ve led him to make a lot of questionable choices over the past eight months, so he can’t say he’s surprised.

What does surprise him, though, is how close you’ve grown to Atsumu, and in such a short time at that. Truthfully, there’s another emotion lurking there as well, something a little darker that isn’t making itself fully known. Sakusa would prefer to keep it that way, at least for now. It’s just easier.

From the corner of his eye, Sakusa can see that you’re getting a little fidgety, as if you want to say something but keep deciding against it. Normally he would entertain you, but he’s so exhausted right now that he can’t find the words. Luckily, you settle for turning the radio on.

You keep flicking through the channels, and Sakusa’s starting to get a little annoyed now, but before he can say anything, you find that one indie station he likes and let the music play. He turns to you with a raised eyebrow, but you just look wordlessly ahead for the remainder of the drive. Eventually, he pulls into the parking garage of your apartment and you both exit the car. It isn’t until you get on the elevator that you finally break the silence.

“When we reach our floor, just wait outside my apartment, okay? I’ve got something for you.”

Sakusa is thoroughly perplexed, but he tries not to let it show. When the elevator dings and opens on the sixth floor, he accompanies you to your apartment, and after you disappear inside, he hears a whole lot of shuffling behind your door. After a few minutes, you emerge with a small box wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper, tied with an ivory satin ribbon.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Kiyoomi.”

...He wasn’t expecting this.

Sakusa just stares at the gift in your hands. He stares so long, in fact, that you lose your patience, take one of his hands in yours, and place the box in his open palm. He doesn’t flinch when you touch him anymore, and he’s not sure when or how it happened, just that that’s the way things are now.

This isn’t the first time Sakusa’s received Valentine’s Day chocolate. He gets a few presents from the fans in the Jackals’ PO Box every year, and although he was an even bigger jerk in high school than he is now, there were still a couple girls who liked him.

This is, however, the first time Sakusa’s received chocolate from someone he actually cares about, and it’s a good feeling.

“I made them yesterday,” you say, and the sound of your voice has Sakusa finally tearing his eyes away from the box to look at you.

“I threw some honeyed umeboshi in there too, hope you like it. Oh, but don’t get me wrong!” You hold your hands up defensively, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Sakusa wonders why you’re so… panicky. “This isn’t honmei chocolate, okay? I made it because I had time, and I’ve been trying to cook more anyway, and you made me all that food last year, so… here you go. Think of it as a thank-you, for being my friend. Happy Valentine’s Day, Kiyoomi.”

“…Thanks, (Y/N).” You smile shyly.

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, but don’t tell the others! I didn’t make them any.” You bite your lip guiltily, and maybe it’s wrong, but Sakusa is so relieved, so happy, that all the tension in his body drains out of him in an instant.

“I won’t, don’t worry.”

“Thanks,” you say, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you grin wide. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to take a shower.”

Sakusa’s eyes glue themselves to your retreating back as you disappear into your apartment, and suddenly, he’s alone in the hallway with his thoughts. He looks at the little box in his hands again, rubbing the smooth satin ribbon between his fingers as your words echo in his mind.

Think of it as a thank-you, for being my friend.

And he considers that word, friend: a person he trusts, whose company he enjoys, and who accepts all his fears, flaws, and idiosyncrasies without making him feel like he’s less because of them.

It’s a word that’s always meant a lot to Sakusa (after all, he’s only got six, even counting the guys), and it still means a lot now, but in this moment, it kind of feels like that plain onigiri – perfectly fine on its own, but with an umeboshi, it’d be even better.

...So what’s the umeboshi?

Sakusa ponders that for a moment, but then he remembers that every inch of his body is still covered in pool filth. You’ve got the right idea, he decides – he should take a shower, too.

Chapter Text

Compared to the world of professional sports, an office job isn’t the most exciting thing in the world, but you’ve loved working at Matsumoto & Co., Ltd. ever since you started out as an intern six years ago. Back then, you were more of a glorified maid than anything, but you were so grateful to be working at a big international trading company that it didn't even matter. It's taken some time, but now that you’ve climbed the ranks to assistant sales manager, you love it even more.

The late nights spent hammering out project proposals, the international calls that still have you stumbling over your Russian, and even the karaoke nights with your team after a successful sales quarter… You wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.

But there’s one thing you could do without.

“Good morning, (Y/N)-san!”

“Morning, Bessho-san.”

“Ugh, (Y/N)! It’s Bethany, that’s what they called me when I was–”

“Studying in America, I know. Sorry, Bethany.”

You can’t say you’re too close with anyone at work outside your own team, but you’ve always tried to be civil. The guys in International Relations aren’t too bad, there’s a girl in IT who’s been trying to get you into gaming, and when Kimura’s not around to project his pompous seagull influence, there are even a few people in Natural Resources that you don’t mind hanging out with.

However, something about Textiles has always rubbed you the wrong way. Maybe it’s the condescending smirks they give you and your nerdy Sales Team in the cafeteria, or the way they strut down the halls in the exclusive designs provided by their clients, or how they always make fun of your clothes – apparently it’s ‘common knowledge’ that polyester pants are a crime – but you’ve never felt comfortable around them. The final straw came three months ago when they dissed your new intern in the break-room. You found her crying in the bathroom two hours later, and needless to say, you were not a happy sempai.

Bessho “Bethany” Nishi, assistant manager and effective ringleader of Textiles, is a heartless, Gucci-wearing she-demon with the voice of a banshee and half the remorse. Probably less, actually, considering she spreads ninety percent of the break-room gossip and has sent three people (not including your intern) to the bathroom in tears. This month.

In your mind, the two of you have always been enemies, but that’s not how Bethany sees it. Or maybe it is, and she just prefers keeping up friendly appearances through a veil of back-handed compliments. She’s good at it, sure, you just wish you didn’t have to hear it in the elevator first thing in the morning.

“So, the anniversary party’s coming up next week, isn’t it? How exciting! Are you bringing a date, (Y/N)-san?”

“Oh, well I–”

“Oh, that’s right! You’ve been single since that nasty breakup last year, haven’t you? You must be so lonely, how rude of me to broach such a sensitive topic.” There’s no way she means that, not if the barely concealed smirk on her face is any indication.

“I mean, I’m basically okay now, so you–”

“(Y/N), (Y/N)… Poor you.” She shakes her head, feigned or genuine pity – you’re not sure at this point – in her eyes as she looks at you down the length of her contoured nose. “You know, you could be so pretty if you’d just take my advice and get rid of those ugly polyester pants!”

You chew on your bottom lip to prevent all the nasty insults on the tip of your tongue from spilling out. As you glance at the floor numbers ticking off on the control panel, you can feel your eye start to twitch. Just a few more levels, just four more, and you’ll be out of here. Why is the elevator moving so slowly today?

A flip of bleached blond hair brings your attention back to the she-demon three feet away from you, and if HR couldn’t kick you out for it, you’d throw her body down the elevator shaft without a second thought.

“I could probably bribe one of the interns from Textiles to go as your date, you know. They absolutely worship the ground I walk on, and since there’s no way–”

“I have a date, actually.” The words are out before you can stop them, and it’s only when you take in Bethany’s wide-eyed stare and gaping jaw that they finally register.

“You… You have a date?” she sputters, and any chance you might have had to play this off as a joke vanishes with a nod of your head. It’s like your body isn’t even yours anymore.

“Yup, I… I have a date. You can meet him at the party next week.”

The elevator dings and the doors open to reveal your already-bustling office. As you step out, you can feel Bethany’s eyes lingering on your back, but you try to shake her off.

It’s not a lie if you can actually find someone.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“(Y/N), I’m fine. Besides, we’re already here.”

“Yeah, but there are still like, five people in front of us, and Cruella de Vil over there will probably take longer than the other four combined.” You honestly feel bad for the attendant working coat check tonight. Cruella has shed her floor-length furs and just plopped them into his arms, and he already looks like he’s swimming in them as he heads for the coatroom. He’s a little guy too, you doubt he can even see over the – oh no, now he’s bumped into a wall.

“All I’m saying is that if you want to go, you still can. I won’t blame you. And I’ll be okay on my own,” you say, and it’s true to some extent. You’re not thrilled at the prospect of being publicly humiliated by your arch-nemesis, but you don’t want a friend bending over backwards for you either. Especially not one who – and you know this for a fact – hates crowds .

“And I already told you, I’m staying,” Sakusa says, and even though half his face is covered by a mask, the intensity in his eyes is enough to make you gulp.

You’ve always thought it was unfair that Sakusa could be so attractive in regular clothes, but seeing him all dressed up for the first time has had your mouth running dry since he showed up at your apartment. His suit is tailored to perfection, all sharp angles and tight seams that hug his broad shoulders and back. And maybe it’s just warm in here, but that dress shirt is doing such a great job of accentuating the planes of his chest that you’re starting to feel light-headed.

“(Y/N),” he calls, and you immediately snap back to attention. “I’m staying. You said this is an important night for you, and I don’t want someone to ruin it by embarrassing you in front of your coworkers. You worked hard this year. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

His words are simple and honest, not laced with kindness or dressed up in pretty lies, and they’re enough to silence you as you shuffle forward in line. The sound of your black heels clicking against the marble floor is a welcome distraction, and you stare down at them to bring your red cheeks out of view. The light of the chandelier reflects off the patent leather in a way that reminds you of the polished floors in Sakusa’s gym, and how they gleamed under the fluorescent lights that one time you picked him and Atsumu up from practice.

You move forward in line again, and this time you lift your head, the redness in your cheeks fading.

There’s a reason you thought of asking Atsumu here first, but when you brought up the issue to Sakusa on the car ride home that day, he immediately offered to help. Insisted, actually, and when you told him that no, he didn’t need to overextend himself when you could just ring up his teammate, he seemed even more adamant in his decision.

At this moment, you’re still skeptical about bringing him here, but part of you – the part that splurged on a new cocktail dress for the occasion, spent an extra hour on hair and makeup, and debated for twenty minutes whether you should wear the sapphire or emerald earrings (you picked sapphire, and you’re still not sure if you made the right call) – well, that part of you is just a little excited to be here with him.

By the time you reach the front of the line, the attendant has got an ice pack to nurse his bruised forehead, and he accepts your wool coat with a weak smile. When his eyes land on Sakusa, though, he frowns.

“My apologies, sir, but I’m afraid you’ll have to remove your mask before heading inside. We’ll keep it safe for you here, but no guests are allowed to wear facial coverings unless it’s for religious reasons. Part of the security policy.”

You deflate a little bit at that, but there’s not much you can do. Sakusa will just have to cut his losses and head home, and if that means getting called out by Bethany in front of the whole company, then so be it. You shouldn’t have been lying in the first place, and it wouldn’t be fair for him to –

“O-Of course… No problem.”

...What?

You gawk at Sakusa as he unhooks his mask from behind his ears before folding it carefully and sliding it into his coat pocket. He hands it off to the attendant with a nod, but you can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s less than thrilled.

“You… You don’t have to do that! Seriously Kiyoomi, if you’re not comfortable, just tell me and I’ll let you go,” you insist, tugging at the sleeve of his suit jacket. Sakusa looks down at where you’re touching him, and you instinctively make to let go, but he grabs your hand and holds it there before you can move away.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” he says, and when you try again to convince him otherwise, he just shakes his head and graces you with a small, rare smile. It’s even more effective than usual since you can see his whole face, and dammit, you don’t know when Sakusa of all people became so hard to refuse, but you can already feel your resolve begin to waver.

“Hey, let’s go inside, okay? We’re holding up the line,” he says softly, gesturing behind you. You turn around and yeah, he’s right. You’re about a minute away from losing your rapport with International Relations, and they’re the only ones who hate Bethany as much as you do, because in her mind, four years in America qualifies her to tell them how to do their jobs. It’s not a connection you want to lose, so you follow Sakusa into the ballroom reluctantly as the attendant assists your coworkers.

When you step through the double doors, it’s as if you’ve been transported into a different world, like you’re Nakamura Ayako and this is the exclusive after-party they hold after the Japan Record Awards. The lighting is dim, paper lanterns illuminating the crystal wine glasses and flourishing centrepieces on the dinner tables with a rosy glow. A little farther down, the dance floor is edged with lavish arrangements of dahlias, roses, and hydrangeas cascading over wooden trellises, and the sight of them alone makes you feel like you’ve entered a fairy tale. Onstage, there’s a live band playing smooth jazz music, and you find yourself tapping your toe to the beat before you can help yourself.

It’s only after you’ve taken in the full scene and picked your jaw up off the ground that you notice something: there are a lot of people here. Like, more than usual, and you consider yourself a pretty good judge of that seeing as you’re a three-year Matsumoto & Co. anniversary party veteran. There’s usually a good four hundred of you, including all the office workers in your building, a couple of the executives from the Tokyo branch, and maybe a few extra place settings to accommodate the plus-ones.

But there must be at least double that number in here, because no matter which direction you turn, there are bodies everywhere. And the ballroom’s pretty damn big, not that you were expecting anything less from the ANA International Hotel, Tokyo.

You immediately turn to Sakusa, whose eyes are glued to the crowd just as you expected. He’s biting his lip uncertainly now, but then he squares his shoulders, offers you his arm, and when he drops his gaze to meet yours, you can see that the look of steely resolve in his eyes hasn’t wavered. Gulping, you wrap a hand around his bicep and allow him to guide you to the tables. Dinner service is starting, and your Sales Team awaits.

“(L/N)-san, you made it!”

“Of course I did! We were nominated for Team of the Year, who else is gonna give the acceptance speech when we win?”

“Oi (Y/N), knock on wood! You can’t just say that!”

“Lay off, babe. More importantly, who’s that on your arm?”

You were kind of hoping you’d have the chance to sit down before your coworkers addressed the (unfairly attractive) elephant in the room, but clearly that was expecting too much. You scan the four faces peering up at Sakusa curiously, and when it’s clear that no one’s going to change the subject, you sigh.

“Guys, this is my friend, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi, this is the rest of Matsumoto & Co.’s highly esteemed and very nerdy Tokyo Sales Team.” Your coworkers don’t seem to mind the descriptor (it’s true, they all know it) and greet Sakusa with waves and smiles, which he returns with a tentative nod. You take it as a sign to continue.

“This is Eiko,” you say, gesturing to the bright-eyed, fresh-out-of-college intern who greeted you. “The salty one is Soushi, my right-hand man, and that’s Hana beside him. They’re dating.”

Soushi nods curtly, the dark bags under his eyes evident of the all-nighter you pulled with him three days ago to close the New Zealand deal. In contrast, his girlfriend is out of her scrunchies and bargain-sale pantsuits for once, and she is absolutely glowing under the light of the paper lanterns. And oh, now she’s looking between you and Sakusa and wiggling her eyebrows. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“What, no introduction?” You turn to face the honorary member of your Sales Team, who is currently drumming her fingers on the table as she looks to you expectantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Kiyoomi, this is Kamiko from IT, she’s…” You furrow your brows and scan the rest of the area, eyes landing on the table twelve feet away that’s hosting the rest of her team. “Wait, shouldn’t you be with the IT guys? Also, where’s Fuji?”

“It’s his son’s wedding today, so he couldn’t make it,” Hana supplies, and yeah, that would explain why gamer girl Kirisaki “ADWH” Kamiko is sitting in a spot reserved for one Fujiyama Masato, Sales Head – the embossed place card is still there and everything.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” you say, thinking of the countless hours and sleepless nights your boss put in this year to maintain your team’s number one spot in sales. “Maybe this works out better though. Kamiko can give me advice on what to say to Bethany when she comes over here to roast us with backhanded compliments.”

A murmur of approval ripples through your friend circle as Eiko says, “You two should sit down! The food’s coming soon.” It’s moments like these when you thank the universe (and Fuji) for assigning her to your team instead of Textiles. They would’ve torn her to shreds on the first day, and even if she somehow managed to survive, Bethany would’ve brainwashed her into another one of her cronies. The thought makes you shudder.

You and Sakusa take your seats next to each other, and luckily, the food comes out almost immediately. Carts loaded with small plates of seared scallops, mushroom crostini, and other appetizers too fancy for you to pronounce emerge from the kitchen doors, and Soushi waves down a few of the waiters that walk by. You’re just digging into a scallop when the interrogation begins.

“So Sakusa-san… how did you and (Y/N) meet?” Hana asks, and you don’t miss the knowing smirk Kamiko sends your way from across the table.

“Under a very unfortunate set of circumstances. The first time I saw her, she was drenched in rain and sneezed on me, and then I yelled at her for five minutes.” Sakusa doesn’t even look up as he replies, too busy lathering his hands in the sanitizer he stores in your purse. The awkward silence that follows, however, has him raising his head to assess your friends’ reactions. Their bewildered expressions make him shrink in on himself, just a little, and it’s becoming apparent to you why he doesn’t like meeting new people. Your heart pangs with sympathy, and you’re about to chime in when Eiko beats you to it.

 “Um… What do you like to do for fun?”

“Clean,” Sakusa says without missing a beat, and even your precious kouhai is having difficulty keeping her face neutral. She raises an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, and now her smile is starting to look a little strained.

“That’s… interesting! Uh… anything else?”

The awkward silence resumes, and you can tell from the way Sakusa’s avoiding eye contact and rubbing his neck that he’s starting to feel uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, even – you can tell that he’s floundering, completely out of his element, and part of you wonders why he came all the way here for you of all people. The other, more rational part swoops in to save him.

“Kiyoomi cooks a lot. He listens to indie rock bands with funny names, he learned how to bleach his jeans and denim jackets in high school, and he used to build model ships when he was a kid. They’re in a display case at his apartment, but he never lets me touch them,” you say, reaching under the table to squeeze Sakusa’s hand. He turns his head to you, surprised, but you pretend not to notice as you wave down a waiter carrying a tray of salmon puffs. You don’t let go, and neither does he.

“Model ships? That’s pretty cool, why’d you stop?” Kamiko asks.

“I don’t have much time for it anymore because I travel a lot for work.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“I’m a professional volleyball player.”

There’s an audible gasp from across the table, and you look up from your salmon puff to see Soushi – notorious hard-ass in and out of the boardroom – with a hand over his mouth, eyes lit up the way they were when Wellington Holdings finally signed the furniture deal last week.

“You’re kidding! Oh my gosh, you’re that Sakusa Kiyoomi?” Soushi leans over the table to study his face, and Sakusa’s grip on your hand tightens as he moves back defensively.

“I… think so? I play for the MSBY Black Jackals.” Soushi gasps again, even louder this time, and the sound makes Sakusa flinch.

“Do you know Ushijima Wakatoshi of the Schweiden Adlers? Please say you do!”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Oh my God, that’s so cool! I watch all of the Adlers’ games, even if I have to record them and wait till the weekend to binge them all at once. Ushijima’s the best spiker I’ve ever seen!”

Sakusa freezes for a second, and you’re half-expecting him to be offended, but that turns out not to be the case. It’s quite the opposite, actually, and you’re quick to realize that as Sakusa perks up in his seat and a genuine smile stretches across his face.

“I know! Whenever we play against the Adlers, Wakatoshi’s got such a strong presence on the court, and–”

“Wow, I’ve only seen him on TV! Is he even better in person?”

“Of course! His razor-sharp focus cannot be captured on recording, you should’ve seen him at the Asian Men’s Tournament last year when he–”

“Got five consecutive service aces against Korea, I know! I wish I had that kind of confidence, I really don’t know how he does it, and yet he’s–”

“So humble,” they say together, and as you look at them in awe, Kamiko just snorts and Hana wheezes, nearly choking on her crostini. Luckily, Eiko claps her on the back before pouring a glass of water and thrusting it towards her, which Hana accepts gratefully. Her boyfriend is too entranced by Sakusa’s rare photos of high school Ushijima to notice.

You start to tune out when you hear Soushi gush about how he’s collected all of the Adlers’ merchandise, and how even for a superfan like him, finding any candids of Shiratorizawa-era Ushijima reading a manga or eating ramen is like finding a pastel unicorn that poops rainbows.

Instead, you opt to talk to the girls as the entrees are wheeled out of the kitchen.

“What do you mean you died in the first battle? I didn’t think that was even possible,” Kamiko says, cutting into a lamb chop. You feel your cheeks burn as you bury your face into your hands and groan.

“Ugh, I know! I’ll never get to partner up with you for the IT gaming tournament at this rate.”

“Daijoubu, daijoubu,” she says, waving you off dismissively. “I’d still rather be with you than the losers in my department. They pronounce all the character names wrong.”

You all have a laugh at that, and you can’t help but notice that Hana’s really much prettier than you thought, especially now that half her hair isn’t slipping from a scrunchie to obscure one side of her face.

“Hana, you look great tonight! I wish my skin was as clear as yours,” you tell her, and she beams at you as she reaches for her cheek.

“It’s because I started using that grapefruit cleanser and mineral scrub you bought me for Secret Santa! I restocked on it a few weeks ago – totally forgot how awesome it is.”

Sakusa overhears you, pausing in his conversation with Soushi to interject. And you’re almost certain you made this connection at some point, but it completely slipped your mind.

“Are you talking about Grapefruit by Kohaku? I use that too. It’s supposed to lift all the dirt from your pores,” he says, and the other three eye him curiously, but Hana just gasps in delight.

“ Yes! It’s great, I love it so much. Every time I use the scrub after a long day, I feel so rejuvenated.”

“Yeah, I started using it because it was advertised as ‘deep-cleaning’, but I think it’s improved my complexion a lot. Oh, and (Y/N) says it smells nice.”

Kamiko goes back to smirking at you, but you try to ignore it as you let go of Sakusa’s hand to dig into your prime rib. The way Soushi and Hana are vying for his attention makes you laugh, and there’s a fuzzy feeling in your chest when you see his shoulders finally start to loosen up. You continue to chat with Kamiko and Eiko for a while, artfully dodging the former’s intrusive questions, and before you know it, they’re bringing out dessert.

“I can’t believe the guys from Textiles haven’t come over to harass us yet,” Soushi comments, breaking the sugary crust of his crème brûlée with a spoon. You roll your eyes as Sakusa hands you a plate of strawberry shortcake.

“What happened to ‘knock on wood’?”

Sure enough, in the distance, you can see Bethany making her way over to you in a blinding swatch of silver sequined fabric, the rest of her posse flanking her on either side like a scene out of a high school movie. When she finally reaches your table, you thank Fuji’s son for getting married today, because he has inadvertently given you a full arsenal of roasts in the form of one Kirisaki Kamiko.

“Bessho-san, that dress makes you look like a less attractive version of the disco ball at the karaoke lounge in Shinjuku,” she says before Bethany can even get a word in. That seems to throw her off a bit, but with a flip of her hair and a haughty laugh, she’s back to her normal, insufferable self.

“Appreciated, Kamiko-san, but I don’t know if I should take fashion advice from someone who willingly associates with the Sales Team. Between (Y/N)’s polyester pants and Hana’s scrunchies, it’s a wonder how they even have boyfriends. Oh wait, that’s right: (Y/N) doesn’t. Not anymore, at least.”

Your jaw drops at her scathing remarks while your coworkers all glance at you, worry painting their faces. Bethany’s always sugar-coated her words in a way that made you want to tear your hair out, but this is the first time she’s laid them bare and raw, and damn it all, they sting.

You’re about to let out a half-assed retort when Sakusa grabs your hand from under the table and squeezes.

...But then he takes it a step further by bringing your interlocked hands on top of the table for everyone to see.

“You must be Bessho-san,” he deadpans, and Bethany finally seems to notice him. She does a double-take, the same way you did when you first laid eyes on him tonight, and another one follows as she stares at your hands.

“Are… Are you (Y/N)’s date?” she asks, eyes wide in disbelief. Sakusa just looks down at where your hands are intertwined, then looks back up at her, his head cocked to the side as if saying, What do you think? Bethany doesn’t seem to clue in, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yes,” Sakusa says. “I’m (Y/N)’s date.”

Bethany’s posse starts whispering among themselves, and you can see her confidence start to waver as her eyes flick back and forth between the two of you. She covers it up with another laugh, though, before addressing Sakusa again.

“You know, if you want to get out of here later, I can always give you my number. (Y/N)’s fine to hang out with for a couple hours, but she’s kind of dull once you’ve been around her long enough. And she’s got so much emotional baggage from the breakup, let me tell you.”

Sakusa already knows your history, you know he does, but something in you panics at her words, and you immediately turn your head to assess his reaction. His face remains impassive, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that tells you his patience is wearing thin.

“Bessho-san,” he starts, closing his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about you tonight, and I think the only reason you’re picking on (Y/N) is because you’re jealous of her.”

Your coworkers all murmur to each other and stare at him, and some of Bethany’s cronies even gasp, but Sakusa doesn’t pay them any mind as he brings his hand down from his face and looks Bethany dead in the eye.

“I think you’re jealous of her performance in the workplace, and you wish your relationships with your coworkers were as meaningful as hers.” He breaks eye contact with Bethany to address her colleagues. “I mean, do you guys even like Bessho, or are you just following her around out of fear?”

There’s a pitiful silence, and Bethany rears on her coworkers to tell them off, but the terrified looks on their faces are evidence enough. She turns back to look at you and your coworkers, her expression twisted in rage, and she starts her next sentence with an uncharacteristic stutter.

“I-I… You asshole! You don’t know anything about me or my coworkers! Ugh, I should’ve known you’d bring some sort of freak, (Y/N)!” Before anyone can say anything else, she spins on her heel and storms off, the way you wanted to when you were dumped nine months ago. She’s ten times more graceful than you’ll ever be, but somehow, you don’t envy her, even when her posse continues to trail in her wake.

“That was awesome, Sakusa-san!” Kamiko says, and the rest of your team claps for him while Sakusa blushes. You haven’t taken your eyes off him for the past few minutes, so when he turns to you, you meet his gaze immediately.

“Freak was a little harsh, but asshole’s pretty accurate,” you say.

“I didn’t used to mind ‘asshole’, but now when I hear it from anyone but you, it kind of bothers me,” he replies, and you suck in a breath.

At this moment, you can’t tell if your heart is racing out of your chest or stuttering to a halt, but what you do know is that the light, tingly feeling in your hand is now spreading all throughout your body.

God, you can’t remember the last time someone gave you butterflies.

Social gatherings have always been among Sakusa’s least favourite things, especially ones that host more than a hundred people. The noise, the germs, and the sweaty bodies are enough to suffocate him even when he’s standing alone in the corner, but tonight, he’s thrown himself into the middle of everything he hates most, and he has no idea why.

…That’s a lie, actually. He does know why. And as he sees your face light up at the announcer’s words, he begins to think that it was worth it after all.

“And the Team of the Year is… the Tokyo Sales Department! Please come up to the stage to accept your award!” You and your team erupt into a flurry of cheers on the dance floor, and from where he stands beside you, Sakusa joins in with the rest of the audience’s applause, smiling.

“Oh my God, oh my God, it’s us! He called us!” Kamiko says, and no one questions why she’s referring to herself as part of the team when she’s been working in IT for three years.

“Let’s go!” Soushi says, ushering you forth with a hand on your back as Hana shoves past the crowd. Sakusa sends you off with a wave of his hand, mouthing the words good luck as you smile at him from over your shoulder, your grin threatening to split your face.

You disappear from sight, and the partygoers around Sakusa feel a little closer all of a sudden, but he dismisses it with a shake of his head. He can see you emerge into the blinding light of the stage now, trailing after Soushi and Hana as you nearly trip in your heels. Sakusa gasps, but luckily, Kamiko’s there to catch you. It does nothing to calm his racing heartbeat, though, and if anything, it just seems to be getting faster now.

He tries to distract himself by watching your coworkers clear a path for you to accept the award. If Sakusa remembers correctly, you’re second-in-command to your manager, so it makes sense that you’d represent your team in his absence. The applause resumes as you step up to the podium, crystal plaque in hand, and Sakusa tries to join in again, but it’s hard when his palms are so sweaty.

Why are they sweaty?

“Hi everyone, I’m (L/N) (Y/N), assistant manager of the Tokyo branch’s sales team. I just want to thank our manager, Fujiyama Masato, who unfortunately couldn’t be here today…”

The chatter of the audience drowns out the rest of your sentence, or maybe it’s the white noise filling Sakusa’s head right now, he isn’t sure. He tries to brush it off, to focus on you and your words, but both the buzz of the crowd and the ringing in his ears make it nearly impossible.

Sakusa tears his gaze away from you, but that turns out to be a bad decision. The bodies are starting to multiply now, dim and faceless, and it feels like they’re closing in on him from all angles when he just wants to breathe, but he can’t. His breaths are coming out in shallow pants now, and Sakusa knows the symptoms, knows what’s happening, but he can’t seem to calm down. The sweat has spread to the rest of his body at this point, dripping down his back and causing his dress shirt to stick to him, but somehow, he still feels cold. There’s a chilling sense of dread pooling in his stomach and crawling up his spine, and just when he thinks he’s about to drown in it, someone bumps into him hard, and it’s like he’s been plunged six feet under.

“This is such an honour, truly, and we’d like to extend our thanks to our friends and family as well…”

Sakusa’s shoving past people before he can even realize what he’s doing, their shouts and curses falling on deaf ears as he makes a beeline for the nearest exit. All he wants to do is get away, get away, get away, and it’s like his body isn’t even his anymore.

“And that’s the lesson I take away from all the struggles we–” You stop as soon as you see Sakusa bolting from the ballroom floor. Your eyes go wide and your heart nearly stops, but you can still hear your coworkers’ voices from behind you as they urge you to continue. For just a moment, you consider it, but you know your decision is already made.

“I’d now like to turn it over to my most trusted colleague, Ishikawa Soushi. Thank you again for this great honour.” After giving a deep bow, you slip your high heels off right there on stage, shove them into Kamiko’s arms, and race after Sakusa.

After a series of trips to the lobby, the coat room, and the hotel bathroom, you finally burst through the balcony doors to find Sakusa standing in the dim moonlight, still hyperventilating, sweaty, and trying to compose himself.

He turns around immediately at the sound of the door, and when he sees that it’s you, his body nearly collapses in relief. It lasts for less than a second as some kind of realization hits him, and suddenly he’s shaking all over again as he grips the balcony railing.

“Y-Your speech… did you… did you finish?” he asks through choked breaths.

“Kiyoomi, that is not what’s important right now, what’s important is–”

“ Did you finish?!”

You’ve never heard Sakusa yell before, at least not like this. Not like every nerve in his body is screaming in pain, not like he’s so desperate for an answer he’d die after hearing it, and certainly not like he could shatter into a million pieces at any given moment.

You sigh, the tears threatening to spill out of his frenzied eyes making your heart clench.

“…No, but–”

“What?” Sakusa whispers, voice paper-thin. It sounds so fragile now, so weak and vulnerable that you curse every fibre of your being for telling him the truth.

“I-I’m sorry…” he stutters, and his voice seems to crack with every word that follows. “It’s my fault, i-if I hadn’t… If you brought Atsumu, this wouldn’t have… this wouldn’t have happened, but I… I’m so, so sorry…”

His entire body is shaking at this point, the tears are flowing freely now, and your speech is honestly the last thing on your mind, but the fact that in this moment, in the after-shocks of a panic attack he’s still worrying about you is just–

You’ve got your arms wrapped around Sakusa before you can think to do anything else, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head and rest his face in the crook of your neck. A moment passes, and he’s not hyperventilating anymore, but now it seems like he’s stopped breathing entirely.

You pat his back slowly.

“It’s okay. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Sakusa’s never been one to rely on others, especially not for physical comfort, but tonight, he’s been pushed so far beyond every limit of his comfort zone that he just can’t help it. He buries his face further into your neck as his body collapses against yours, and he just lets you hold him, lets himself be held by you. You breathe with him, long, steady breaths that alleviate most of the sobs in his chest. A few minutes pass, and you finally speak.

“That’s it, good job. Stay in this moment. There’s nothing here that can hurt you, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

You can feel Sakusa’s chin brush against you as he nods, and you continue to pat his back comfortingly as he brings his arms around your waist to cling to you.

“I’m really proud of you, you know that? Thank you for everything you did tonight. I know it was hard for you, and I appreciate it… but I don’t ever want you to push yourself past your breaking point. Your wellbeing is more important to me.”

Sakusa doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t really have to. You take a deep breath before your next words.

“And I just want you to know… I’m so, so grateful that you’re in my life.”

A minute passes, and then Sakusa nods against your neck again, slowly. It’s the only response you receive from him, but at this moment, it’s enough.

Chapter Text

You're not ashamed to admit it. When you first found out Sakusa was a volleyball player, you Googled him as soon as you got home.

...To confirm, obviously. Not to ogle his action shots, or his promo posters, or that one photo-shoot he did for Tokyo Vogue a few years ago. You're not sure who in their right mind suggested a mafia theme for a professional athlete (or how that idea got green-lit in the first place) but honestly? You're not complaining.

(Especially not when it produced a devil-may-care Sakusa leaning against a burning building in a trench coat, arrogant and indifferent and gorgeous .)

Anyway.

During your Google search, you also came across a critical piece of information: Sakusa's birthday is on March 20th. And a week ago, on March 13th, you suggested to the guys that it would be a good idea to throw a surprise party for him. Bokuto immediately made a group chat, which gave you all traumatic flashbacks to Valentine's Day, but things seem to be going a little smoother this time around. Probably because Ushijima – the man, the myth, the legend – and Komori are here to round out the score.

Beep-beep!

Speak of the devil.

Omi omi's very elite and super cool party-planning committee:

Bokuto, 9:13AM: it's D-day guys!!! Inomata, ure coming over at like 4-ish, right?

Mayo Man, 9:13AM: Yes, I tried out the tres leches recipe with Piratisu last night and we tweaked a few things. We should be good to go.

Bokuto, 9:14AM: ooh, Piratisu huh? sounds like u had a good time, Cinnamon ;)

Of course, the code names are a bit much, but you've dealt with worse from Bokuto before. You're not quite sure where he got the spice theme, but as it stands, Inomata is Cinnamon, Bokuto is Salt N' Pepper, Hinata is Turmeric, Ushijima is Nutmeg, Komori is Oregano, Atsumu is Cayenne, and you are Basil.

(And the only reason you remember is because you wrote them all down, at Bokuto's insistence. According to him, this is 'a very covert and serious operation,' and while you have to agree, this is all starting to seem like overkill now.)

Komori, 9:15AM: Hey, Ushijima and I will be there at like 3. Hinata, the show starts at 2:45 right?

Bokuto, 9:15AM: oi, Oregano!! it's NUTMEG and TURMERIC

☼Sunshine Child Hinata☼, 9:16AM: yes i think the show runs for 2h, Omi-san and I should get back before 5:30. that's enough time right?

Komori, 9:17AM: Yeah, sounds good. I've got a spare key to the apartment, just make sure he's gone by the time we get there. Ushijima bought all these balloons u guys! :)

You, 9:19AM: Aww, that's so cute! Tsumu, we're on for 3:30 right?

Tsumu☺, 9:20AM: yeah, I'll pick u up. AEON right?

You, 9:20AM: Yeah, I asked Kiyoomi for his membership card this morning. Ok but… r u sure you're qualified to be on the supermarket team? I thought all the cooking genes went to Osamu

Tsumu☺, 9:21AM: WE'RE MAKING OKONOMIYAKI. IM FROM OSAKA IF U FORGOT ALREADY U FAKE FRIEND

You, 9:22AM: …ok ok, don't get all huffy Tsumu

Bokuto, 9:23AM: …I see we're all just ignoring the code names now T_T

The emoji makes you sigh. You can imagine the same expression on Bokuto's face right now, and the mental image alone is enough to weaken your resolve. His tireless enthusiasm can be a bit much sometimes, but you'll take a hyper owl over a moody, depressed one any day.

You, 9:24AM: Don't pout salt n pepper. Ur beautiful hair will deflate!!

Bokuto, 9:24AM: !!!

Bokuto, 9:25AM: YOU'RE RIGHT BASIL!! I BELIEVE IN U GUYS!! TEAM BREAK! GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!!!

…And he's back.

You smile, placing your phone on the coffee table as you roll off the couch and head to the kitchen for breakfast. Sakusa deserves a great birthday more than anyone, and after everything he did for you at the anniversary party, you owe it to him to make that happen.

Broad frame, tight seams, clean, sharp lines. The corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs at the table, face illuminated by the dim light of the paper lanterns. Bethany's retreating back, the blinding lights of the stage, seeing him bolt from the dance floor, seeing him cry on the balcony… Hot tears on your neck. Warm breath tickling your skin, coming out in desperate, shaking sobs as arms circle your waist and–

Beep-beep!

You shake your head. Walking back to the coffee table, you pick up your phone, opening the chat. Apparently, you've got bigger problems to worry about.

Atsumu, 9:42AM: hey, just saying that yamaimo trumps nagaimo any day. and that's coming from an Osaka native

…Specifically what kind of mountain yam works best for okonomiyaki. But hey, Google's sure to have an answer.

Sakusa was equal parts touched and surprised when Hinata suggested a trip to the planetarium for his birthday. He's not a big fan of astronomy – the volleyball world's already got an alien nerd in the form of one Oikawa Tooru – but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Plus, the way Hinata’s face lights up at every constellation is almost cute. And that means a lot coming from him.

"Omi-san, look! That one looks like a bunny with a pickaxe!"

…What's decidedly less cute is the fact that Hinata's whisper-yelling is audible to everyone within two rows of them. About ten people turn to glare, and Sakusa murmurs apologies as Hinata starts bouncing up and down in his seat, completely oblivious.

"Shoyo, please keep it down. And that's Orion, the archer."

"Oh. (L/N)-san sent me this rabbit GIF the other day, so I got bunnies on the brain."

Sakusa can't help but grimace at the mention of your name. He was equal parts disappointed and surprised when you came over to his apartment this morning, not to wish him a happy birthday but to ask for his AEON Supermarket rewards card.

(Which the two of you have been sharing for the past three months now, so it's not like he could turn you down. Besides, collectively, you've almost earned enough points for the premium vacuum cleaner he's been eyeing on the home shopping network.)

Sakusa can't really blame you for not knowing his birthday – the topic never came up in conversation, and he's never been one to share personal information anyway.

…But it's still one quick Google search away, and while Sakusa can't be bitter , he is sure-as-hell sad. Which he knows is pathetic, and quite frankly, rather unusual for him, but if he dwells on it too long, he'll be forced to face whatever strange emotion has been brewing in his chest since Christmas. And he'd rather not do that.

"Omi-san, the meteor shower is starting! Look at that, that's amazing, wow!"

Sakusa doesn't even have the heart to tell Hinata to be quiet, because when he breaks out of his stupor to glance up at the display above them, the glittering stars remind him so much of that night on the balcony when you held him for the first time, and all he can remember is the sound of your voice when–

"Omi? I said, doesn't that one look like two dandelions?"

"…Shoyo, that's Pisces. The fish."

"Oh."

Sakusa sighs in fond exasperation, ruffling Hinata's hair as he leans back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the show. There's a time and place for everything, and it's not like he's running out of time here. He'll deal with it when he's ready.

…But there's still a small, suppressed, and very desperate part of him that feels the need to see you right now.

Why does he want to see you?

It's easy to forget that you and Atsumu have only known each other for three months – four, if you start counting from Bokuto's baking show, but he was more of an obnoxious, flirty stranger back then than anything. Your weekly talks at Onigiri Miya have helped close the distance for sure, and the fact that he's a natural charmer doesn't hurt either.

…And on that note, you thought Sakusa was bad, but the fact that Atsumu can still look supermodel-gorgeous under the harsh fluorescent lights of the grocery store both amazes and frustrates you. At this point, you're starting to question whether these guys are even human .

Click!

"Oh my God, that's like the sixth shutter that's gone off in the past twenty minutes. Doesn't it bother you that people keep taking your picture? Isn't it a crime to do that without consent?"

"Hm? How do ya know it's me they're after? Maybe they're really into yer lint-ball hoodie and sunny disposition."

"Don't sass me."

"I would never." Atsumu raises his hands in mock surrender, and it's enough to make you laugh as you push the shopping cart around the corner and into the produce aisle. You stop when you reach a section marked Root Vegetables, and as fate would have it, the eternal rivals lay right next to each other.

You're not sure what the big deal is. The yams look nearly identical – they're both long, spotted beige logs covered in a thin layer of fuzzy roots, but as soon as you reach into the crate marked Nagaimo, Atsumu gasps and pulls your hand back.

"No! My God, 603, do ya not listen to a word I say? Yamaimo, always use yamaimo!" Without letting go of you, Atsumu uses his other hand to sift through the logs in the adjacent crate, picking them up one by one before discarding them based on God knows what . When he's finally found a yam to his standards – the thought itself is ridiculous, and you can't wait to tell Sakusa all about it once this is over – he looks at it with a self-satisfied smirk, and you snort.

While Atsumu's distracted, you slide your hand out of his grip to retrieve your grocery list from your purse. There's a bunch of uncertain scribbles, question marks, and notes in the margins, which makes you frown. Who would've thought there'd be so many variations of okonomiyaki on the internet?

"Okay, so these travel bloggers online say that the best fillings are shrimp and scallops, but foodphattie19 recommended octopus, so what do you–"

"Calamari. That's the way my mom makes it."

The corners of your mouth quirk up.

"…Mamma Miya?"

"…You gotta be kidding me."

"Hey, that was pretty good!"

Atsumu's deadpan expression looks so much like Sakusa's that it sends chills down your spine, but when he walks away with a roll of his eyes, you can't help but laugh. You chase after him with the shopping cart all the way to the frozen seafood section, and when he grabs a bag of calamari, you try your luck again.

In tune this time.

"Mamma Miya!"

Atsumu sighs. Then he mutters, so quietly you almost don't hear it, "…Here we go again."

"My, my, how can I resist you?"

"I dunno, 603, can ya really?" He leans over the shopping cart teasingly, bringing his face within an inch of your own just like that time at the pool. Again, from this close up, you can make out the golden specks in his honey-brown irises, and the way those long lashes frame his hooded eyes makes your heart start to pound, but you've really got to–

"Ugh, get away from me, Miya." The heat rising to your cheeks has suddenly become uncomfortable, and it doesn't fade even as you place both hands on Atsumu's chest and push him away. You grab the pack of squid out of his hands, dumping it in the shopping cart before rounding the corner into dry goods.

"Ouch. Ya wound me." His tone is light and teasing as he jogs after you, and the sight of his usual lazy smile quells the last of the butterflies in your stomach as you reach for a bag of bonito flakes.

You've never thought of yourself as a vengeful kind of person, but Atsumu always seems to bring out the worst in you.

"Tsumu, think fast!"

You flick your wrist, watching half in shock and half in amusement as the package hits him dead in the face. Honestly? You weren't expecting that to work. Shouldn't professional athletes have better reflexes?

"Ow! Ugh, that hurt..."

…But the way Atsumu is clutching his nose in pain tells you that might not be the case. Regret fills you as you rush over to him.

"Oh my God, Tsumu, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" Grabbing him by the shoulders, you stick your face right into his personal space – this is different, you reason, this is an emergency – as you frantically inspect him for any sign of damage. It's hard to tell when his hand is still over his nose, but there's not much else you can do right now.

"No, I'm not okay! I think I'm bleeding…"

"Oh my God, oh my God… Hold on, I have some tissues in my purse, come here." Rummaging past the gum and tampons and receipts, you fish out a crumpled pack of Kleenex and tug out the first piece desperately, cursing under your breath when it tears. Ripped tissue in hand, you're still holding onto Atsumu's shoulder as you lean in, about to wipe the blood off of him yourself when–

"Kidding!" Atsumu drops his hand to reveal a damnably handsome, blood-free face, and when the initial shock subsides, you can feel red-hot rage pulsing through your veins as you shove your Kleenex pack back into your purse.

"Aw, don't get mad, 603. I'm sorry."

Atsumu pats your head in apology, but it's not enough. You stick out your tongue and whack him on the shoulder for good measure before stalking away.

"Ow! That actually hurt! Come back, I'm sorry!"

He trails after you like a kicked puppy after that.

The rest of your shopping trip goes fairly smoothly – you're guessing guilt is one hell of a motivator – until you take a detour into the snack aisle. The black sesame Pocky catches your eye right away, and this time, when Atsumu comes up behind you to take a look, his proximity doesn't make you flinch.

"Whatcha got there, 603?"

"Black sesame Pocky. My mom likes this stuff."

"Mm, she's got good taste. We did a commercial for it last year."

You do a double-take as you turn to face him. " You guys?"

Honestly, with how comfortable Bokuto and Atsumu seemed on the camera back in November, you shouldn't be surprised. But things like commercial appearances always remind you that Sakusa and his friends exist somewhere in the stratosphere, far above plain civilian folk like yourself.

"Yeah, me and Bokuto and Omi. They wanted Shoyo too, but he's crazy allergic to sesame."

"Aw, poor Hinata." The image of a sad sunshine child watching his friends from the sidelines makes your heart sink, but the question remains. "So… what'd you do for it?"

Atsumu's eyes take on a wicked gleam, and you're not sure whether to be excited or scared. Maybe a little bit of both.

"Ya really wanna know?" Screw it, you do. You nod your head aggressively, and Atsumu's answering grin is nothing short of devious as he digs out his phone.

A moment later, a familiar shock of salt-and-pepper hair fills the screen, and you watch intently as Bokuto approaches a decidedly unimpressed Sakusa, Pocky stick in hand.

"Omi-omi, you want to play the Pocky game?"

Oh. Oh no. You peer up at Atsumu in a mixture of disbelief and amusement, but he only laughs and gestures for you to keep watching.

With all the enthusiasm of a man who's just lost his country, Sakusa sighs and asks Bokuto, "What's that?"

"Come here! Put one end in your mouth. Okay, now hold still."

"Oh my God, poor Kiyoomi… Oh my God, he's silently screaming, oh goodness… They're not actually gonna…?" You touch the tips of your index fingers together, peering up to meet Atsumu's eyes. "Right?"

"Keep watching."

Bokuto inches closer and closer to Sakusa, and just when their lips are about to touch…

…Atsumu enters the frame and blocks them from view, a haughty smirk plastered across his face.

"Black sesame Pocky is the official snack of the Black Jackals. Wanna play?" Biting a Pocky stick, he holds the other end to the camera and winks seductively as the screen fades to black.

"That's so bad, Tsumu, oh my God!" You dissolve into a fit of wheezes right then and there, and as you double over laughing like a maniac, you can feel honest-to-goodness tears in your eyes.  The middle-aged ladies by the produce section are most definitely staring at you, but you can't even find it in yourself to care.

"You shoulda been there, the outtakes are gold." Atsumu chuckles to himself, looking over your shopping list once more as he scans the cart. You take the time to try and piece yourself together, but images of Sakusa and Pocky and Bokuto of all people, goodness, keep flooding your brain. You enter another wheezing fit as Atsumu sighs fondly and ruffles your hair.

As you look for something to distract yourself, your eyes fall on the little animal-themed cupcakes in the bakery window. Their sugary smiles and chocolate-chip eyes seem to call to you, but you'd feel bad splurging on yourself for something so menial.

"Okay, we got yamaimo, cabbage, pork belly, bonito flakes, pickled red ginger, tempura scraps, calama– Oi, 603, ya listening?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, sorry about that. Did we get everything?"

Atsumu frowns slightly before following your gaze to the bakery.

"…Yeah, I think so. Pleasure workin' with ya, darling." You smile at him as you push the cart to check-out, and with one last glance at the bakery window, Atsumu trails after you.

Hinata loves birthdays, loves parties, and loves making people happy. And after being excluded from Inomata's very amazing and super reliable matchmaking squad , he also loves being a part of elite, clandestine group chats.

"Omi-san, wasn't that fun?"

"Yeah, it was. Thanks for buying the tickets."

"No problem! I just mentioned I was a friend of Oikawa and they gave me a big discount!"

Indeed, as he and Sakusa emerge into the fading afternoon sun from the dark of the planetarium, Hinata is feeling pretty damn good about himself. He's done his part in helping Sakusa have the best birthday ever, and when they get back to the apartment, there'll be Inomata's famous tres leches cake waiting for them, along with volleyball-themed decorations and hot okonomiyaki, and maybe some board games if–

♪ Tobe fly high! Ase to chi to namida de ♫

♫ Hikaru tsubasa de ima zenbu zenbu oki satte ♪

Hinata digs in his pants pocket for his phone, and when he sees the caller ID, he grins wide.

"Salt n'–"

" Turmeric! Please, keugh! Stall for as long as… keugh! Possible!"

Oh, God. Hinata feels his soul leave his body as he strains to hear Bokuto's words between the coughs and pants, and – wait, is that the smoke alarm?

"Bok– Salt n' Pepper, is everything okay? Did you burn the–"

" Keugh! Don't mention the C-word… keugh! In front of Omi!"

The tone drops, leaving Hinata marginally shocked, decidedly concerned, and completely unprepared to deal with this. Frantically, he looks around for something, anything, to give him a little inspiration, but he's got no clue what kind of half-assed lie he can tell Sakusa to keep him out of the apartment any longer. The balloon man across the street could work, or maybe the vendor selling crepes outside the building, but if Sakusa says he's tired (like he always does), it's not like Hinata can–

"Shoyo, you mind if I grab a couple of things before we head back? Sorry, I know you wanted to–"

" Yes, oh my God!" Hinata’s so relieved he could kiss someone right now, but he tells himself to reign it in. He's come this far, and he'll be damned if he spoils the one secret operation he was a part of from beginning to end.

"I mean… Of course, Omi-san. It's your birthday, I'm happy to do whatever you want to do."

Hinata gives him a great big smile, the one his mom says makes his eyes sparkle. It does the trick, because whatever weird gloom has been hanging over Sakusa all day seems to lift, just a little, as he pats Hinata on the head fondly and makes his way to the parking lot.

"Huh."

"Yeah?"

"Just checked the group chat. Mayo Man says Bokuto burned the cake. Party's postponed to 6:30," Atsumu says with a frown. You stop scanning the items at the self-checkout as visions of burnt snickerdoodles, sweaty bodies, and the incessant ringing of that damn fire alarm fill your mind. You know it's all in your head, but your tailbone is starting to feel sore again just thinking about it.

"Dammit Bokuto … Is everything okay?" you ask, turning to Atsumu with genuine concern in your eyes.

"Yeah, Shoyo's stalling." He takes a moment to text Inomata back before pocketing his phone and placing both hands on your shoulders. The direct eye contact makes you blush, but the look on his face is reassuring. "Don't worry."

You've never met anyone as touchy as Atsumu, but at this moment, the physical comfort is a welcome distraction. "We got some time to kill though," he says. "I actually saw something I wanted to buy earlier, mind waitin' for me?"

"Oh. Yeah, of course."

Atsumu smiles at you – not the seductive, home-wrecker one he uses on camera, but the one that's a little lopsided and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You smile back, waving at him as he disappears around the corner.

You're scanning the last of your items when, out of the corner of your eye, you see someone approach the checkout next to you. You pay them no mind.

…That is until you hear your name.

"(Y/N)?"

Your head shoots up, and oh. Oh no.

It's him.

"Long time no see, huh?" The sound of your ex-boyfriend's voice – dangerously smooth and laced with the low tones of superiority, of condescension – has haunted you for the past nine months now, but only ever in dreams. This is real, a fact you're made painfully aware of when you clench your fists, the nails digging so far into your palms that they hurt.

"…Leave me alone, asshole."

"What'd you say before? I hope you never show up in my life ever again? Guess fate's not on your side, hm?" He laughs after he says it, low and mocking, and the sound makes you want to rip your ears off and stuff them into his mouth so that he'll just stop talking. What makes it worse is how he looks at you down the length of his nose, like you're a bug crawling on the street. He's always looked at you like that, you realize suddenly.

"Any luck getting that promotion, or are you still slaving away under Fujiyama?"

"…I'm still assistant manager, but I'll have you know that our team won–"

He clicks his tongue, cutting you off, and you want nothing more than to rip it out of his mouth. "See (Y/N), the issue here is that you don't know how to play the game. Soushi's got it right, 'kay? Sure, maybe you know what the client wants, but you also got to know how to win their respect . The problem with you is that you let people walk all over you, all the time . And honestly? It's really off-putting to watch you grovel. I bet management can sense it too, and that's why they–"

"Hey." A firm hand claps your ex on the shoulder, and when you look up to see who it is, you feel sweet, sweet relief wash over you. "That's enough. Stop harassing her and get lost."

Your ex-boyfriend scoffs as he turns to face Atsumu, yanking the hand off his shoulder. Atsumu towers over him menacingly, and it's a refreshing change of pace to see your ex have to look up at someone.

"I fail to see how this is any of your business," he says. "Speaking of business, do you know anything about it? Because if not, I'd suggest you butt out of this conversation."

"I know a thing or two, by association mostly. And I can tell from one look that you're the kinda guy who got where he is because he kissed up to the right people, then left them in the dust when you didn't need 'em anymore."

"Ha! You just described half the corporate world."

"Mm, but you're special. Ya pick on people who you think are beneath you, even though they can't really do anything to hurt ya. And it's because you don't have the skill or charisma to actually inspire anyone , so the only way ya can feel some kinda control is by making people feel bad about themselves. You, my friend, are no Kuroo Tetsurou."

Your ex-boyfriend sputters. "How do you know Kuroo Tetsurou?! No, you know what? Get lost, this doesn't concern you! She's no one, okay? No one."

At that, Atsumu's normally composed, smug expression slips right off his face. His nostrils start to flare and a deep frown forms between his eyebrows, and suddenly, you realize that in the few months you've known him, you've seen Atsumu drunk, depressed, flirty, happy, even annoyed out of his mind – but never truly mad .

"Don't waste your time defending her, okay? I can tell you firsthand she isn't worth it," your ex continues. Atsumu's eyes flash and he bares his teeth now.

"And I mean that sincerely, hm? Run along, play hero for the next girl. Maybe someone prettier." Atsumu honest-to-God growls, and the sound makes you flinch. Your ex chuckles at how quickly he's lost his composure.

"I mean, who even are you?"

"I'm her boyfriend, asshole!"

...What?

There's a pregnant pause, and you're grateful your ex's back is facing you right now, because your face is frozen in shock. A moment later, he seems to snap out of it and spins around to face you, and when he does, you will your expression into one of steely resolve.

"This guy's your boyfriend? (Y/N), you seriously…? No! There's no way you could've bagged a guy like this, he looks like–"

Your ex cuts himself off suddenly, looking back and forth between you and Atsumu as he comes to some sort of realization. And whatever it is must be pretty damning, because now he looks even more livid than before.

"You!" He hisses at Atsumu as he wags a finger in front of his face furiously. "You're that volleyball player who stole my girl at the game last summer!"

Atsumu looks thoroughly perplexed for a moment, then recognition sets in and that familiar smirk returns. "Aw, that was you? Ya know, she just looked so miserable that I figured she could use better company."

You can see your ex warring with himself as he decides whether to dignify Atsumu's comment with a response, but he eventually tears his gaze away from him and returns it to you.

"(Y/N), where'd you even meet this guy? He's way outta your league, just so you know. And no, that's not a compliment, asshole, it's just a statement of fact." He glares at Atsumu from the corner of his eye before turning back to you. "You thought I was bad? You should've seen this guy, I was sitting right next to Yui and he just started hitting on her, like I wasn't even there! I mean, have some self-control, man!"

"…Okay, even you have to realize the irony of that statement." Your voice seems to have finally returned, and with every word, you feel yourself growing stronger. "This is coming from the guy who openly cheated on me. I mean, do you own a mirror?" Your ex just rolls his eyes.

"Look (Y/N), I know you're really naïve and clingy and deluded, so let me spell this out for you: a guy like this has nothing to gain from a girl like you . The best thing you could do for yourself is just turn tail and run. I mean, I know your dignity's basically non-existent, but–"

"You are really startin' to piss me off, man," Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his hair as he laughs, dry and humourless. "Ugh, tell me this isn't what I used to sound like. Listen, I know your type. Ya think you can toy with any girl you want and drop her when ya feel like it, but as soon as she calls you out for being an entitled, manipulative, selfish prick, ya blame it on what? Her? And for what, caring? Wake up, man."

Atsumu has gotten closer and closer to your ex with every word, and now he's trapped between the checkout scanner and Atsumu's broad frame, trembling with… Is that fear or indignation? You can't tell at this point. And a small, sadistic part of you almost enjoys how helpless he looks right now.

" Cause guess what happens when ya don't have your damn little ego to hide behind anymore?" Atsumu asks with a sneer.

" You're nothing."

Suddenly, he backs away from your ex and crosses over to you, draping his arm over your shoulders as he pulls you close. You nearly squeak, but there's no going back now, you figure.

"And not that it's any of your business, but we are very happy together, thanks." Atsumu looks down at you, eyes twinkling, and not for the first time, you think to yourself that he must be the best actor on the whole team. "Ain't that right, babe?"

"…Yeah, we are."

"See, I even got ya that cupcake you were eyeing in the bakery. I’m a great boyfriend, aren’t I?"

You finally notice the white box in his hands, a smiling fox staring up at you cheekily with its chocolate chip eyes. Your heart melts a little, and you're about to say something when–

"You guys are dating?"

Oh. You know that voice.

You whip your head around to the store entrance, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs. Sakusa's mask conceals all but his eyes, but even from ten feet away, you can tell they're wide with shock. A million questions run through your mind – When did he get here? Where is Hinata? How much did he hear? Should we drop the ruse now? – but your ex interrupts your train of thought.

"Okay, who the hell is this? What, did you somehow manage to infiltrate a whole squad of professional athletes?" His tone is grating and demands attention, but you can't seem to tear your eyes off Sakusa.

"...Are you guys really dating?" he asks again.

You and Atsumu both glance at each other, the concern in your eyes reflected in his own. He breaks away to look at your ex and you at Sakusa, and after an uncomfortable silence, Atsumu finally speaks.

"…Yeah," he says. "We're… dating. I'll explain later."

It's damning that you can only see half of Sakusa's face right now. It doesn't help that his voice is completely void of emotion, either, because that leaves you with no idea how he's feeling.

"…There's no need," he says. "Congrats, guys. See you at home, (Y/N)."

The image of Sakusa's retreating back stays with you long after he's gone.

Tsumu-san, 6:13PM: oi shrimp! why the hell did u bring Omi to the grocery store?! u knew we were here?!

Me, 6:13PM: I'm sorry!! but what were the chances it'd be the same one?? there's like 50 in Tokyo!

(L/N)-san, 6:14PM: Don't blame Hinata, this is Kiyoomi's regular supermarket. He's got the rewards card and everything. UGHHHH IM GONNA GO DIE NOW GUYS RIP

Bokuto-san, 6:14PM: WHAUT HAWRPPENED? WE JSUT FINSIOHED THR CAIKE AND U GUUYS R TEDLLIKNG ME SJMTH WRNT WRTONG???

Ushiwaka, 6:14PM: *What happened? We just finished the cake and you guys are telling me something went wrong?

Inomata-san, 6:15PM: Miya-san, you guys didn't blow our cover, did you?

Tsumu-san, 6:15PM: no! but the situation rn is really awkward and I think Omi's in shock

Omi-san's cousin, 6:16PM: We're done here, u guys just need to bring the groceries and we can set up the stuff for okonomiyaki. Shoyo, how's Omi?

Me, 6:16PM: idk he isn't saying anything ☹

Gulping nervously, Hinata breaks the heavy silence that's been hanging in the car since Sakusa's return. "Omi-san? You didn't buy anything?"

Sakusa's eyes never leave the road. "No. Everything I needed was already… taken."

Me, 6:18PM: he couldn't buy what he wanted cuz it was all sold out. he's really sad guys

(L/N)-san, 6:18PM: He didn't say anything else?

Me, 6:18PM: no

Omi-san's cousin, 6:19PM: Ok u know what let's do this: (L/N), Atsumu, get home ASAP. Shoyo, just bring Omi here in one piece pls. Forget prepping okonomiyaki in advance. Let's just cheer him up before he retreats too far into himself and becomes a giant sad sack

Bokuto-san, 6:19PM: SAD SSCK? INM THR SWD SACK! I CSNT HANFLR AMOTHER!! GRT HJM HRRE ASAP!!

Ushiwaka, 6:20PM: *Sad sack? I'm the sad sack! I can't handle another! Get him here ASAP!

(L/N)-san, 6:20PM: Ok, see u guys in a few

Tsumu-san, 6:21PM: … sorry for getting mad shoyo

Me, 6:21PM: it's ok. text me when u get there, i'll make sure to stall Omi-san until everyone's here to surprise him

Hinata's always prided himself on being able to lift people's spirits, regardless of the situation. He points out a couple of good eateries to Sakusa – his go-to place for meat buns, crepes, dorayaki – and when that doesn't work, he talks about volleyball for a while, but Sakusa only responds in grunts and nods. It comes to the point where Hinata feels like he's just talking to himself, and normally that wouldn't be a problem, but then Sakusa says:

"Shoyo, can we just… not talk anymore? I'm tired."

And the defeat in his voice silences Hinata for the rest of the car-ride.

Sakusa's not ashamed to admit it. Yeah, he went to AEON supermarket on the off-chance he'd bump into you during your grocery run; he had no intention of buying anything , if he's being honest. So sue him.

In hindsight, though, he kind of wishes he'd headed straight home after the planetarium. Because now that Hinata's finally stopped talking, there's nothing to distract Sakusa from the thousands of questions rattling around in his brain.

When? How? Wasn't Atsumu still crying over his ex a couple months ago?

He grips the steering wheel a little tighter as the memories resurface.

"We are very happy together, thanks. Ain't that right, babe?"

"Yeah, we are."

Sakusa shakes his head as he pulls into the underground parking lot. He knows he has no right to be bitter – you're his neighbour and his friend, nothing more. It's not like you're obligated to share every detail of your personal life with him, and he of all people can respect the need for privacy. Still, part of him wonders whether you were planning to tell him at all – if he hadn't run into you today, would he have ever known?

…Part of him believes he'd be happier if he didn't.

Why didn't you take Atsumu to the party then? Sakusa replays the conversation he had with you in the car that day, and oh, that's right. You did mention it, but he cut you off before you could even entertain the idea, assigning himself as your date instead.

Sakusa's cheeks burn at the memory.

Hinata doesn't say anything as they exit the car and enter the elevator, and if Sakusa wasn't so preoccupied with the events of the past half hour, he'd almost feel bad. He does feel bad, actually, but at this moment, he can't find it in himself to break the silence.

The floors tick off as the elevator rises, and now Hinata's humming his ringtone under his breath to relieve some of the tension. It doesn't do too much for Sakusa's mood. All he can think of is how long this must've been going on, if it started from Valentine's Day or earlier, and then he wonders how that's even possible. Sakusa's thoughts flick back to Christmas Day, to Atsumu's barely suppressed tears and screams and the hurt just radiating off him, and no matter which way he stretches it, there's no way this narrative makes any sense.

"See, I even got ya that cupcake you were eyeing in the bakery. I’m a great boyfriend, aren’t I?"

He grits his teeth together. The evidence is there – he's just fooling himself now, and Sakusa's always been a firm believer in the truth. Maybe Atsumu's on the rebound or something, and he's using you to get over his celebrity ex-girlfriend.

Sakusa's hands clench into fists at his sides. That's it, he decides. That's the reason he's so angry and confused and upset right now, he's just worried about you.

The elevator finally dings, and when it opens to your shared floor, Sakusa sends a silent prayer that you're not home yet. Or at least, not home with Atsumu.

"Shoyo, I know you wanted to have a sleepover tonight, but I'm just… really tired right now," he says, walking down the hall as Hinata jogs to keep up with him. "You can come in for a little while, but I'd like to spend the rest of the night alone."

"I think you'll change your mind soon, Omi-san." Hinata's answering grin is blinding, and Sakusa is seriously starting to wonder if there's a difference in his chemical composition or something . How is Hinata still so cheery?

"…I highly doubt that." Sakusa retrieves his keys from his pocket as they stop outside his apartment door, and when the lock clicks open, Hinata starts bouncing with excitement. It's baffling, to say the least, but Sakusa's seen far stranger things today. He opens the door with no hesitation.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

And he's greeted with a face-full of confetti.

"Surprise! Happy birthday, Omi!"

Sakusa's normally bare, sleek, monochrome apartment is completely unrecognizable. There are streamers in every colour of the rainbow hanging from the ceiling, bouquets of volleyball-shaped balloons tethered to the ground, and a banner, spelled out in big, glittery silver letters, strung over the windows: Happy Birthday Omi!

Confetti colours the floor now, and as he takes in all of your faces – his teammates, his cousin, his idol, his neighbours – Sakusa notices that you're all wearing ridiculously flamboyant party hats. They're covered with fuzz and pom-poms, and Bokuto's even has a feather sticking out of it, which gives Sakusa the creeping suspicion that at some point, someone's gonna–

"There you go, Omi!" Komori snaps the elastic cord beneath Sakusa's chin before he can protest, and he can't even find it in himself to complain.

"You guys… Did you guys really–"

He’s cut off by your collectively out-of-tune singing.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear–"

"Omi!"

"Omi-san!"

"Sakusa-san!"

"Kiyoomi!"

…Alright, that could've gone more smoothly.

Sakusa laughs as you all pause to look at each other, but the way you slap Atsumu on the shoulder playfully makes the smile slide right off his face.

"Happy birthday to you!" You all finish the song together before pulling out noise-blowers from God knows where. Sakusa's apartment is suddenly filled with the sound of seven cheap kazoos, and he has to laugh again. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if he would've been able to appreciate this a year ago. He's always hated having company over – it's his space, and he likes to keep it clean, quiet, and unchanging – but the handful of times you've visited, you've always managed to set something askew.

After a while, he just stopped caring.

"Omi-omi, blow out the candles!" Bokuto shouts. "Me and Inomata spent hours baking this!"

For the first time, Sakusa notices the white layer cake in Inomata's hands. It's topped with strawberries fanned out in the shape of a heart, and he can tell immediately that that must have been Bokuto's idea. There are seven candles lit in the center, and with one final look at the faces surrounding him – Hinata, Komori, Ushijima, Inomata, Bokuto, Atsumu, you – he inhales deeply and blows them out in one breath.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

More confetti. Sakusa briefly wonders how much vacuuming he'll have to do when this is all over, but it doesn't take away from the moment.

"Happy birthday, Omi-san! Weren't you surprised? Didn't I do a good job keeping it a secret?" Hinata asks, and the sparkle in his eyes is brighter than Sakusa's ever seen it. He ruffles his hair affectionately.

"Mm-hm, you really did. I had no idea." Hinata's answering squeal makes the corners of Sakusa's lips quirk up.

"Happy birthday, Sakusa-san," Ushijima says stoically, extending his hand for Sakusa to shake. He does, and Ushijima gives him a small, rare smile. "I hope you enjoy the decorations. I picked them out myself."

"He really did." Komori drapes an arm over Sakusa's shoulders, and for once, Sakusa doesn't shake him off. "Took forever to pump those balloons though. You should try making funny voices with the helium, Omi. That would make up for it."

"Omi-omi!" Sakusa's not sure when they had time to cut the cake, but he doesn't have the chance to question it because Bokuto's already shoving a slice into his face. "Try this!"

And okay, Sakusa is extremely touched by all this and eternally grateful to have such thoughtful, caring friends, but he draws the line at being fed. He takes the fork out of Bokuto's hand, removes his mask, and digs in.

"…This is great, wow. You really made this?"

"With Inomata's help! And recipe," Bokuto says. Sakusa turns to face the middle-aged man standing awkwardly in the corner and smiles at him.

"Inomata-san, this is excellent. Thank you."

"Kiyoomi?" Sakusa's eyes go wide as you and Atsumu approach, and he feels his stomach turn with unease. God, he's never felt this uncomfortable around anyone.

"Happy birthday," you say softly, and he can't tell if the awkward smile on your face is guilty or just shy. The façade cracks in less than a second though, and he watches with a frown as you cringe, groan to yourself, and bury your face in your hands. "That was so awkward earlier, oh my God, I'm sorry."

Guilty, then.

"Atsumu and I are not dating, that was just a ruse he pulled to save me from my–"

"Rotten, good-for-nothing, egotistical–"

"–ex-boyfriend. Yeah."

…And Sakusa can finally breathe again. Phew.

Sakusa's never understood the cliché of having a weight lifted off your shoulders, but at this moment, it's the only way he can think to describe his feelings. Sweet relief, maybe a little satisfaction, and unbridled hope – he's not sure where that last one came from – fill his chest, and suddenly, the party seems even better than it did before.

Sakusa looks around at all the happy faces surrounding him, and although he's never been one for speeches, he decides there's a first time for everything.

"Um, thank you, everyone... This means a lot to me, you all mean a lot to me, I just… I never thought I'd have friends outside of Komori, let alone ones that care about me as much as you do. This is amazing, everything you've put together, and I’m really, really touched, more than I can tell you. Uh… happy birthday to me, I guess?"

Sakusa feels fifty shades of awkward after finishing, but the flurry of cheers that erupts from his friends erases any and all of his insecurities.

"Let's make okonomiyaki, guys!" Your announcement triggers another round of cheers, and Sakusa thinks to himself that he's never been happier than he is at this moment.

As luck would have it, Sakusa's dining table is built to accommodate eight people. It's never had to do that before, sure, but it seems that today's a day for firsts.

"No way! That's what happened at the grocery store?" Bokuto asks over round two of okonomiyaki. Sakusa's pretty impressed that Atsumu made this, if he's being honest. Maybe he did get some of the cooking genes after all.

"You know what? Now that you mention it, you guys do seem… really close." Sakusa raises an eyebrow at Komori's comment, but his eyes don't leave his plate. "What's with that?"

"Shared trauma."

"603's my therapist."

You and Atsumu chuckle over your responses. Sakusa frowns a bit at that, but then he scolds himself. It's true, after all, and it's the whole reason he introduced you two in the first place.

Bokuto suddenly gasps, his metal chopsticks falling to the table with a clatter. "Oh my God, you guys don't like like each other, right?"

Sakusa's head shoots up at that. An uncomfortable silence passes over the table, and he hopes you can feel the holes he's boring into you with his eyes. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it…

You and Atsumu respond at the exact same time.

"Bokuto-san, are we in middle school?"

"Well, maybe someday. Ya never know these things."

…What?

Sakusa's eyes widen as the frown marring his forehead deepens, and even you look mildly perplexed. Everyone does, in fact, and Sakusa's about to interject when you start laughing.

"Oi Atsumu! Warn me before you say stuff like that, or else I might actually gag." You elbow him playfully and he gives a little half-smile in return. Bokuto, however, is still not done.

"Wait, neither of you said no!"

"Oh my gosh, Bokuto-san. No!"

"Yeah, are ya happy now?"

Sakusa's not, for one. Slightly, slightly relieved, but slight relief from whatever vicious emotion brewing in his chest isn't a lot. It's like the difference between a Doberman and a Rottweiler, and frankly, the last time he wanted to throw Atsumu from a window this badly was when he stepped in his onigiri back in Belgium. It's weird – Atsumu's definitely pulled stunts worse than this in the past, so why does Sakusa feel so… annoyed?

The rest of the night goes without a hitch, for the most part. Alliances are made and broken as you entertain yourselves with Ushijima's board game collection, Hinata has to rinse his tongue after playing Russian roulette with green tea mochi and wasabi, and you and Sakusa end up on the same team for Pictionary. When you win, you're so happy that you jump up and down and wrap your arms around him, just like at the anniversary party. This time, Sakusa holds you close and savours it.

"Thanks for everything, guys. Drive safe." You and Sakusa wave as your friends disappear down the hall, Hinata and Bokuto hollering a last, Happy birthday, Omi! as they go.

The day's events flicker in your mind, from your supermarket shenanigans with Atsumu, to your unexpected reunion with your ex, to the sheer panic you felt when you saw Sakusa… and finally, to the way his face lit up when he entered the party today. That last memory brings a smile to your face, and when you turn to your neighbour, you find that his eyes are already on you.

"I hope you had fun today, Kiyoomi. Sorry again about the Atsumu-boyfriend thing, you were probably really shocked. Oh, and thanks for your rewards card. It saved me, like, ten percent on ingredients today." It's true. And the best part is that you've finally earned enough points for that new vacuum cleaner he's been wanting.

You dig the card out of your wallet, but when you offer it for him to take, he holds onto your hand before you can pull away. Sakusa's eyes never leave yours, but you can see his pupils are shaking, as if he's… nervous.

"…Thank you. Komori told me this was all your idea. …I can't remember the last time I had this much fun on my birthday, and I just wanted to say it was really nice of you to–"

"No, I didn't do much of anything!" You shake your head in denial, your cheeks going red. "The guys–"

"(Y/N)." Sakusa's usual calm seems to return to him as he squeezes your hand. "Thank you."

And he says it with such conviction, such finality, that you're left with no room to argue.

"…You're welcome."

The feeling of his hand in yours is reminiscent of the anniversary party, but back then, there was at least the excuse of comfort (and humiliating Bethany) to hide behind. This time, there's nothing. And it terrifies you, because that means this is real. Sakusa is holding your hand because he wants to, running his thumb over your knuckles because he wants to, and his grip is loose enough for you to pull away, but you don't.

Because you don't want to.

"…Kiyoomi, we're friends, right?"

"…Yes. We're friends."

"I'm really happy you're my friend."

"…I am too."

"What did you wish for?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Silence passes over the two of you, and you become keenly aware that his eyes have not once left your face. You're not sure if something has shifted between you, but if it has, you're more than willing to put it back in its place.

"Happy birthday, Kiyoomi," you say, and you hope that the tight smile on your face doesn't betray the weird feelings stirring in your chest.

"Thank you," he says. And then his eyes move up to... your eyebrows? Your hairline? And they linger there so long that you start to worry you've got cake, or confetti, or something unflattering smeared across your skin when–

Sakusa's lips press quickly and gently against your forehead, gone so fast that you barely have time to process it. By the time you realize what's happened, he's disappeared into his apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.

You bring your fingers to your forehead.

And suddenly, the rapid beating of your heart becomes a lot harder to ignore.

Chapter Text

"Okay 603, how ya wanna do this?"

"Do what?"

"This."

Atsumu gestures at the overpriced, undersized bunny-shaped tiramisu between the two of you, the dark espresso powder dusting its cheeks a stark contrast to the lacy white tablecloth.

You still can't believe he asked to meet here. The whole café looks like something straight out of a Lolita fashion magazine, and while you can appreciate the pretty pastel lampshades, the pearl strings adorning the curtains, and the inexplicably cheery clientele, this really isn't… Atsumu's scene.

And neither is the mountain of cake and cream in front of him.

"Uh-uh, don't look at me. You ordered it."

"Yeah, to steal Samu's followers. I order, I post, I pay. I don't eat this stuff."

"…Y'know, I get that you're trying to slip into the foodie corner of IG, but why do you have to post exclusively desserts?"

"Because they get the most likes. They're… cute or whatever. People like the duality."

"Yeah, cause you're not cute at all."

"Hey!"

"Oh, you walked right into that." Your eyes return to the humble crepe sitting on your own plate, topped with fresh fruit and whipped cream. You're too busy cutting into it to look up, but you can hear Atsumu huffing across from you.

You haven't even taken a bite when he chimes in again.

"Oi, ya gonna help me eat this or what? I'll split it with ya, but there's no way I'm eatin' this stack of sugar and fat by myself."

You roll your eyes, utensils falling to your plate with a heavy clank.

"…Fine. Give it here."

Atsumu grins like a kid as he places the delicate glass dish between the two of you, waving one of the waitresses down to get a second spoon. It'd be strange to do this with anyone else, you think. But since it's him, you don't think twice when he brings his face within inches of yours to take his first bite.

"So what'd Omi think of the party?" he asks through a mouthful of cake. Your cheeks go red at the memory, but you take a too-big bite to hold off on answering. You chew for so long that it goes liquid in your mouth, and now Atsumu has one eyebrow raised.

You swallow.

"Um… he liked it. Said it was fun. Said thanks and all that, you know… normal stuff."

"Doesn't sound normal. You want a mirror? Cause ya look like a tomato right now." This time, he leans in just a little too close for comfort. You dart away self-consciously.

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. What happened? You can tell me, ya know."

"I don't know." Your thoughts return to yesterday night, and you can feel phantom traces of Sakusa's lips grazing your forehead at the memory. You shake your head.

"It's just… I don't know. It's complicated."

Atsumu arches the other eyebrow.

"Complicated? Oi, 'complicated' is bumping into your ex-boyfriend at one of five hundred supermarkets in Tokyo, yeah? Ya don't have to tell me, but it can't be worse than that."

"Look (Y/N), I know you're really naïve and clingy and deluded, so let me spell this out for you: a guy like this has nothing to gain from a girl like you . The best thing you could do for yourself is just turn tail and run."

Run.

You shiver.

"What a sleazeball, my God. You dodged a bullet with that one, let me tell ya, and I– Hey, you okay?" Atsumu's voice goes soft, and you don't know whether it makes you feel grateful or pathetic. He pauses in taking another bite of tiramisu (if you were in the right frame of mind, you'd make fun of him for being such a hypocrite) to look up at you, brows knit together in concern.

The lace tablecloth suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the room. You keep your eyes glued to it, studying the swirling patterns of leaves and flowers again and again until you hear him sigh.

"…You're thinking about it, aren't ya?"

"…Yeah."

"(Y/N)–"

"It's not a big deal. Thanks for helping me that day. I appreciate it." Your words come out more clipped than you'd like, but you hope it's enough for him to drop the subject.

"Yeah, of course," he says after a moment. "No problem."

"I don't think he bought it, though." You laugh to break the tension, but the sound just comes out hollow. There's an uncomfortable pause that follows, but you still can't find it in yourself to meet his eyes.

"…What makes you say that?" he asks.

"…I mean, inherently, it wasn't that believable?"

"What do you mean?"

"…I don't know if I want to talk about this."

Atsumu goes silent, and you lift your eyes from the tablecloth to find him already staring at you. He sighs again. The sound makes you shrink in on yourself.

"I mean… you don't have to, but it might make ya feel better. Didn't you say something like that before?" His voice is soft again, softer than before, and your mind darts back to the conversation in his bedroom three months ago.

"…Yeah," you mumble.

"So why not give it a try?"

"Oh my God! Are you Miya Atsumu?!" A high-pitched shriek from across the café steals your attention. Two starry-eyed girls in matching high school uniforms stand at the entrance, one in braids and the other in a flowery headband. They come bounding over to your table before you can even react, and within seconds, they've got Atsumu caged in from either side.

"We're huge fans! Oh my gosh, this is so cool!" The one in braids is smiling so wide you fear her face will split open, but part of you finds the enthusiasm cute. That changes the moment she locks eyes with you.

It's the end of March, the sun is out, and yet you can't help but shiver under her withering gaze.

"Is this your girlfriend?" she asks.

"No! I'm not," you say, and her cheery disposition returns so quickly it's alarming.

"Could we get a photo? Please?" her friend asks.

Atsumu glances at you warily. "Um, we're kind of in the middle of–"

"But I thought she wasn't your girlfriend?"

"It's fine, Atsumu," you offer. Both girls are staring you down now, and even though they must be ten years younger than you, you can't help but gulp.

He goes silent for a moment, studying you, but then he shrugs. "Sure, then. Photos are fine."

"Ooh, me first!" Braids tosses her phone to her friend carelessly before wrapping her arms around Atsumu's shoulders from behind. He doesn't even flinch, and you can't help thinking that someone else would totally freak out in this situation.

"3, 2, 1…!" The shutter clicks five times before Headband lowers the phone and swipes past the photos. "Aw, you both look so cute! This is totally going on the blog, people will love it and… Oh wait, hold on. Miss? You're in the shot."

"O-Oh, my bad! I'll get out of your way, sorry!" You hastily scoot back in your chair, cringing as the metal legs screech against the tiled floors. A couple of the other patrons turn to look at you, and you feel your cheeks go red again as the shutter clicks.

Headband looks down at the new photos and frowns. "Ichika, these ones didn't turn out as good. Your smile's all stiff, and it looks like you're glaring at–"

She cuts herself off with a gasp before she can finish the thought, but you're pretty sure you know what she was going to say.

"Oh my God, it's almost noon! We're gonna be late for class, hurry up and take my photo with Tsumu-san!"

She tosses the phone back to Braids – Ichika? – and you have a mini heart attack when she almost drops it. The girls switch places and Headband hugs Atsumu from behind as the shutter goes off in Ichika's hands. They bid a hasty farewell to him – lots of bowing and blushing and squealing – and just like that, they're gone.

"Sorry about that," Atsumu says as you very carefully lift your chair and bring it back to the table. "Stuff like that happens sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

"Well…"

"It's okay, I'm just teasing." You plop back into your seat and reach for your spoon, taking a big bite out of Atsumu's mutilated tiramisu bunny.

"Where were we again?" He pokes your crepe with his spoon, but you slap his hand away. "Sheesh, okay. Not big on sharing food, I get it."

"No, it's just that you can't cut it like that. Let me do it for you."

Setting your spoon down, you reach for your fork and knife to slice into the strawberry crepe. Once you've got the first piece cut and speared onto the fork, you reach out to pass it to Atsumu…

…But he leans forward and eats it right off the prongs.

"Hey! I'm not here to feed you!"

"Calm down, it ain't a big deal. Here, look." Atsumu picks up your spoon and digs into the tiramisu again. He piles it high with cake and mascarpone before bringing it up to your mouth.

"I'll eat it myself, thanks," you say, but when you try to grab the spoon from him, Atsumu dodges away. Unfortunately, some of the cake smears onto your cheek in the process.

"Atsumu!"

"Oh my God, you look ridiculous," he says, then bursts out laughing. Unimpressed, you start to dab at your face with your linen napkin, but freeze up when Atsumu wipes off a patch of cream with his thumb.

"What were we even talking about again?" he murmurs. His eyebrows furrow. "Oh yeah, I remember. Why do you–"

"Um…!" Warning bells go off in your brain as you jerk away from him, wiping off the rest of the mess with the back of your hand. Your earlier conversation replays in your mind with perfect clarity.

And it's definitely not something you want to continue right now.

"I… I think I have to go."

"…Look, (Y/N)–"

You stand up so suddenly that your chair tips over behind you. It hits the ground with a loud thud that draws the attention of the whole café, but you can't even find it in yourself to care as you rummage through your purse for cash.

"No, it's just… I have a thing. A work thing." You slap two crumpled 1000 yen bills on the table as Atsumu looks up at you, frowning. "Soushi's been on my case about it for the past couple weeks, uh… yeah. Trade deals and stuff. Big stuff. Important stuff."

"On a Saturday morning?"

"Overtime! Overtime's a beast, ha-ha…"

You can tell from the look in his eyes that Atsumu doesn't believe one word of your bullshit story, but he's kind enough to pretend.

"…Sure, (Y/N). Okay. Good luck with your… trade deal."

"Uh yeah, thanks! I'll… call you."

Your coat, formerly hanging off the back of your chair, now lies in a messy heap on the floor. You dust it off before slipping your arms through the sleeves, and even though you're not looking at him, you can feel Atsumu's eyes glued to you.

You give him a weak smile, almost trip on your way to the exit, and with one last wave, you're gone.

Even after eating an actual lunch, Atsumu comes home smelling like icing sugar, mascarpone, and strawberries from head-to-toe. Osamu's not having it – the scent of confectionary throws off his 'creative process' for new onigiri recipes, or whatever – but Atsumu doesn't mind. Ever since you gave him that bottle of white gardenia soap a week ago, showering has been the highlight of his day.

(Sakusa wasn't happy when he showed up to practice smelling like a South African flower garden, for some reason. It baffles Atsumu – wasn't he supposed to be a fan of this stuff? What about the Belgium trip? Anyway.)

By the time he's finished, Osamu's hollering something from the hallway, but Atsumu's too lazy to open his bedroom door and hear what he has to say. Probably something about dinner.

Instead, he towels off his hair, plops down on the bed, and reaches for his phone. When he opens the home screen, it's lit up with notifications, which isn't surprising considering he hasn't checked it since this morning.

What's a little weird is that he has twenty-four new voicemails, and they're all from Watanabe Junpei, the fussy PR guy who smells like prunes.

Raising an eyebrow, he opens the first message.

"Miya-san? This is Watanabe-san from PR. Call me back immediately, this is urgent."

Atsumu squints at the message time. 12:07PM. He looks at the clock on his nightstand. 3:21PM.

He frowns and plays the next one.

"Miya-san? The situation is getting worse, we need to release a press statement immediately."

That's… concerning. He plays the next one.

"Miya-san? In my experience, if something is going to blow up online, it'll happen within twenty-four hours. Please call me."

And the next one.

"Miya-san, we need to act now."

And the next one.

"Miya-san? You really need to call me, I–"

"Tsumu, you gotta see this."

Atsumu flinches at the sound of his brother's voice. He doesn't know when Osamu got here, but he doesn't have time to ponder it as his brother storms into the room and shoves his phone into his face. Atsumu goes cross-eyed trying to read the headline of whatever news story Osamu's got pulled up, but when he finally gets a good look, he gasps.

"Miya Atsumu's New Girlfriend?! What the hell is this?"

"You tell me."

Osamu clicks on the little video clip attached to the article, and Atsumu immediately recognizes the fluorescent lights and check-out aisles from the supermarket yesterday. It was obviously taken on a cellphone – the filming's shaky and the quality's not the best – but anyone with half a brain could make him out in the grainy footage. Someone's blurred your ex-boyfriend's face, but he's there standing next to Atsumu, and…

Oh no.

You're there too.

Atsumu thanks God that your back is to the camera, but if this is what he thinks it is, that's a small blessing.

"I mean, who even are you?"

"I'm her boyfriend, asshole!"

Atsumu grabs the phone out of Osamu's hand to replay the clip, but there's no mistake – someone managed to get your little charade all on camera.

And it's already been re-tweeted 17231 times.

"Oh my God."

"Oh my God is right. What the hell happened yesterday? I thought it was Sakusa's birthday! And when did ya get a girlfriend? You were still crying over Nakamura, like, three months ago!"

There's confusion written all over Osamu's face, and what Atsumu says next doesn't help to clarify things.

"Samu, this isn't– I never got a– That's (Y/N)!"

"You're dating (L/N)-san?"

"No! Ugh, why'd this blow up? I've been in a thousand dating scandals since college!"

"Yeah, until last year when ya started dating Naka– Her. Everyone in the comments thinks ya went off the radar cause you were going steady with someone. I mean, they're not wrong– "

"Samu."

"–they just assumed it's the girl in the video. Okay wait, but why'd ya say you were (L/N)'s boyfriend if you're not dating?"

"Does it matter right now?! I don't have time for your stupid questions!" Atsumu snaps, and the brief look of hurt that flashes across his brother's face makes him sigh.

"…Sorry."

"You should be."

"It's just… Why now? I went clubbing after Ayako dumped me! Why're there no photos of that?"

"Uh, because ya went to all the low-profile bars to avoid her."

Atsumu rolls his eyes. All of a sudden, his blood runs cold.

"When'd this article come out?"

"Like, noon today? I was busy in the restaurant though, didn't pull it up till now."

"Oh my God, she must've seen it already."

"Who?"

"Samu, I love you."

"What?!"

"Now get out."

Osamu's stuttered, sputtered protests fall on deaf ears as Atsumu shoves him out of his bedroom and slams the door shut. He's got your number dialled and ringing before he even sits down on the bed again.

"Hello?"

"Are you okay?"

The line goes silent, and Atsumu's about to stumble through an apology when you chime in again.

"Yeah, just a little, um… shaken up. Good thing you can't see my face in the video, right? Ha-ha… ha…"

Silence again, and this time, it drags on just a little too long for comfort.

"Where are you?"

"…A very secluded corner of Ueno Park."

He chuckles half-heartedly. "Not at the office?"

"Tsumu–"

"Not the time, sorry. Do ya wanna co–"

"Can I come over?"

He gives a weak smile, even though you can't see it. "'Course ya can. I'll be there soon. Oh, and 603?"

"Yeah?"

"I know it's scary right now, but everything's gonna be okay."

"…Okay. Thanks, Tsumu."

Sakusa's always liked planning ahead. It eliminates surprises, minimizes any chance of error, and lets him avoid all the things he hates most.

...Like driving in the rain.

(It reminds him of his first car accident back in university, which really isn’t a happy memory for anyone.)

However, even after arriving at the bank an hour before today’s thunderstorm, something goes wrong (like it always does). Sakusa's been with Mizuho Financial for the past seven years, but not once has he ever witnessed the bodyguards drag someone out. The guy put up a real fight too, took half an hour to remove him from the premises. Something to do with a loan for an ice-cream truck? Sakusa will never know.

By the time he's made his deposit, the first trickle has already begun. Sakusa sighs as he slips off his coat and holds it over his head for shelter, praying he doesn't look absolutely ridiculous as he makes a mad dash for his car. The moment he gets inside, there’s a crack of thunder from the sky as a torrential downpour is realized onto the earth below. Thoughts of your first meeting flicker through his mind as he pulls out of the parking lot, but for the first time, the memories don't make him shudder.

Ring-ring!

Sakusa glares at the caller ID that appears on his dashboard. Moody Idiot. He puts Bokuto on speaker as he comes to a stop at the next intersection.

"Omi-omi! Did you hear about Tsum-tsum?"

"What'd he do now?"

"He got a new girlfriend and didn't tell us about it!"

"What?!"

"Yeah, someone got a video of them at the supermarket, but you can't even see her face!"

The cars behind Sakusa start honking, breaking him out of his stupor. He pulls ahead, but there's a feeling of unease creeping into his stomach that he really can't ignore.

"…Bokuto, when was the video filmed?"

"I think it's from yesterday…"

Sakusa curses under his breath, pulling over so fast that his tires screech against the asphalt road.

"…but that doesn't really make sense because the only person he was with was–"

"Bokuto."

"–(Y/N) and… Oh my God… It was (Y/N)…"

"Bokuto."

"Because they were pretending to be… Oh no, that's not good…"

"Bokuto!" Sakusa runs a hand through his hair roughly, tangling his already-damp curls. "I'm hanging up now! Let me know if you hear from (Y/N), but whatever you do, don't mention her name to the press, okay?"

"…Okay."

"Don't forget. And thanks for letting me know. I'll talk to you later."

The moment he hangs up, Sakusa groans and sinks all the way back in his seat, eyes shut and brows knit together in frustration. Images of Atsumu's cheeky grin flash through his mind, and his frown deepens.

"My God… Atsumu, that idiot…"

He opens his eyes and reaches for his phone in the cup-holder. All kinds of thoughts race through his mind, but he pulls up your number immediately, gaze lingering on the contact photo he took of you at Christmas. There's chocolate cake smeared all over your mouth, but you were too oblivious to notice. Sakusa doesn't understand how anyone could lack such a basic sense of self-awareness.

“And what is this metaphorical umeboshi supposed to represent?”

“Spending Christmas with someone I care about, who cares about me.”

The memory is there before he can stop it. He sighs.

And then he hits 'call'.

volleyfreak24: I bet miya's new gf is a celebrity, model maybe. any bets on who?

kags.waifu: yeah he only dates 9-10s. maybe that new idol singer, kimura smth?

dead_inside: kimura saiko, ya maybe. but he and sato sakura are mutuals on like all the socials

sockmonkey.28: heard a rumour that his gf is the granddaughter of matsumoto takei… chairman of matsu&co

volleyfreak24: well whoever it is i bet she's super rich and hot cuz he wouldnt look twice if she wasn’t lmao

atsu-atsu's_gf: HEY!!! WHO SAYS THEYRE REALLY DATING???!!

kags.waifu: uh, he did? watch the video before going off, squealing pig

dead_inside: eyyy can't wait to see how this blows up

ushiwaka_is_my_religion: OMG YALL I HEAR THEYRE GETTING MARRIED IN THE SPRING LEZ CRASH THE WEDDING

sockmonkey.28: hey but she just looks like a regular person from behind. what if she's a non-celeb? and did u see her polyester pants? i don’t even think she's rich

atsu-atsu's_gf: as fanclub president, we'll only accept atsu's new gf if she's as successful and beautiful as he is. we can't offer our blessing if she isn't up to his standards

Atsumu snatches your phone out of your hands before you can read any more. You raise your head to glare at him, but it lacks any real conviction. He seems to sense it too.

"Atsumu, I'm fine."

"No you're not. You've been staring at your phone screen for the past twenty minutes."

"But what if–"

"Stop scrollin' through social media. Everything's a mess within the first twenty-four hours, you're only hurting yourself."

Your phone looks so small cupped in his hands, you think. His thumb lingers over the power button as he peers up at you expectantly. For a minute, the only sound in Atsumu's bedroom is the rain pattering against the window, but then you finally crack.

"…Fine. Do it."

With the press of a button, the screen goes black. He has to lean over you to set the phone on the nightstand, and from this angle, he looks kind of funny sitting cross-legged on the bed – like a kid. But too much has happened within the last six hours for you to fully appreciate it.

"Hey, don't worry too much," Atsumu says, placing both hands on your shoulders. "Ya can't even see your face in the video, no one's gonna figure it out."

"But what about my ex?"

"If he tells people it's you, he has to out himself too. And somethin' tells me he's got too much pride for that. I humiliated him pretty good, I think."

You laugh for the first time since this morning. "Mm-hm, you did." Your eyes trail to his hands lingering on your shoulders, and he raises one to pat your head. You sigh. Atsumu hands you the plate of onigiri Osamu made, but you shake your head.

"The PR team's releasing a statement tonight, right? That everything you said in the video was a lie?"

Atsumu sighs, grabbing a rice ball before placing the plate back on his nightstand.

"Technically yes… But we don't know if anyone's gonna buy it yet. I literally say in the video–"

 You raise a hand. "Don't remind me, please."

"Sorry. We told 'em the truth – that we're friends, you were being harassed by some guy, and I was defending you by saying I was your boyfriend."

"Well the 'harassing' part is–"

"Completely true." His face darkens when he says it and you shiver.

"I just… I'm still kind of uneasy." You rub the back of your neck as your eyes fall to his bedspread. "This all happened so quickly… I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have someone here. So uh… thanks."

You raise your head to look at him, and when you do, his expression is soft, just like it was in the café. You look away again.

"How are you feelin'?" he asks. You pause a moment before responding.

"…I don't know. People online think you're in this serious relationship, and that you're gonna marry m– the girl in the video, and that she must be some celebrity or heiress, or at least someone rich and beautiful and successful, and I just…"

There's a lump in your throat. You swallow, but it doesn't go away.

"…I'm not any of those things. Which is fine, but after everything he said yesterday, I guess I'm a little… sensitive? Which is ridiculous because we broke up eight months ago, and he means nothing to me, and I just… I should be over this, and I don't why it's still affecting me, but I…"

"The problem with you is that you let people walk all over you, all the time. And honestly? It's really off-putting to watch you grovel."

"She's no one, okay? No one."

"Don't waste your time defending her. I can tell you firsthand she isn't worth it."

"A guy like this has nothing to gain from a girl like you. The best thing you could do for yourself is just turn tail and run."

"Run…" you whisper, thinking of black curls and Lysol and grapefruit as your eyes start to lose focus. Chills go down your spine and you wrap your arms around yourself to stop shaking, but it's not enough. You start rocking back and forth before you can help it, and now Atsumu's reaching for you again.

"Do ya need me to…?"

"Why is this happening?!"

Your voice comes out in a raw, broken shriek that even you barely recognize. It causes Atsumu to recoil immediately, but that's not enough to stop you.

"Why am I involved in a viral scandal when I've done nothing remarkable in my whole life? Why did Kiyoomi do that last night? Why did I bump into my stupid ex yesterday when I finally stopped having nightmares about him, and… and..."

The dam bursts without warning, and now there are tears rolling down your cheeks to match the rain. They don't stop, won't stop, and you turn your back to Atsumu so you won't have to face him. You can barely get your next words out through the hiccuping sobs.

"Why do I still feel so worthless…?" you say in a broken whisper.

Even to your own ears, it sounds pathetic.

A couple minutes pass. Not even the thunder outside is loud enough to drown out your sobs, but you can't really find it in yourself to care. You feel arms wrap around you from behind, and even though you appreciate the gesture, you shrug him off.

"You're not worthless," Atsumu murmurs behind you. He doesn't make another move to touch or face you, and you find yourself feeling grateful. Crying is so much worse when someone can see you dissolve into a wet, sopping mess.

"You're not worthless, (Y/N)," he repeats, but you pretend not to hear him. You draw your knees up to your chest and bury your face between them, and even though the sobs are starting to subside now, you can't find it in yourself to form words.

Silence overtakes the room, long and empty and bleak. It lasts so long that you peer over your shoulder to see if Atsumu's left the room, but he's still right there behind you. You hold his gaze for a moment before returning to stare at the floor.

"(Y/N)…" You can hear the hesitation in his voice, and it makes you shrink in on yourself even more. "I don't know what kinda crap you got from your ex, but I just…"

He sighs. The silence resumes, and this time, you're ready to head home.

"I don't… understand why ya see yourself like that. You're smart and talented and funny, and you're nice enough to play therapist to a total stranger who calls ya by your apartment number instead of your name, and ya have the patience to put up with Hinata and Bokuto even when they're being total dumbasses, and ya care enough about your neurotic germaphobe neighbour that you threw a whole surprise party for him yesterday, and, and…"

Atsumu places a hand on your shoulder, and even though you don't turn to face him, you don't move away.

"It kills me that someone could make ya feel so worthless when I consider you one of the best people in my life. I'm sorry this happened. It's my fault, I take full responsibility. And I just want you to know that, um… I'm here for you."

Slowly, you turn around. You meet his eyes and you don't look away.

And this time, you're the one who gives him a hug.

The number you are calling is currently unavailable. Please try again later.

Sakusa throws his phone onto the passenger seat and curses under his breath. That's the seventh time now.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighs and picks up the phone again. The most important thing right now is to make sure you're okay.

"Hello? Takahashi-san? I need you to go to (Y/N)'s apartment and see if she's home. Why? Because… something bad happened today and I can't get a hold of her. Please just… tell me if she's there, and if she is, can you check on her? Don't tell her I sent you, it'll make her feel like a burden. Okay. Thanks, you're the best."

As Sakusa places his phone in the cup-holder, he makes a mental note to send Mrs. Takahashi flowers someday. God knows she deserves them.

When he pulls back onto the road, his tires run through a puddle, causing a shower of murky water to spray onto the sidewalk. Sakusa cringes. Thank God no one was standing there, but the rain is coming down even harder now and he didn't bring an umbrella.

(He didn't think he'd need one, but apparently, aspiring ice-cream vendors and sports tabloids were factors he didn't consider.)

With Mrs. Takahashi covering the apartment, he starts on the familiar route to your company building. That turns out to be a good move, because he gets a call from her just as the red letters of Matsumoto & Co come into view.

"Okay. Thanks, Takahashi-san."

The moment he hands up, Sakusa bangs his fist on the dashboard so hard that it bruises.

You're not home.

He's out of the car and running to the company entrance before he can even stop to think, and by the time he's made it into the lobby, his curls are damp, he's out of breath, and the receptionist is looking at him with open disgust.

"Um… sir? Can I help you?"

"Is, um… Is (L/N) (Y/N) in office right now? Assistant Manager of Sales."

She looks him up and down warily before shrugging her shoulders and dialling a number on the phone. There's a muted exchange of words, then she sets the receiver down with a shake of her head.

"I'm sorry," she says, and Sakusa knew it was a longshot – you're never in on weekends unless it's the end of a sales quarter – but he still feels his heart sink in his chest.

"I can leave a message with Fujiyama-san if–"

"No, don't bother. Thanks."

It's another sprint through the rain back to his car, and by the time Sakusa makes it inside, he's shivering from the cold. He grabs his phone to call you again, but when he opens the home screen, there are three new texts from Hinata.

Meat Bun Kouhai, 5:17PM: OMI-SAN!!! bokuto-san said someone leaked a vid of tsumu-san and (L/N)-san from yesterday 😭

Meat Bun Kouhai, 5:19PM: OMI-SAN!!!!! some fans are making threats against (L/N)-san!!! WE NEED TO DO SMTH!!!

Meat Bun Kouhai, 5:19PM: PPL ONLINE KEEP SAYING THEY’LL DO BAD THINGS TO TSUMU'S NEW GF!!! POOR (L/N)-SAN!!! THEYRE NOT EVEN DATING!!!😭😭😭

"Dammit," Sakusa mutters before ringing you up. He gnaws on his bottom lip as he waits, and when the automated voice kicks in again, he curses, throws his phone into the cup-holder, and pulls out of the parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, he finds himself outside the entrance of Hard Core Workouts. All the women stare at him as he storms the lobby and runs down the hall to the studio, and even though he comes bursting through the doors in the middle of a session, Piratisu's kind enough to tell him that no, you're not here, yes, she'll let him know if you contact her, and wow, he's looking pale – does he need a cup of herbal tea or something?

But Sakusa turns down her offer. There just isn't time.

It's another half hour later when he pulls up in front of a seedy karaoke lounge in Kabukicho, the one you like to frequent with your coworkers. The grime on the walls makes him shudder, and there's a slight pounding in his head now, but none of that matters when the manager tells him that no, the corporate slave with the polyester pants isn't here right now.

He stops at Nakano Broadway next, where you like to purchase your anime merchandise, and then the bear-themed café in Shinjuku where you have your girls' days with Hana and Eiko. Both turn out to be a bust, and it makes Sakusa question whether he really knows all that much about you. He's been your personal chauffeur for the past seven months, shouldn't he be better at this?

Even though the chance of you picking up is slim, he can't help calling you at least three times in between every location. He's standing outside the Goodwill in Shinjuku, the one you donate your old clothes to every six months, when the automated voice clicks in again. If Sakusa were a lesser man, he'd chuck his phone into the street and let the rain wash it into a gutter.

That's seventeen missed calls now, and if you're crying, hurt, or dead, someone is going to be sorry. The thought makes him grimace as he pockets the phone and comes out from under the street awning.

Sakusa doesn't even bother to run to his car this time, just walks through the pouring rain with his head down. He's soaked to the bone at this point anyway, and the pounding in his head is as bad as it was when he took a volleyball to the face at his first tournament.

"Ah-choo!" He sniffles as he climbs into the Lexus before slamming the door shut. For a moment, Sakusa thinks of his hot shower, his warm bed, and a nice, steaming cup of ginger tea, but then he sighs. He slips his phone back out of his pocket and stares at it, hard.

It's not like he's got any better ideas.

The tone rings seven times, and Sakusa prepares himself to hear that damn message again when, for the first time in four hours, the line clicks.

"Kiyoomi?"

"(Y/N)!" He jolts out of his seat so fast that it makes him dizzy, but at this point, he doesn't even care.

"Thank God, I thought you were… A-And then…"

"Breathe, Kiyoomi, just breathe. I'm fine, don't worry," you say gently. "Sorry for not picking up, you must've been worried sick. Are you at home?"

There are warm droplets running down his cheeks now, and it takes him a moment to realize they're not from the rain.

"No, I-I'm… Sorry, I just… Need a sec…"

He covers the speaker so you can't hear him cry.

God, he never thought he'd miss the sound of your voice so much.

Chapter Text

"39°C. You're staying in bed."

"But–"

"I called Atsumu to tell him you're sick. He'll tell Foster, don't worry."

"…Okay. Can I have some more porridge?"

"Yeah, just a sec."

You take the ceramic bowl from his hands, frowning at the beads of sweat caught in his hair. There are dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, and it's enough to make you choke up a little as you turn your back to him and exit the room.

As you make your way through the hallway, you notice that the rainwater he trekked in yesterday has dried up now. Thank goodness.

Honestly, you have no idea how Sakusa drove home last night, not when he was feverish, soaked, and stumbling when you caught up with him in the lobby. He leaned on your shoulder for the entire elevator ride, eyes closed as you fussed over and scolded him for waiting so long in the rain. You barely managed to get him into his apartment, and even though he insisted you go home and rest, you stayed behind to make him some tea and porridge while he showered.

(You were about to stay the night too, but then his fever-red face turned crimson, and you opted out of the idea.)

The morning sun blinds you as you enter the kitchen, squinting to see the pot of ginger tea you left to boil. You load the bowl with more porridge before setting it on your breakfast tray from home and grabbing the jar of umeboshi Sakusa keeps on the counter. It takes you a few minutes to find the cold meds he keeps in the cabinets, but when you do, your entirely unappealing, sick-person breakfast spread is complete.

Sakusa's staring out his bedroom window when you come in through the door, tray in hand. He takes one look at the cold meds and sighs, sitting up before you even tell him to.

"Thanks," he says as you place the tray on his nightstand. He pops in all the meds at once, like he's used to it, and takes a big swig of ginger tea that definitely just burned his throat.

"Be careful, Kiyoomi, oh my God!" You reach out for him, but he raises a hand to stop you.

"Kergh! I'm… I'm fine," he says, but you're already rushing out of the room to bring him a glass of cold water. When you return, he takes a big gulp and thanks you without meeting your eyes.

"Did, um… did they release the press statement yet?" he asks quietly. You sigh.

"Yeah, late last night."

"How's the response?"

"Mixed. Some of Atsumu's fans latched onto the idea that he's still single, others are skeptical. They think we're lying about being 'just friends', you know, since he says in the video that he's my–"

"Kergh! Hergh, gugh!"

"Kiyoomi! Are you okay?"

"Fi– Keugh! Fine. Just got something in my throat."

"You really…! God, please be careful…"

You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, visions of a rain-soaked, tear-stained Sakusa tearing at your conscience. "Drink your tea, Kiyoomi."

He does, and for a while, the only sounds that fill the room are of him eating his meal. One of his curls nearly falls into the porridge, but you brush it back with a wry smile. You keep your hand there longer than you probably should, but he doesn't seem to mind, and you're content to pat his head like a puppy for just a minute more. When you pull back, his eyes flick up to meet yours questioningly.

You gulp.

"Um, Kiyoomi?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but… why'd you go to so much trouble looking for me yesterday? You don't owe me anything, you left a bunch of calls to check up on me, I mean… Look at you! You hate getting sick! Last time this happened was in college, you said."

It's true, and it wasn't even during flu season. It was during his drafting party when his parents made him hug each and every one of his relatives, germs and all.

You sigh, taking a seat on the foot of his bed.

"Please don't push yourself like that. At least not for me, I mean… For your parents, sure. For Komori, okay. For your team, maybe. But I just… I don't get why you'd do this when–"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

There's a pregnant pause. Your mouth suddenly feels dry. A thousand questions fly through your mind, but you don't know how to put any of them into words. The air becomes stiffer the longer you wait, and Sakusa's eyes never leave yours.

"You know, I've never done that for anyone before," he murmurs quietly, like he's talking to himself as much as he's talking to you. "I've never driven all over the city during a thunderstorm, or stood out in the rain, or felt so anxious I thought I would vomit just because someone wasn't picking up my calls… You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

You would scoff if you had the mind to, but the intensity in his eyes silences you.

"So… why did you do that?"

You let the question hang in the air as the room goes quiet again.

Sakusa stares hard at the ground for a minute, and now's really not the time to be studying the shape of his eyes, the curve of his nose, the colour of his lips… but every detail of this moment suddenly feels amplified. You feel an immediate urge to leave the room – make up an excuse about work or something, he'd never know – but some part of you wants to stay.

You swallow.

"You know… I really had no clue for the longest time," he starts, "but I think it's–"

"The best thing you could do for yourself is just turn tail and run."

"–because I like you."

Run.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Oh. It's off your tongue before you can stop it, and now the resolve in Sakusa's eyes has turned to disappointment.

"No, no!" You scramble for words as you wave your arms in the air frantically. "I mean, it's just… I wasn't really expecting this! And now, I don't know… what to say…"

As soon as the words roll out, his whole body seems to close in on itself.

"…Sorry."

"No, don't be! I just… I mean, I sort of… well…"

And it's like you're back in high school again.

"…I like you too."

He's silent for a moment, eyes going comically wide. And then he perks up so quickly you'd laugh if you weren't so damn nervous.

"You do?"

You swallow, memories of the past nine months flashing through your mind at hyper-speed. The first day in the rain, the fire alarm, Christmas, your anniversary party, and oh God, the birthday…

You think about Sakusa's callous remarks, his weird taste in music, his lack of social grace, and his tendency to complain about doing people favours only to come through for them anyways. You think of how unexpectedly thoughtful he can be, the lengths he goes to for the people he cares about, and how much you've come to trust him in the short time you've known each other.

You look to the ground and smile, but it doesn't quite meet your eyes. He notices.

"Yeah, I like you."

Run.

"(Y/N)–"

"But I just… I don't…"

You raise your head to meet his eyes, and the look on his face – questioning, hopeful, scared – makes you bite your lip and curse yourself.

"…I don't think I'm ready for a relationship right now."

Sakusa's expression crumples.

"…Okay. I understand," he says quietly. You take his hand in yours, and the fact that he doesn't pull away gives you a tiny bit of relief.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I, um… I just… I thought you should know."

The silence that follows isn't romantic, or tense, or even bitter, it's just… awkward.

And oh God, you regret grabbing his hand because you can't even leave the room now.

"…Okay, I'm sorry," he says. Your eyes go wide.

"You're sorry?"

"Yeah, because I lied. I, um… I don't really understand."

"Understand what?"

"If we both like each other, why can't we just… date? Is that not how this works?"

The mixture of confusion and hurt in his eyes makes your heart drop, and before you can stop them, apologies start spilling from the tip of your tongue.

"I'm really sorry, Kiyoomi, you don't deserve any of this, and I know I'm a terrible person but I just–"

"No, don't apologize." He squeezes your hand. "I'm not blaming you. I just want to know."

A guy like this has nothing to gain from a girl like you.

As fanclub president, we'll only accept Atsu's new girlfriend if she's as successful and beautiful as he is. We can't offer our blessing if she isn't up to his standards.

You're naïve and clingy and deluded.

The memories come crawling back, invading every corner of your mind before you can stop them. You shake your head, running your thumb over Sakusa's hand as you meet his eyes again.

"I think I have a little more work to do on myself first. I'm not… confident. People have said all sorts of things to make me feel bad about myself, and I know now that most of them aren't true, but I mean… I still let them affect me. And I don't like that, I really don't like that… I always give people the power to make me feel small, or hate myself, and I don't think it'd be fair to either of us if…"

"…If?"

You swallow your words.

"Sorry, it's just… saying it like that makes it sound like I'm doing it for us. And I'm doing this for me." You squeeze his hand in silent apology. "I don't want to be in a relationship if I can't love myself first. I know it's selfish, but I don't want to make the same mistake twice."

He goes silent for a moment, brow furrowing as he stares hard at the ground.

"Kiyoomi?"

"You're not… being selfish," he says after a pause. His eyes return to yours.

"You're just putting your needs first."

"Kiyoomi, I know it's wrong, and I'm sorry but I–"

"No, don't be sorry. You should put your needs first. I want you to."

"I… What the heck just happened?"

It's your turn to feel confused. You can tell you're gaping like a fish right now, and the expression on your face is apparently enough to make Sakusa snort. And with that, all the remaining tension seems to dissipate from the room.

"I understand now. Thank you. I'll wait," he says, smiling. The look in his eyes is positively radiant, and it's enough to make you gulp. He must be high on cold meds, you figure.

"You'll… wait? What do you mean?"

"I'll wait until you're ready."

"Until I'm…?" It takes a second to compute, but when it does, you're so startled that you let go of his hand and flail your arms in the air wildly. "Kiyoomi, you really don't have to do that! It could take God knows how long, and it isn't fair for me to expect that of you."

"But you don't."

"What?"

He takes your hand in his again and squeezes it tight.

"You don't expect this from me. It's my decision. You should respect that, (Y/N)."

More silence. But this time, it only seems awkward for you. The fondness in Sakusa's eyes just won't go away, and it's making it even harder for you to continue this conversation.

"You know, I was holding off on saying this because I didn't want to be rude, but… why exactly do you like me?" you mutter, eyes glued to the bedsheets. "I mean… there are better options out there."

"If I told you why I liked you, would it really change your mind? I mean, right at this very moment?" he asks, voice scratchy from the cold but still full of resolve.

You go silent and he sighs.

"I like you because you stick up for your friends, and you're dedicated to your job, and you always come through when I'm in a bind… And you care enough about random strangers to console them after they get dumped. I mean, wow, you must be a saint to put up with Atsumu's annoying ass."

You chuckle at that, but he doesn't stop.

"You had enough patience to put up with Bessho Nishi for God knows how many years, and you accept me even when I'm a germaphobic prick six out of seven days a week. I'll work on it, I'm sorry."

"Kiyoomi–"

"And you're fun to be around. I feel comfortable just talking to you, and eating with you, and driving with you, and even being in the space together when we're not doing anything else. Sometimes I wish–"

"Oh my God, Kiyoomi, I think I'm gonna have a stroke if you don't stop," you say, cheeks burning.

"Oh. Sorry."

"No! No, don't be, I just… Thank you for saying all that. It's just a lot to take in. But I'm happy."

You climb over the bed to wrap your arms around him, and not a moment later, you feel his own circle your waist. When you pull back, there's a look of wonder in his eyes that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Okay," he whispers. "That's good. So are we, um… good?"

"Yeah. The only thing is…"

"Yes?"

"…I don't know. I don't know what to say or do or think right now."

And it's true. You called into the office sick this morning, so you don't even have work to distract you from… all this.

"I understand," he says without missing a beat. You snort.

"Oh, do you now?"

"Yes. But unlike you, I had the foresight to mentally prepare for the worst-case scenario. I went into this thinking you would reject me, so I'm doing just fine right now."

"…Wow. I'm so happy for you."

Sakusa's eyes narrow at you for the first time today.

"Okay, I thought I was the sarcastic one in this relationship. Platonic or otherwise."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, real– Hey, stop that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Haven't the foggiest idea."

Sakusa stares you down for a minute, then out of nowhere, he rolls out of the bed and crashes to the floor like it's the most natural thing.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" You scramble to help him up, scolding him while he coughs and sniffles.

"I'm fine," he says, climbing back into bed. "If we're switching roles, I'm the clumsy one now, right?"

"Kiyoomi!"

"Ha. Just kidding."

You mutter something under your breath as you tuck the blanket around him.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, it's just… You've changed, Kiyoomi. Since coming here."

He smiles.

"…I know."

"What? You're retiring?"

"Mm-hm. I'll be out of here in the next three months, so make sure you've memorized my face by then," Fujiyama says. The flippancy of his tone makes you frown. You turn to glare at the rest of your coworkers, but they all keep their heads buried in their cubicles. Traitors.

"I was gone one day, what the hell you guys?! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Fuji wanted to tell you himself!" Soushi yells, standing from his desk with a scowl. "What were we supposed to do? Go behind his back?"

"Yes!"

"Hey! Cool it you two, I'm not gone yet. And (Y/N), while I'm still here, I am your boss. Act like it."

You deflate a little at that, but it's true, so you don't push the subject further. Fuji sighs.

"Don't give me that look, it's been a long time coming." He rubs the back of his neck warily. "I talked it over with my wife. We both agreed I should settle down, make some time for the grandkids."

"But your son just got married a couple months ago!" you cry.

"Mei was pregnant before the wedding. Her due date's coming up in two months, and even if it wasn't, I'm too old to put up with Kimura's crusty face anymore."

You close your eyes for a moment, sighing. When you open them again, you study Fujiyama closely, just like he said. Not for the first time, you notice the grey streaking his hair, the wrinkles wearing down every corner of his face, and the dark bags under his eyes that never seem to go away.

He's right, you decide. He deserves a good retirement.

"…It really won't be the same without you, Fuji. I'm gonna miss you so much."

He cracks a smile at your words.

"Oi, it's not the end of the world! We can meet up for drinks once in a while, go to the karaoke lounge… You guys'll do fine without me."

You snort, even though it isn't funny.

"Oh come on, Fuji. You're a department manager at the main branch of one of the biggest trading companies in Japan, this place will burn to the ground without you!"

Soushi rises from his seat. "(Y/N)–"

"It's fine," Fujiyama says with a little shake of his head. "Look kid, everything's gonna be okay."

He claps one hand on your shoulder and ruffles your hair with the other, just like he did on your first day as an intern. You feel the beginnings of tears prick at your eyes as you bite your lip. Fujiyama smiles at you sadly, but then he perks up.

"Besides," he continues. "Someone else is taking over for me."

"What?! Who?"

"You already know them!"

And there go the warning bells.

"Oh my God…" you say, pacing the floor as you bite your nails. "It's Kimura, isn't it? I'm transferring to Foreign Relations if they merge us with–"

Fujiyama interrupts you with a chuckle, and you're not sure whether to feel annoyed or relieved.

"No! No, God no, I wouldn't do that to you guys." He leans back in his chair and gives you a smug smile. Somehow, you're even more nervous than you were before.

"New department manager is gonna be either you or Soushi, HR hasn't decided yet."

Oh.

Oh.

No wonder Soushi's been so on-edge this morning.

"I… How will they choose?" you ask, trying and failing to make eye contact with Soushi. Your mind wanders back to your interning days with him, and all the hopes and dreams and fears you shared with each other in the stairwell after your morning coffee rounds. Funny, how quickly things seem to change.

"Remember the Hong Kong project with Xinhua Group last year?" Fuji's voice brings you back to the present. "They're doing something similar with aircraft engines this summer, but they need a business partner based in Japan to help with production. They chose Matsumoto & Co."

"Oh, wow, that's huge!"

"(Y/N), let him finish," Soushi mutters.

"Both of you will draft your own business proposals and present them to the board in two months. Whoever does a better job gets my genuine leather swivel chair," Fuji spins around for emphasis, "and my job. And you'll head the project with Xinhua."

For a moment, your mind blanks out as you consider the weight of everything he's just told you. Visions of management meetings and business trips and fancy dinners and international conferences suddenly fill your mind, and wow, Soushi looks depressed for someone's who's up for the promotion of a lifetime.

You'll have to discuss that with him later.

"This is… a lot to take in, Fuji. But, uh… sorry for getting so mad, everyone," you say, looking around the office sheepishly. Hana, Eiko, Kamiko – you know for a fact that IT will track her down before noon – and the two new interns you got last month finally raise their heads to meet your eyes. Kamiko smiles.

"Congratulations, you two! You're one step closer to being sleepless, rapid-aging, corporate slave-drivers!"

The others start clapping and whistling, and if you weren't so preoccupied with the look on Soushi's face, you might even enjoy the attention.

"And congrats to Fuji for being a grandpa!" Hana squeals, triggering another round of cheers. The thought of a mini Fuji running around the office makes you smile, but you know you'll miss the real thing once he's gone.

The applause stops abruptly when Eiko raises her hand.

"Uh… (Y/N)," she starts, eyes glued to her phone screen. "This… this is you, right?"

"What?"

"Um… on the news… I guess Sakusa's colleague…? But you should see for yourself…"

Dread runs cold in your veins as she rises from her desk and makes her way towards you. She holds her phone for you to take, but you don't want it.

No.

You feel this morning's breakfast start to rise in your throat.

There's no way.

Atsumu took care of everything, the press statement is out, no one saw your face.

You swallow.

Fear coils in your stomach, cold and unforgiving, as you take the phone from her. A thousand scenarios spiral through your mind, but they all go skidding to a halt when you see the headline.

You curse.

Miya Atsumu and Girlfriend Spotted at Café in Harajuku!

Those girls never cropped you out of the photo.

It happens quickly. And it's only little things at first – people's eyes lingering on you a moment too long, murmured whispers whenever you walk by, a couple more visits to your LinkedIn page than you're used to. Bethany trips you in the break-room once, muttering something about how it's 'always the quiet ones', but it's nothing you can't handle.

The Jackals release another press statement. Things settle down. Atsumu's ridiculously active social media accounts go dormant for a while, and when two weeks pass without much stir from the public, you figure your fifteen minutes of fame are over.

But then someone – maybe a coworker, maybe a former classmate, maybe your ex if he still hates you that much – tips off the press. Your name, your workplace, your schooling… everything goes public.

The skeptics find and stalk your social media accounts. And after the accumulation of a couple hundred messages in your inbox – invasive questions, the odd congratulations, the much more prevalent hate messages – you finally have the good sense to make all of them private.

It gets worse when people start digging up Atsumu's old Instagram posts from last year, pictures with purposely vague, obviously romantic captions that he forgot to delete after he and Ayako split up.

wish timezones weren't a thing… missing you. #Belgium #jetlag [November, 20XX]

I was looking for someone in the stands tonight, but they never came… #STILLWINNING [July, 20XX]

never thought someone could change me so much #latenightthoughts [September, 20XX]

People start doubting Atsumu's press statement (why wouldn't they?), and by the time another week passes, there's over a hundred Reddit forums floating around about who you are, how you two met, what your relationship timeline's like, and whether or not this is just a fling or something more. And you know Atsumu would scold you if he knew, but you just can't stop reading the comments online.

oikawas_gf: im not tryna be "that person" but like… she's so… average? I think he's too good for her

volleyfreak24: dang I guess the king lowered his standards lolol… should i try to hit him up?

Some days are harder than others.

sunnyboi_96: You guys need to stop!!! It's his life, he can do what he wants!! AND I BET L/N Y/N IS A REALLY NICE PERSON!!!

Miya_Twin_Supremacy: so everyone's just gonna ignore the OFFICIAL press statement? HE SAID THEYRE NOT DATING OH MY GOD GIVE IT A REST

Others aren't so bad.

oikawas_gf: ok but why would she change all her accounts to private if she was innocent??? OBVS TRYNA HIDE SMTH

hinayana.23: ya tbh atsu would never hang out in a café like that on his own… guess he simps too LMFAOOOO

tsuki_midnight: bets on how long this lasts? keep spamming her LinkedIn, maybe she'll answer

oikawas_gf: after all this shit from the press? like 2 months max, atsu has no patience for this stuff… shoulda been more careful… also shes not worth the trouble LMAO

[Text Message, now] Kiyoomi❤: Want pork buns? We're at Hinata's favourite restaurant for lunch rn

And at the very least, you've still got a few people keeping you sane.

"Oh my God, you're that girl Miya Atsumu's dating, right?"

You look up from your phone with a start, nearly dropping it into your cart when you lock eyes with the other shopper in the dry goods aisle. It's a young man, maybe your age, maybe younger. His face is twisted in a look of disdain, and it distinctly reminds you of those two girls in the café a month ago. You grimace at the memory.

"You know, you're so not what everyone pictured," he starts, and your grip on your phone tightens, "cause everyone was expecting a model or an actress or a socialite or something–"

You force yourself not to lower your head, but it becomes increasingly difficult with every word that comes from his mouth.

"–and here you come waltzing in, just a plain-faced 9-to-5 with no connections or notability or life achievements to speak of–"

You're a second away from leaving when he says:

"–and I really don't get why you'd want to get tangled up with Miya Atsumu of all people."

"…Excuse me?"

The man squints at you like you're stupid. He rolls his eyes, and little by little, you feel your anxiety from earlier start to melt away.

Your nostrils flare. The stranger doesn't seem to notice.

"Miya Atsumu is a shallow, vapid playboy, and he walks around like he's hot shit when he's really just dragging his whole team down. You saw the Christmas game, didn't you? Embarrassing. I feel bad for the rest of the team… They have to carry his ass all the time, and he's too busy sleeping around to notic–"

"Shut. Up."

Your voice comes out low and gravelly, something you don't recognize. You're not sure when the grip on your phone became painfully tight, but you're surprised it hasn't shattered yet.

"Excuse me?" he parrots back at you.

"Don't say another word or I promise I will rip your tongue out of your mouth and shove it down your throat."

"What–"

"If you really believe that about Atsumu, you don't know a damn thing about him or his team. Is he a flirt? Yes. Is he annoying as hell? Yes. But he's also there for people when they need him, and he works harder than anyone else I've ever met. You would know that if you bothered to watch any of his games since coll– no, high school. Christmas, really? If you knew what he put himself through in the weeks after that, oh my God… He nearly collapsed, you know? From working so hard, and no one on the team even knew about it! And what? What did you just say? They 'carry his ass all the time'? Say that again! Say it! You are nothing but a short-sighted, judgmental, ignorant piece of–!"

You can't remember caging the guy in against the shelf, but when he ducks beneath your arm and bolts for the exit, you can't say you regret it either.

The sight of his retreating back makes you laugh for the first time in a long while, but the sound of your ringtone quickly steals your attention.

It's… a mutual friend from a while back, someone you haven't spoken to in over a year. One of your ex's coworkers.

Against your better judgement, you pick up.

"Hello?"

"Seriously, you blocked my number? Grow up, (Y/N)!"

You curse. Last time you heard that voice, you were also in a supermarket. Go figure.

"What the hell do you want, asshole?" The words roll off your tongue like it's the most natural thing, and even you're a little surprised.

"You think you can– Did you really just– I'm the one who should be mad right now, for fuck's sake! Why do you have to ruin everything? It's bad enough that you're spineless and clingy and suffocating to be around, but how could you be so careless? If you're dating a celebrity, don't go out in public together, my God!"

You blink. Then blink again. Did he just…?

"Hold on, are you actually worried about me right now?"

"What?!" He screeches so loudly that you have to pull the phone away from your ear. "No, I'm talking about me!"

You roll your eyes. Of course.

"Some of my coworkers recognized me from the video and now I'm the laughingstock of my whole department! And it's all cause you and that meathead paraded yourselves around town without any consideration for how it would affect innocent people! How self-centered can you be, (Y/N)? I hope his fans make your life hell!"

You can hear him panting over the phone once his rant is over, all petty anger and bruised pride that's almost laughable at this point. And maybe it's the victory high still coursing through your veins, or the pent-up frustration that's accumulated over the past month, or the fact that you really, really just don't give a shit anymore.

"…Ha."

"Did you just… laugh?"

You more than laugh. You guffaw, you chuckle, you snort, you wheeze, until the sweet old lady who just turned the aisle immediately turns back, looking at you like you're a total nutcase. Maybe you are, at this point.

"Wow!" you say between giggles, the laughter finally dying down now. "I can't believe I ever, ever cared about what you thought of me. You're just a selfish, sadistic narcissist with no integrity or compassion, and you know what's funny?"

You chuckle to yourself again, but you know that if anyone saw you right now, they'd peg the look in your eyes as absolutely murderous.

"You have this compulsive need to blame everything on other people, because if you actually took responsibility for your actions, you'd see that all the issues in your life stem from you and your shitty personality! The breakup wasn't my fault, I am not 'spineless' or 'clingy' or 'suffocating to be around', and I want nothing to do with you for the rest of my life, asshole!"

You hang up before you can hear any more of his petty excuses.

Ding!

"Oh my God, what is it–"

Kiyoomi❤ , 1:57PM : You want any or not?

You, 1:57PM: omg sorry, get me one to-go!

Kiyoomi❤: Hinata's asking if you want the in-house dumplings too

You: yes pls!!

You smile. The past month has been hell, but there are people in your life who still make it bearable.

"She want dumplings?"

"Yeah."

"Good choice!"

Hinata waves down one of the waitresses as Sakusa stares at his phone longingly, and Atsumu's not sure whether to laugh or gag. But he won't pry.

It's sad enough that whatever was going on between you two has been put on hold now. Atsumu's never asked you directly, but he has a feeling it's his fault.

Everything is, lately.

He reads the forums. And he's seen the screenshots of all the spam and hate messages people sent you during the first three weeks – they're all plastered online now, like it's something to be proud of. He gets his fair share of them too, has for years, but he's used to it.

…You're not.

He calls you often these days, but it's not like you can meet up in person anymore. There are times he wishes he could visit you, just to make sure you're not lying when you tell him that yes, you're fine, you're safe, you're not reading the comments online because you're too busy working on that business proposal for your big promotion, and oh God, if that's ripped away from you because of him, he might just–

"Bathroom. Back in a sec," he mumbles.

He's risen to his feet before anyone can stop him, and he nearly knocks over the waitress carrying your dumplings on his way out. When he finally makes it to the restroom, his phone goes off and he flinches.

Feels like everything's a first with you.

"Hello?"

"It's been a while. How've you been?"

Oh. That's not your voice.

Sweet like honey. Sweet and seductive and addicting, until it's penetrated your lungs and you're drowning in it.

He curses.

"…I thought I blocked you."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What do you want?"

"I heard you've been in the public eye quite a bit recently."

Ha. She would know, wouldn't she?

"Look, if you're callin' just to waste my time, I'm hangin'–"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Atsumu's thumb freezes over the button. Even now, it's laughable how much control she still has over him.

"I heard your… friend? Girlfriend? She's been having a rough time lately, huh? Didn't I tell you public relationships are messy?"

The condescension dripping from her tone makes him growl.

"Get to the point or I'm hanging up."

"Touchy."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," she says, followed by a pause too long for his liking. "Look, I know a way we can get the press off her back. It's fool-proof, 100% guaranteed."

It's his turn to go silent.

"…Don't lie to me."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Oi, Ayako–"

"Don't use that tone with me. I'm trying to help you, for once."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. The frown marring his forehead finally eases up, but the apprehension remains.

"…I know you. You never do anything unless there's somethin' in it for you, so what's the catch?"

"They never saw her face in the video, so all the hype about you two dating is just based on the café photo. Yes or no?"

"…Yes."

"But people are convinced that the press statement's BS and you do, indeed, have a girlfriend. Yes or no?"

"God, stop talking to me like I'm a kid, I…!"

"Yes. Or no?"

"…Yes," he grits out.

"Wonderful. How do you feel about getting back together?"

Chapter Text

Hello everyone, Antifreeze here!! I’m so, so sorry about the delay lately. I appreciate your patience and understanding, and I want to thank you all again for reading, commenting, and supporting this story. It means so much to me, especially as a first-time public author on AO3! Unfortunately, school has been occupying most of my time with projects and exams lately, so chapters may come out quite sporadically from here on out. I want to apologize to everyone who was looking forward to the regular updates, and again, I want to tell you that I am so, so incredibly grateful for all of your love and support!

I want to make it clear that I have every intention of completing this story (we’re so close to the end!), but chapters may come out once every few weeks now. Again, my sincerest apologies, and thank you all for your patience! ☺️❤️

Chapter Text

"(L/N)-san, Mr. Xue is on the phone for you."

"Thanks, Eiko. Xinhua's engineering team is faxing over some documents later today, can you tell me when you get them?"

"Mm-hm, they should be here by noon. I'll run you a copy in time for your meeting with Fujiyama-san."

"Awesome. Did you double-check the raw material costs with Natural Resources?"

"Yes, I emailed the data to Xinhua this morning."

"With the–"

"With the cost of importing directly from Tsuen Wan, yes."

"…This is why you're my favourite." You give her a wink and offer up the mug of lollipops that never leaves your desk. It's already overflowing from when you restocked it this morning, but you've been here too long for people to judge your snacking habits. Eiko picks the pink one sticking out from the centre before returning to her cubicle. Strawberry, nice choice.

You pluck out a cherry as you pick up the receiver and tuck it in the crook of your neck, pulling up Xue Bojin's latest email chain on your computer.

"Hi Mr. Xue, thanks for getting back to me so promptly…"

You listen to him rattle on about the differences between Hong Kong and Japanese labour rights for the next half hour, taking notes on your laptop as the cherry candy slowly melts away on your tongue. There are a few times when you catch Soushi's eye from across the office, but he always looks away immediately as if the two of you are strangers. It stings, it really does, but you know this promotion means as much to him as it does to you, so you try not to take it personally.

"Alright, thanks so much for your insight, Mr. Xue. Yes, you too. May 12^th? That's… this Friday then? Okay, sounds good. Yes, talk soon."

As soon as you hang up the phone, you let out a sigh and slump into your desk chair, empty lollipop stick poking out between your lips like a cigar. You tip your head back to see Hana walking by, and you're so tired that you don't bother stopping her when she ruffles your hair.

"Don't mind Soushi, he's just being an idiot," she says with a sigh. "He's acting weird cause he thinks you guys won't be friends once the competition with Xinhua is over. Can you believe that?"

Huh. No, no you can't.

"That's it? That's all he's scared of? That's stupid Hana, have you tried talking–"

♪ Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri! ♫

♫ Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara! ♪

"(Y/N), you've got to change that ringtone to something that's not an anime OST, at least while we're at work. Preferably something from this decade."

You glare at her from the corner of your eye as she pats you on the shoulder and heads over to Soushi's desk. When you finally see the caller ID, you raise an eyebrow.

Guess there's a first time for everything.

"Osamu? Hey, what's up? You never call."

"Sorry, I know you're at work, it's just... Tsumu came home shitfaced last night and he told me everything that's been happenin' and I feel terrible for not knowing and he's gonna go through with it in a few days and I tried talkin' some sense into him but he's not listenin' and I don't know what to–"

You sit up with a jolt.

"Hey. Hey, it's gonna be okay," you say softly. A thousand scenarios run through your head, each worse than the last, but you will yourself to keep your voice steady.

"Take a deep breath and start from the beginning. I'm not going anywhere."

You hear him inhale and exhale over the phone, long, slow breaths that you try to match. It doesn't do much to calm you, not when there's a very real possibility that Atsumu could be in trouble. The thought makes you gulp.

"Okay," he says after some time. "So he got a call from Ayako two weeks ago…"

You're in no way prepared for what comes next.

Osamu lets you into the house with little fanfare. The two of you share a look of mutual understanding before he gestures to Atsumu's room, nodding slightly. You give him a pat on the shoulder before heading down the hall and pounding on the bedroom door.

The face that greets you is equal parts annoyed and exhausted, but that all melts away when Atsumu sees that it's you.

"603? What are ya doin' here, did anyone follow ya? You've gotta be careful, how many times do I–"

"We need to talk."

Atsumu's eyes go wide for just a fraction of a second before he steels his face back into its usual state of calm.

"…About what?" he says, leaning against the doorframe. You snort.

"You know what."

"Do I?"

"Atsumu, I swear to God…!"

Your voice cracks on that one, like glass on concrete. You can feel tremors taking over every inch of your body, hot and pulsing with rage, stress and fear, and if he pushes you any further, you're not sure what you might do.

Atsumu sighs.

"Hey, look. It's late, it's not a good idea for ya to be seen here, so let's just–"

You snatch his wrist and drag him into his own bedroom before you even realize what you're doing. He's too startled to put up a fight when you shove him onto the mattress, eyes going wide as he takes in the sight of you, all of you, staring him down menacingly. A moment passes in silence, you seething as Atsumu sighs.

"Who told ya?"

"Who do you think?"

"…I'm never tellin' Samu anything ever again," he mutters, and oh, that is so not what you need to hear right now. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath.

"Can you be serious for five minutes? Why the hell would you agree to that?! She's just using you!"

"But it'll work! The press'll be off your back, things'll settle down, and it's only until the end of the summer. I can keep up the act for that long."

"You're crazy if you think I'm gonna let Nakamura Ayako parade you around as her new boy-toy for four months. Are you kidding me?"

"(Y/N), you don't–"

"She had zero consideration for your feelings even while you were dating, she ghosted you for months before dumping you on Christmas, and what? Now that you're making headlines, she wants you back?"

"This isn't about me!"

"I know that!"

"Then why can't you just leave me alone?! I'm doing this for you!"

"I never asked for your help!"

"Right, cause you were doing so well on your own!"

There's a note of malice in his voice that's faint but distinct. An uncomfortable silence fills the room, and even though you're the one standing above him, there's a power imbalance here that feels vastly out of your favour. Normally it would be enough to deter you, and it does for a moment.

…But just a moment.

"You know what? I was. I was doing just fine until Osamu called me up today and told me about your stupid plan! How could you let her manipulate you like that? You haven't changed at all!"

Atsumu's eyes go wide in shock, and then his lip curls into a snarl.

"Then what about you?! Your self-esteem's shot to hell when ya read one mean comment online, how am I s'pposed to believe you're 'fine' when there's literally thousands of 'em pouring in every day? Do ya know how hard it is for me to sleep these days?! I keep blamin' myself for what happened and I can't focus on anything else, goddammit!"

He slams his fist against the wall so hard that you flinch, but it doesn't stop the words spilling from the tip of your tongue.

"And you think this is gonna make things any better? You think I'm gonna be happier knowing you've sold your soul to save the pathetic little snowflake from getting hurt by a few comments on the internet?! This isn't about me, you're just doing this for you!"

"You take that back!"

Atsumu finally rises to his full height to tower over you, and even though the look on his face screams bloody murder, you can't find it in yourself to back down. "I am doing everything I can to help ya, you're just too blind to see it!"

"No! You just don't want this on your conscience!" You jab a finger into his chest as hot rage washes through you all over again. "You didn't think about me at all! Cause if you did, you'd realize this whole stunt would just make me feel worse! It's demeaning, it makes me feel even more useless than I did to start with, and I'm not gonna watch my friend play right into the hands of some psychopath–"

"Well at least I'm doing somethin' about it!" he yells, eyes flashing in a way that's vaguely familiar. "What about you, huh? Why do ya think I had to step in? Maybe if you were actually capable of savin' yourself, I wouldn't have to get involved! You should be grateful!"

"Grateful?! For what?" You're sure your throat will be hoarse tomorrow with how hard you're screaming, but you just can't stop. "I didn't need a hero! And the one I got is a paternalistic egomaniac who thinks he knows what's best for me when he didn't even bother to ask!"

He flinches at that, and for a moment, the wounded look on his face is enough to bring you back to sanity. You reach out for him, but the instant your skin makes contact, he pulls back as if he's been burned.

"…And if I did?" he hisses in a broken, venomous whisper. His eyes flash. "Ya weren't gonna tell me anyways! Ya know how painful it is to hear you lie through your teeth every time I call? How useless that makes me feel?!"

"I wasn't lying!" you shoot back. "I've been managing fine on my own! I'm learning to stand up for myself, I get support from the people around me, I've stopped looking at the comm–"

"You expect me to believe that? When I saw ya go mute last time we ran into your ex? I didn't see ya puttin' up so much of a fight back then, Ms. Independent!"

"People change, Atsumu! Isn't that what you wanted for me anyway? To be able to stand on my own two feet?!"

And with that, he goes quiet. Still seething, still clenching his fists at his sides, but you can see the fire slowly die out of his eyes with every breath he takes.

And now he just looks at you like you're made of glass.

"…You don't think I can handle it, do you?"

There's another beat of silence. It drags on just a little too long, and that's when you know you have your answer.

Atsumu sighs.

"Look, I know what I'm doing, so you can just back off."

His voice sounds so tired. He's so tired.

And so are you.

"…Fine," you whisper. "Then I'm gone."

You shut the bedroom door carefully on your way out, soft enough that it doesn't make a sound. Atsumu waits until your footsteps have disappeared down the hall before collapsing on his bed, and then he buries his face into the pillow like he did when he was a child.

He can't remember the last time his heart felt this heavy.

"...And that's what happened," you say, sipping the last of your ginger tea as you burrow even deeper into the pile of pillows and blankets on Sakusa's couch. You're still amazed he let you bring your old throws into his apartment, but it only made sense considering how much time you've spent here lately.

(Part of you takes some small pride in the fact that he, too, is wrapped up in one of your mom's old afghans. Maybe you'll ask her to knit one for him next Christmas.)

For a moment, Sakusa just studies you without saying a word. The silence drags on for so long that you begin to fidget, but just as you're about to say something, he chimes in.

"So you're really gonna let him go through with it?" he says. Before you can answer, he interrupts you with a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Conference is in two days you said?"

"Friday, yeah," you reply, setting your mug down on the coffee table as you lower your head. "You know, I thought about it, and if Atsumu's really set on ruining his life, who am I to stop him? I already tried. I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do."

Sakusa goes quiet again, and even as you busy yourself organizing the already-pristine sports magazines on the table, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your body.

"…So you're okay to just sit back and watch him make the same mistake he made a year ago."

That gets your attention. You whip your head around to glare at him as the words fall from your tongue.

"That's not fair! I wasn't even there for that!"

"But it's true, isn't it?"

You scowl. "That's not important! And the relationship is fake this time anyway. Atsumu says he knows what he's doing."

"And you believe him?" Sakusa deadpans. You grit your teeth as he continues to stare you down, face completely impassive. It goes on like that for about a minute until your eyes start to sting and you finally crack.

"Of course I don't believe him! But what am I supposed to do? I already tried talking to him, he doesn't want to listen!"

"Because you accused him of being a paternalistic egomaniac."

"It was true!"

"Sure, maybe it was. Atsumu should've talked to you before getting involved, he shouldn't have assumed you couldn't protect yourself, and yeah, he was pretty stupid for taking Nakamura's offer. All valid points."

"See?"

"But he was trying to help you the best way he knew how."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"I didn't say it did."

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying Atsumu cares about you."

He lets that hang in the air for a moment as you seethe silently, unable to think of a response. You think of Atsumu shielding you from the splash at the pool, the way he defended you from your ex at the supermarket, and how he was the first person to call when you were crying beneath the big oak tree at Ueno Park, away from prying eyes.

"He cares enough to make himself miserable for the next four months, or however long Nakamura decides to drag this on for," Sakusa continues. "And Atsumu's been a selfish prick for as long as I've known him, so this is kind of a big deal."

You scoff, but it comes out half-heartedly.

"Oh wow, I'm so lucky."

"I thought I was the sarcastic one."

"You are."

"Could've fooled me," he says, but the petty smirk on his face makes you smile for the first time today. You tousle his dark curls as he continues. "What I'm trying to say is–"

"I know, I know, Atsumu cares about me–"

"As a friend and nothing more, yes," Sakusa clears his throat as you raise an eyebrow, "and he wanted to protect you. But he doesn't know how to do that properly because it didn't come up a lot in the past. Like I said, he was a–"

"Selfish prick–"

"–until he met you, and I guess you must've made a blood oath or something, because all of a sudden he's willing to sacrifice himself to save someone else. I'm not saying what he did was right, but you should at least try to understand why he did it and where he went wrong. That's what friends do, isn't it?"

There's another silence that follows as you process Sakusa's words. Your mind flicks back to the day in January when you and Atsumu had your first real conversation – how angry and vulnerable he was, how much he reminded you of yourself. You think of the chaos at the pool on Valentine's Day, your supermarket shenanigans on Sakusa's birthday, and the countless late-night conversations you've had at Onigiri Miya about breakups, love and life.

…And then you think about all he's done to help you the past few weeks.

"It kills me that someone could make ya feel so worthless when I consider you one of the best people in my life. I'm sorry this happened. It's my fault, I take full responsibility. And I just want you to know that I'm here for you."

You sigh. When you meet Sakusa's eyes again, he looks at you knowingly, as if he can see every intimate thought and feeling running through your mind.

"…When did your interpersonal skills become so good?" you mutter.

"After you tripped into my life and body-slammed me into the world of human relationships."

You smile. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

On instinct, you reach over to take Sakusa's hand in yours, calloused and warm and grounded. He looks down at where your fingers are intertwined, and then he smiles at the sight.

For a moment, you both enjoy the quiet. And then he breaks the silence.

"I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do," Sakusa murmurs as he runs a thumb over the back of your hand, "but I've known Atsumu for a long time, and I just want you to understand the whole situation."

You hum thoughtfully. "I know. Thank you."

Before you can lose the nerve, you scooch a little closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. Sakusa goes stiff beneath you, and for a moment, you're afraid you've made a terrible mistake.

But then his body relaxes, his grip on your hand tightens, and he tilts his head so that it's resting atop yours.

"Hey (Y/N)," he whispers, "Osamu may or may not have called me and spilled everything just before you got home."

You snort. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I knew I needed to hear the full version from you."

"Right."

"And aren't you glad I gave you such great advice?"

"I am."

"So what will you do now?"

You sigh, closing your eyes as you bury your face into his chest. Sakusa continues to run his thumb over the back of your hand as you ponder the question.

"…The press conference is in two days," you say.

"Mm-hm."

"Atsumu's gonna go through with it because he's too stupid not to."

"Yes."

"And if he goes through with it, his life is gonna be hell for the next four months."

"Maybe longer."

"So I guess we'll have to crash the press conference."

Sakusa glances down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"…You're a little crazy, you know that?"

"I know."

"But I'm proud of you."

He drops a kiss on your forehead, and the overwhelming affection in his eyes makes your heart beat a little faster.

The morning after your talk with Sakusa, you call up Osamu and tell him you're on board. The teary chorus of thank-you's on the tip of his tongue is a little unexpected – especially coming from someone you previously assumed had the emotional range of a rock – but by God does it make you feel bad for not agreeing to help earlier.

When you get home from work that day, Osamu calls you back and gives you a rundown of the press conference: it'll be at 10AM at the Fuji Broadcasting Center in Koto, Ayako will claim to be the woman in the supermarket video, and she and Atsumu will tell the press they've been dating for the past year.

"I'm never tellin' Samu anything ever again."

The memory of Atsumu's voice rings loud and clear as you finish taking notes on your laptop. Your fingers freeze.

"Wait, how do you even know all this?" you ask warily. The silence on the other end of the phone isn't reassuring.

"Not that it's relevant," Osamu replies, "but when ya know someone your whole life, it becomes very easy to hack into their personal accounts."

"…Remind me to never get close with you."

"Noted." You hear him chuckle through the phone, but it does little to ease your mind. "Meet me at the TV station at 9:30AM tomorrow, and bring your phone. Ya got the chat logs saved from Sakusa's birthday, right? The supermarket video was time-stamped on March 20^th, so we can prove it was you and not Ayako."

"Okay, but is that enough? Shouldn't I have witnesses or something?"

You hear him sigh through the phone. "It'll have to be one of the guys who was with ya that day, so we got Ushijima, Komori, Hinata or Bokuto."

"What about Kiyoomi?"

"I don't think he counts," Osamu says, and you deflate just a little. "He was only with ya for the evening. But hey, if ya want, you can bring him along for moral support."

You perk up a bit at that, but it doesn't last long.

Because as soon as you run through Osamu's list of names in your head, you realize half your prospects are already out.

"Wait, Kiyoomi told me Komori's out of town this week to visit his girlfriend's parents. And all of the Adlers–"

"Are in Brazil this weekend cause of the training camp, damn…" Osamu mutters. "But that just leaves–"

"Bokuto and Hinata."

There's a long, uncomfortable pause.

"…Well, shit."

"Hey, have a little faith!"

Osamu curses again, then lets out a deep sigh. "Okay, it's fine, it's fine – they're our only options, so I guess we'll have to make it work. Tell 'em 9:30 tomorrow morning, yeah?"

"Mm-hm, got it," you say, pulling out your phone to draft a text. As soon as you open the app, though, you find your thumbs stuck hovering over the keyboard. Maybe it's the fact that you have to cram all this information into one coherent message, but it's only now that the full weight of the situation really hits you.

"We're… really doing this, huh?" you murmur.

Osamu chuckles again through the phone, and you decide it's a nice sound, comforting. It reminds you of his brother.

…And then your heart sinks as you remember your last conversation with Atsumu, but you quickly shake your head to banish the memory. There's no time for that now.

"I s'ppose it's too late to back out at this point," Osamu says only half-jokingly. "Try to get some sleep tonight. And thanks again, means a lot."

"You don't have to thank me. Atsumu's always there for me when I need him, I should return the favour."

You and Osamu exchange a brief goodnight, but despite his advice, you toss and turn for hours afterwards.

"He told me everything that's been happenin' and I feel terrible for not knowing and he's gonna go through with it in a few days…"

"Your self-esteem's shot to hell when ya read one mean comment online, how am I s'pposed to believe you're 'fine' when there's literally thousands of 'em pouring in every day?"

"I'm saying Atsumu cares about you… enough to make himself miserable for the next four months, or however long Nakamura decides to drag this on for."

Atsumu cares about you.

"603's my therapist!"

"Oi, 603, ya listenin'?"

"Whatcha got there, 603?"

He cares about you, and you care about him. And maybe that's all that matters.

You drift off eventually, and when you do, his face is the last you see.

The next morning, you and Sakusa have the good sense to leave early enough to beat the morning rush hour. Hinata and Bokuto, on the other hand, aren't so lucky.

"What's the hold-up? I thought they were taking the subway," Sakusa comments as he changes lanes. You're about ten minutes away from the Fuji Broadcasting Center, but you already feel like you could vomit from the stress.

"Bokuto? Bokuto what?!" you yell into the phone. "He's lost in the– Bokuto! You and Hinata were supposed to stay together, what do you mean you lost him in the crowd?"

"I know, I know! But there were so many people and– Well, we were standing up cause all the seats were taken, and then more people came through the doors, and Shoyo's just a little guy, so he got shoved around a bit and by the time the gates closed, it was like BAM! Gone!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you inhale and exhale enough air to fill an oxygen tank.

"Bokuto, just stop," you groan. "Okay, you know what? I'm hanging up now, I'll just call Hinata myself."

Bokuto rattles off another string of apologies before the tone drops. From where he sits next to you, Sakusa pats you on the shoulder, a look of grim understanding in his eyes. You give him a weak smile before dialling up the sunshine child.

Luckily, he picks up on the first ring.

"(L/N)-san? I'm so sorry, I think I'm lost!"

"It's okay, Hinata. Are you still on the subway?"

"No." You curse. "Someone shoved me through the doors at the last stop and now I'm just waiting on the platform."

The image of sweet little Hinata being mercilessly shoved out of a subway car tugs at your heartstrings, it really does. You sigh.

"Okay love, do you know where you are?"

Sakusa frowns at the nickname, but you ignore it.

"Not really… I haven't been on the subway much since I moved to Tokyo. Usually I get a ride with my neighbour."

"Of course you do," you mutter. "Okay, Hinata, listen to me. Which station are you at right now?"

"Uh, there's a map here that says Ginza– wait no, not that one."

"Hinata, it should be the big yellow–"

"Shibuya– wait, that doesn't make sense, we passed that already."

"Hinata, we really don't have time for this, it's the yellow–"

"Toire– oh no, that’s just the bathroom! Silly me."

"Hinata! Will you please listen to me? It's the big yellow sign above the gate, just tell me where you are and I can give you the directions!"

The car begins to swerve a little, but you're too distracted by Hinata's incoherent rambling to really notice.

"Yes, yes that's good, just follow them. I'm breaking up? IS THIS ANY BETTER?" you yell, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Sakusa flinch. "Wait, what?! You're heading towards Ebisu? Hinata! I said that's the wrong direction, what are you– No! Okay look, just head to the– Tozai line? Yes, Tozai line is good! Okay, okay just follow that couple then, everything's gonna be okay! Wait, what?! You left your subway ticket with Bokuto? Oh Lord, just end me…"

Despite your rapidly fading sanity, you manage to give Hinata instructions on how to buy a new subway ticket, and after another round of apologies, he hangs up the phone. You, on the other hand, are left to pray that Bokuto – by some goddamn miracle – will still arrive at the venue in time.

"Sorry about that, Kiyoomi," you sigh, a headache already coming on. "I'll try to keep it down for you. I know it's hard to focus on the road when I'm yelling through the phone."

"It's alright," he replies. "See? Fuji Station's right up there anyways. We're fine."

Sakusa gives you a little smile, and for the first time today, you feel yourself relax.

"You're right." You lean back into your seat with a content sigh. "Everything's gonna be– Oh my God, Bokuto just got off the subway to look for Hinata."

You jolt up in your seat immediately and reread the message to make sure it's not your pessimistic subconscious playing tricks on you.

It's not, unfortunately. And Bokuto's about to find that out the hard way.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up so I can terminate you out of exist– Hello? Bokuto, I swear to God…!"

Meanwhile, Sakusa finally pulls into the parking lot. You're too absorbed in your tirade to notice the way he flinches, just a little, as your voice gets louder.

"Listen, I need at least one of you here to vouch for me. Sakusa doesn't count, we've been over this already!"

And louder.

"Bokuto, the conference is starting in half an hour! Atsumu's counting on us! Now get your ass back on the train now! I'm breaking up?!"

And louder.

"BOKUTO, CAN YOU HEAR ME? BOKUTO, I SAID GET BACK ON THE TRAIN RIGHT NOW, OR SO HELP ME–"

Bang!

"…I'll call you back."

Guilt eats you from the inside out as you watch Sakusa apologize again and again to the clearly sleep-deprived, markedly pissed middle-aged man he just rear-ended.

"I am so, so sorry," he says again, bowing so deeply that his black curls swing with the movement. "I'll do anything to make it up to you, but we need to deal with a very urgent matter right now, so if we could resolve this later–"

"Yeah, so you can drive off and leave me to clean up the mess! I wasn't born yesterday, kid, I'm not going anywhere!"

The man puts both hands on his hips as he eyes Sakusa up and down with a scowl. It quickly melts away, though, when he takes a closer look at the Lexus. He smirks.

"…You must be pretty rich, huh?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Ow, my neck!"

Out of absolutely nowhere, the man clutches the back of his neck and stumbles over to his battered car, leaning against it for support. You're too startled to even roll your eyes, and when you glance over at Sakusa, you can see his expression matches your own.

"That's not… I-I just…" he stammers. "You can't just–"

"I'm suing!" the man shouts. "For the damage to my car and for the physical and mental trauma!"

"Physical and mental– You were fine, like, five minutes ago!" you yell, looking frantically between him and Sakusa. You sigh.

"Look, it was my fault for distracting him, but we've got a friend in there that needs our help, so could you please just exchange insurance infor–"

"I'm not letting this budge!" the man pipes in, grasping his left shin (What? When?) tenderly.

Sakusa – apparently recovered from his state of shock – just shakes his head and sighs. But then he glances at his watch, and his eyes go wide again.

"(Y/N), it's already 9:40!"

"What?!"

"I'll handle this, just take the stuff and go!"

"But I–"

"Go!"

You glance between Sakusa and the TV station warily, then nod your head and crack open the car door to pull your duffel bag from the backseat. With one last hug (and some bitter comments from the fraud you rear-ended), you make a run for the front doors.

The inside of the Fuji Broadcasting Center is an absolute maze, but luckily, you had the foresight to print off a map and stuff it in your duffel bag the night before. You also packed a wig, thick glasses, your old camera, and a Japan Volleyball Association badge that Bokuto "borrowed" from an intern under Kuroo Tetsurou – the man, the myth, the legend.

It was Osamu who pointed out that most of the reporters at this conference would've done their homework on Atsumu's new dating scandal, including who you are and what you look like. As you slip into the nearest bathroom stall and put on your disguise, you start to think that the effort wasn't worth it, especially not the JVA badge. Bokuto promised he obtained it with Kuroo's permission, but you're ninety-nine percent sure this crosses the line into identity fraud, and if The Office taught you anything, it was that–

"Identity theft is not a joke, Jim," you mutter.

"Did you hear that?" a voice pipes in, causing you to freeze. Careful not to make a sound, you chance a peek through the crack in the stall door to see two reporters fixing their makeup by the vanity.

"Hm? No, I didn't hear anything," the second one replies. "But hey, did you see those guys from Entertainment Weekly? I thought this was a sports gig, what're they doing here?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? Latest gossip is that Nakamura Ayako's coming today."

"Oh my God, no way!"

"Right?"

"That's who he's dating?"

You don't notice the sleeve of your blazer has caught on the stall's lock until you lean too far into the door, accidentally unhinge the latch, and come stumbling out like the klutz you are.

"Oh my– Are you okay?!" the first woman asks, a look of genuine concern on her face.

"Just fine, doing fine." You wave your hand dismissively, hoping that the messy wig and glasses obscure most of your face.

"Oh okay, just be– Oh my God, you're from JVA! Hi there!"

…And hey, maybe the badge was a good idea after all.

Once you introduce yourself as a fellow sports reporter – and a struggling intern at that – the women become a lot friendlier. They tell you their names (which you're too nervous to remember) and assure you that you'll do just fine – after all, it says on your badge that Kuroo Tetsurou's your boss, and what's not to love?

"He's so gorgeous, I bet every day in the office is like going to a modelling shoot!"

"Fumiko, stop it! He's not just gorgeous, he's also intelligent and shrewd and ambitious and articulate, and ugh, the charisma! You're so lucky, Sakura-chan!"

They sing his praises in the bathroom, the corridors, and on the entire elevator ride to the pressroom, but you welcome the distraction. Your palms have been feeling sweaty ever since you stepped foot into the building, and with the conference drawing nearer, you can't stop your heart from racing.

"Oh, but I thought the JVA already sent someone?" the first woman – Fumiko? – asks as you step foot into the pressroom. You gulp. You knew things were going too smoothly.

"Oh my God, was it Kuroo?!" the second woman chimes in, grabbing onto your arm. "Are you here together? Can you introduce us?"

"No, no, no," the first one says, and you're not sure whether that's good or bad. "It's that notorious hard-ass, Kagura–"

"Hey, punk! I'd spot that badge a mile away – this is my turf! Trying to steal this job from right under me?! Well, it's not gonna happen!"

Bad. Definitely bad.

You stand in shell-shocked horror as some old, balding man storms over to you, carrying with him the smell of cigarettes and dandruff shampoo.

"Who are you?! Are they trying to replace me already?" He snarls, looking you up and down with a scrutinizing squint. "Look here, lady, I am Kagurazaka Seishiro. I've been with the JVA for forty years, I'm a breakroom legend! I bet Kuroo sent you, that cocky little bastard…"

He glances at your badge then snatches it up in his hand to get a closer look, yanking you forward in the process.

"Kagurazaka-san, play nice!" Fumiko scolds, giving you a comforting pat on the back. "She's just an intern, you really shouldn't–"

"Ha, I knew it was him!" Kagurazaka cackles. "Inoue Sakura? You tell your boss I've got this covered. Tryna steal the sports scandal of the year from right under me… See, this is the problem with young people! You think everyone over the age of 60 is some senile old fart and you can just walk all over them and steal their jobs, well I'll have you know–"

"Heyyy, thanks for comin' everyone! I'm Atsumu's brother, I'm just here to make sure everyone's doin' alright."

You don't think you've ever looked at someone with as much adoration as you do Osamu in this moment. Luckily, no one seems to notice.

"Oh, so you're the twin brother!" Fumiko says, clapping her hands together. "We're alright for now, thanks for–"

"Great, great, cool. Can I borrow, um…" Osamu squints at the name on your ID badge. "Inoue-san? Inoue-san! Yep, that's right. Need to borrow ya for just a second, I think there's an issue–"

"There's an issue alright! An issue with JVA sending two reporters to cover what's clearly a one-man job!"

"…Right," Osamu says slowly, giving Kagurazaka's seething figure a brief once-over. "Okay, well, I'll just steal her away for a little bit, uh… Please take a seat, we'll be startin' shortly. Thanks for comin', everyone."

You say a quick goodbye to your two new friends, pretend not to hear Kagurazaka's scathing remarks about the JVA hierarchy, and let Osamu usher you backstage as you let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for saving my ass back there."

"Course, can't do this without the star of the show," he says with a wry smile. As he scans the two monitors behind you – one that shows the pressroom audience, and another that shows the stage-view – he frowns.

"Where's everyone else?" Osamu asks, brows knit together in concern. He edges past you to get a closer look at the screen, but you know it's pointless.

You sigh.

"Hinata got lost on the subway, Bokuto took off to look for him, Sakusa rear-ended someone in the parking lot and the guy's threatening to sue. I don't know when they'll be here."

Osamu whips his head around.

"What the fu–"

"I know," you say, raising a hand to stop him. "I know."

Osamu sighs, running a hand through his hair as he closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. You feel sorry for the guy, you really do, but you've already come to terms with the inevitable – it's not like things could get any worse. Instead of worrying, you open your phone to check the time.

"Ya know what?" Osamu says, shaking his head. "It's fine, it's gonna be fine because you're here and– Wait, why do ya look like that? What's the problem?"

Your eyes go wide.

Eiko, 15 new messages, 12 missed calls

"Oh my God, this day just got worse."

"He what?! Right now?!"

"I… I made sure to call Mr. Xue about the new meeting time two days ago, but he was out of the office so one of his subordinates picked up, and I… I guess they didn't pass the message along! I'm so sorry (L/N)-san, it's my fault, it's all my fault! I should've followed up with them, this is totally–"

"Eiko, please stop apologizing, you did the best you could." You sigh, pacing back and forth as Osamu looks at you warily. "Xue's gonna lose his mind if I do this, but… can we still reschedule?"

Eiko sighs too, and you know that's not a good sign.

"I don't think so. He's flying out tonight for a business trip that lasts till the end of the month, and his secretary told me he won't take any calls outside the project unless they're from Xinhua. It's… it's kinda now or never, because your proposal's due before he gets back, right?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, hand tightening around your phone so much it's a miracle it hasn't broken yet.

"I swear to God… We were supposed to hammer out the last details for the workers' rights contracts today, this is–"

"Hello? (Y/N), you there?"

"–a disaster and I… Wait, Soushi?!"

You immediately freeze in your tracks, so stunned by the voice on the other end of the phone that you almost forget what you were talking about in the first place.

…Almost.

"Soushi, give the phone back to Eiko, this is serious!"

"I know, you've got a meeting with Xue Bojin in five minutes that you can't reschedule, you also can't come into the office today, and everything's a mess, right?"

"Thanks for that very helpful summary, Soushi, now if you could please–"

"I… I can cover for you. Just this once."

You're stunned silent.

"I know this is supposed to be a competition… but you've been going through a lot these past few weeks, and I know the conference is today, and it's not fair if I win just because you missed this one phone call, so… I mean…"

He trails off, but it's enough for you to get misty-eyed.

"…You would really do that for me?"

"Of course. We've been friends for six years now."

"…I thought that was void now. Because of the competition."

You hear him sigh through the phone.

"…It's not. I'm… really sorry about that. I was just being stupid."

"Yes, you were."

"Five minutes to showtime!" a voice calls from somewhere backstage, bringing you back to reality.

"Thanks so much Soushi, I promise to pay you back at some point! I got to go now, you're the best!"

"Good luck! I know you're gonna do great!"

You hang up the phone and look around for Osamu, who's apparently taken over your duties of pacing back and forth in front of the monitors.

"They're not coming, it's two minutes to showtime and there's absolutely no sign of 'em," he mutters under his breath. But then he stops in his tracks, sighs, and turns to you.

"But ya know what? It's fine, 'cause at least you're here, and you're gonna do great."

You give him a small smile and join him by the monitors, watching as a nerdy-looking guy in a purple bowtie walks out onto the stage and towards the podium.

"Hello everyone, thank you for coming here today," he starts, voice a nasal drawl. "My name is Watanabe Junpei, and I am the official Director of Public Affairs for the MSBY Black Jackals."

"Oh, he's the PR guy that Atsumu hates."

"Mm-hm, he says Watanabe smells like prunes," Osamu comments.

"As many of you know, we have called this press conference to clarify the rumours surrounding Miya Atsumu and his current relationship status. At this time, I would like to call Miya Atsumu and Nakamura Ayako to the stage."

You watch in a mixture of awe and horror as Atsumu and Ayako emerge onto the screen, a blinding barrage of camera flashes lying in their wake. They take their seats at a table located centrestage, Atsumu pulling out Ayako's chair for her as a million hands go flying up from the audience.

"Please save all questions till the end," Watanabe drones, raising his own hand to settle the crowd. "Miya-san and Nakamura-san will now give an official statement concerning the nature of their relationship."

Silence washes over the pressroom as every reporter leans in a tiny bit closer, pens and cameras at the ready. Even viewing the scene through a monitor, you can feel the tension in the air.

Atsumu's face, on the other hand, is stone-cold and sullen.

You've never seen him like this before – not when he was dumped, not when he was defending you from your ex, not even when you fought with him viciously a few nights ago.

…It's like every human emotion has been sucked out of him.

"Good morning. I sincerely thank you all for bein' here today," he starts, every word stiff and stagnant. "I apologize for all the confusion that's been circulatin' in the media the past few weeks. The truth is… the press statement previously released by MSBY was false."

Whispered murmurs wash through the conference room, Watanabe chiming in again to settle everyone down. You can't tear your eyes off Atsumu as he continues.

"The woman in the viral video is my girlfriend, and that woman…"

He takes a deep, deep breath. You don't know when your heart started pounding, but you can feel it in your chest, hear it in your ears, and now your hands are shaking uncontrollably and they just won't stop.

"…That woman was Nakamura Ayako. We've been dating for the past year."

A chorus of gasps echoes through the audience, the obnoxious clicking of camera shutters filling the space as your head spins. Your knees give way as you cling to the wall for support, and you have to consciously tell yourself to breathe because your lungs won't do it for you.

"Yes, that's correct," Ayako chimes in. It's the first time you've heard her voice in person, but it’s exactly what you were expecting – smooth, sophisticated, captivating. "Atsu and I apologize for the secrecy, but in the interest of both our careers, we had thought it best to keep the relationship private. However, in light of recent… events, we've decided to finally come clean. We are both very much in love and hope to continue our relationship in the long term."

Atsumu whips his head around to look at her, eyes wide.

"Wait, long term–"

"Miya-san and Nakamura-san will now be accepting questions," Watanabe interrupts. From the audience monitor, you watch as a sea of hands go up, bright camera lights flashing from every corner of the room.

"Kamiya Ichiro, Entertainment Weekly! Nakamura-san, how did you and Miya-san first meet?"

"(L/N)-san, it's time," Osamu says, but his voice is a distant echo. Your eyes are glued to the screen, hanging on Ayako's every word.

"Ah, it was last year at the V. League banquet! He was the sweetest little thing and–"

"(L/N)-san?"

"–even back then, I think he knew he was in love with me–

"(L/N), can you hear me?"

"–but really, we didn't become official until–"

"(L/N)! You have to get out there!" Osamu grabs both your shoulders so you're forced to look him in the face, and this time, his words finally register.

…But oh God, you can't stop shaking.

"I… I-I know, but…" you stutter, heart racing, "but how? The guys aren't here, I've basically committed identity theft, my hands won't stop shaking– Oh my God, what do I do if no one believes me? What if they label me as Atsumu's psycho ex-girlfriend and I lose all credibility? Security's gonna throw me out before I can say what I need to, and if they manage to leave me alone, I might still choke up and make everything wor–"

"Will ya snap out of it?!" Osamu shouts, and you flinch. "Stop worryin' about things that haven't happened yet and go save my idiot brother!"

For the first time, you take a good look at him – at the fear and desperation in his eyes, the slight quiver in his lip, the way his breaths come out in shallow, nervous pants, just like your own... but despite all that, he's still here, still standing.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?!" he continues, eyes never leaving yours. "Ya went on and on about how you're self-sufficient and didn't need his help, so get out there and prove it!"

For a moment you just stand there, stunned silent – but the next, you give him a reckless, nervous smile, nod your head vigorously, and strip off the disguise, thrusting the itchy wig and glasses into his outstretched arms. You make a beeline for the sound booth, praying that one of the interns is sleep-deprived and naïve enough to fall for another of your harebrained schemes.

"You're gonna do great," Osamu whispers, but you're too far gone to hear.

"Hey there!" you pant, still catching your breath as a college-aged, scruffy-looking intern looks you up and down warily. You flash your stolen badge, subtly covering the ID photo with your fingers. "I'm with the JVA, uh… Kagurazaka's demanding we get an extra mic for the, um, sports reporters… You know how he is, right?"

"Kagurazaka? Tsuruga-san, do you know a Kagurazaka?" The intern turns to his much older, equally scruffy superior, who immediately looks up from the complicated knobs and dials on his soundboard in horror.

"Kagurazaka?! As in, Kagurazaka Seishiro? That devil in a toupee and three-piece suit?"

You raise an eyebrow. Seems Kagurazaka's reputation precedes him.

"That… that sounds exactly like him, yes," you reply, and the man gasps.

"Give him whatever he wants – take it, just take it!" he says, raising his hands in surrender before returning to the soundboard. His intern looks mildly perturbed, but then he turns back to you and shrugs. He disappears into the storage closet for a minute, then emerges with a shiny black microphone.

"Here's a handheld. I'll hook it up to the system in a sec, but you can mute it manually until someone starts talking."

"Thank you so much! Keep it up, kid, the interning life is tough but you'll get through it soon!"

You clap him on the back before scurrying off, dodging other members of the production crew as you race towards the main stage. With all the bodies pressed so close together, it's a little reminiscent of the fire alarm scare last year – the only difference this time is that you feel like the villain.

"Hey, watch it!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Ow! You elbowed me!"

"Please excuse me!"

"What the hell are you doing?! Press aren't allowed back here!"

"My apologies, I'm so sorry!"

It goes on like that for a while, step after careless misstep as you bump into dozens of people under the dim lighting. However, as soon as the velvet curtains of the mainstage come into view, a burst of adrenaline shoots through you. You feel your legs pound against the ground like you're running a marathon, and before you can even realize what you're doing, you've yanked the curtains open, the cool air hits your face, and wow, those spotlights are blinding.

"Miya-san, can you please clarify your relationship with (L/N)–  Oh my God, it's her!"

What feels like a thousand pairs of eyes suddenly fall to you, and not for the first time today, it becomes hard to breathe. Your palms are sweating so much you fear you'll drop your mic, and your heart is pounding so loudly you're sure the entire front row of reporters can hear it.

"What the– This was not on the itinerary…" Watanabe mutters as he frantically flips through the stack of documents on the podium. From where she sits six feet away, Ayako looks at you in complete shock, but her expression quickly morphs into one of disgust. You gulp.

"Um… hello? I, uh… I'm (L/N) (Y/N)," you say in a tight, timid voice.

Whatever shock or hesitance that silenced the reporters when you first came out has since disappeared, it seems. As everyone clicks back into the present, the questions come pouring in faster than you can comprehend.

"(L/N)-san, what's your relationship with Miya Atsumu?"

"Can you confirm or deny Nakamura Ayako's claims?"

"(L/N)-san, no one heard that you were coming today: have you just crashed the press conference? What were your motivations for doing so?"

You gulp. As you look out at the sea of reporters, you feel your whole body start to shake. The blinding lights, the incessant clicking of the camera shutters, and the constant calls of your name already have you feeling dizzy on your feet. Part of you is ready to leave all this behind, make a break for it, and pretend today never happened.

…But once you lock eyes with Atsumu, and see the surprise and fear and near-tears in his eyes, you know your mind is made up.

You take a deep breath.

"Please save all questions till the end of the conference. I'm here to, uh… give a statement of my own. I'd like to start by saying–"

"Security!" Watanabe calls. Your heart nearly stops. Two burly guards suddenly come bounding over from the nearest corner of the room, and as they approach the stage, you start wishing this was all a bad dream.

"Watanabe, drop it," Atsumu grits out, voice low and gravelly. He at least has the good sense to cover his mic, but with how close you're standing, you can still make out his every word. "Leave her alone or I'm tellin' management that you butt-dialled Schweiden's PR rep and leaked our draft picks for next season."

Watanabe looks startled for a moment, glancing frantically between you, Atsumu, and the rapidly approaching guards. Finally, he bites his lip, curses, and with a dismissive wave of his hands, the guards stop in their tracks and return to their post.

You let out a sigh of relief, but it doesn't last long. Once again, everyone's eyes fall to you as the room goes silent – a lone camera shutter here and there, but not much else. Somehow, the quiet feels even more daunting than the raging chaos from before.

You swallow. With trembling hands, you bring the mic back up to your lips.

"Hi, everyone. My name is (L/N) (Y/N) and I'm here today to stop my friend, Miya Atsumu, from… doing something he'll regret. Because he needs to remember that, as much as he cares about other people, those people care about him too."

You give Atsumu a small, sad smile. There are a million emotions in his eyes, but the little lopsided grin he gives you in return is enough for you to press on.

"Miya Atsumu and Nakamura Ayako are not dating. On March 20^th, he spent the day with me, Bokuto Kotaro, Hinata Shoyo, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Motoya Komori, and Sakusa Kiyoomi. From 3:30 to 5PM, Atsumu and I were at AEON Supermarket in Shibuya buying ingredients for Kiyo– Sakusa's birthday dinner. In fact, the whole day was spent preparing for Sakusa's surprise birthday party. I have the texts to prove it."

There's hushed murmuring amongst the crowd as you approach the podium, pass your phone to a very ticked-off Watanabe, and ask him to link it to the projector screen above the stage. He mutters something about disrespect and recklessness as he connects the devices.

Not a moment later, the images appear for all to see.

Omi omi's very elite and super cool party-planning committee: March 20^th, 20XX

☼ Sunshine Child Hinata ☼ , 9:16AM: yes i think the show runs for 2h, Omi-san and I should get back before 5:30. that's enough time right?

Komori, 9:17AM: Yeah, sounds good. I've got a spare key to the apartment, just make sure he's gone by the time we get there. Ushijima bought all these balloons u guys! :)

You, 9:19AM: Aww, that's so cute! Tsumu, we're on for 3:30 right?

Tsumu ☺ , 9:20AM: yeah, I'll pick u up. AEON right?

You, 9:20AM: Yeah, I asked Kiyoomi for his membership card this morning. Ok but… r u sure you're qualified to be on the supermarket team? I thought all the cooking genes went to Osamu

Tsumu ☺ , 9:21AM: WE'RE MAKING OKONOMIYAKI. IM FROM OSAKA IF U FORGOT ALREADY U FAKE FRIEND

You, 9:22AM: …ok ok, don't get all huffy Tsumu

Bokuto, 9:23AM: …I see we're all just ignoring the code names now T_T

"While we were at the supermarket, a passer-by took a video of the two of us that has since gone viral online," you continue. There's a few gasps from the audience, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

"Yes, the woman in the video is me, but Atsumu and I aren't really dating. He was just defending me from my– a man at the supermarket. However, once rumours spread that we were in a relationship, my personal and professional life became a little… inconvenient. You know, obviously not a serious cause for concern, but some people just don't–"

Atsumu looks at you with the most deadpan expression you've ever seen, and it's enough for you to cut yourself off with a cough.

"…Anyway, he felt very guilty about the misunderstanding, and since no one believed MSBY when they said Atsumu was still single, he tried to cover for me by fabricating a relationship with Nakamura Ayako."

Shouts and gasps echo around the room, but if Watanabe's good for something, it's silencing a room full of gossip-hungry reporters. You give him a smile which he doesn't return.

"I'll say it again," you repeat, standing tall now, "Miya Atsumu and Nakamura Ayako are not dating. Atsumu was just trying to be a good friend to me, and while I appreciate it, I knew I had to tell the truth. Because I care about him. And I don't want him to live a lie."

You meet Atsumu's eyes again, and this time, he finally looks like his old self. The smile he gives you is genuine, grateful, maybe slightly disbelieving – but it's him, and that's all that matters.

You return your gaze to the sea of wide-eyed reporters in front of you, scratching the back of your neck self-consciously.

"Um… I guess I can take questions now?"

Almost everyone's hand shoots up, but to your horror, so does Ayako's.

"I've got one," she drawls, scanning you from head to toe like you're an object on display. "You said I agreed to a fake relationship with Atsumu so we could help you out… but why would I go to all that trouble for a stranger? You and I don't even know each other."

A hush takes over the crowd as they throw skeptical looks your way, scribbling furiously in their notebooks to pen her every word. You gulp. You had a feeling this would happen.

"I don't think I can… That's not–"

"It was for the publicity."

All eyes turn to Atsumu, including yours. He looks to the press, then to Ayako, until his gaze finally stops on you. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Ayako called me up last week and we made a deal: we'd fake a relationship till the end of the summer so I could help my friend and she could get some publicity for her new movie." He pauses to look out at the crowd.

"Everything (Y/N) said is true."

A new chorus of gasps rings out from every corner of the room. Your jaw is still on the floor, the camera shutters won't stop, and there's a million questions being thrown around that you can't be bothered to listen to.

They all lead to the same thing anyway.

"Nakamura-san, what do you have to say about this?"

You've known Nakamura Ayako for all of five minutes, but something tells you that this is the most flustered she's ever been in her career. You've seen the movies, the modelling shoots, the red carpet events: she's the epitome of grace, of elegance, but in this moment, she just seems like–

"A mess," you whisper.

"I… Atsumu and I are really dating!" Ayako insists, looking back and forth frantically. "He obviously doesn't want to embarrass this deranged, obsessive friend-turned-stalker, that's why he's denying our relationship! I have proof!"

She pulls out her phone from where it's buried in the depths of her Armani bag. You already know what she's looking for – the old chat logs from last year when Atsumu was still head-over-heels for her.

"Just look at these texts! July 25^th: I dreamt of u last night… love u so much baby. August 4^th: I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love u… u feel the same way right? October 14^th: Babe, just got home from Belgium, missed u so much. November 16^th: Are u busy? I called u 14 times last week and u never called back… love you Ayako. Clearly this proves we're dating!"

By the time she's finished, she's regained some of her old confidence back, but you can tell from the way her pupils shake that she knows she's not quite in the clear.

"Is it true then?" a voice whispers from the crowd.

"Who's lying?"

"If they were really dating, why would Miya deny the relationship just to defend a stalker? Doesn't make sense…"

"But the texts…"

"Miya-san!" someone finally calls out over the hubbub. "What can you tell us about your relationship with Nakamura Ayako? How do you explain the text messages if the two of you aren't romantically involved?"

You look over at Atsumu as he buries his face into his hands and sighs. A moment passes in silence as you recall the broken pride, the many tears, the raw insecurities she exposed throughout the relationship, yes, but also when it ended. You almost think he won't go through with it when–

"Ya know, it's about time I got a chance to say somethin'," Atsumu says, rolling his eyes with a very obvious lack of conviction. The tension in his jaw makes you slightly uneasy, but you will yourself to stay calm.

"Ayako and I," he interrupts himself with a sigh, "dated last year from May to December. Well, no, it was more like May to October."

He rubs the back of his neck as his eyes glue themselves to the floor. "She ghosted me the last two months and made the breakup official on Christmas Eve. I have the texts to prove it – that seems to be the runnin' theme today, huh? But it's true, they're right here."

He fishes out his phone from his pocket and scrolls to find the text that's haunted him for months. He takes a deep breath before reading it aloud.

"From Ayako, 7:32AM on December 24^th: it's over. i'm sorry."

Atsumu goes quiet for a moment as murmurs fill the crowd, but then he claps his hands together with a smile. "So there ya have it! Ayako's my ex, (Y/N)'s one of my best friends, I'm not dating either of them, and Ayako and I tried to fake a relationship to help the people we care about most: for me it was my friend, for her it was herself. That's your article, folks – you're welcome."

As you scan the many faces of the crowd, you're not surprised at what you find – anger, shock, delight, a good dash of pity. But in this moment, all you feel for Atsumu is pride. For being brave, for being selfless, for freeing himself of a fame-hungry narcissist who never deserved him in the first place. You're so proud of him.

And the swelling in your heart is worth all the hell you've been through today, you decide.

"Everythin' (Y/N) said is true," Atsumu continues. "And Sakusa, Bokuto and Hinata can testify. Hey, guys. You're a little late."

…What?

Your eyes whip to the back of the conference room where your three stooges stand in all their glory – sweaty, panting, and dazed out of their minds

"Okay, great!" Watanabe springs in – he's been silent so long you almost forgot about him. "Let's just ignore everything that was scheduled for today and go crazy. Oh look, (L/N) (Y/N) somehow snuck backstage and crashed the press conference! OMG, is that Sakusa Kiyoomi, Bokuto Kotaro and Hinata Shoyo? Say whaaaat? Cause clearly anyone can do anything and the stuffy guy from PR who smells like prunes is nothing more than a figurehead! Gotta love it!"

Part of you feels some sympathy for Watanabe at this moment – it's not easy being a corporate slave, not between the long hours, the headaches of dealing with upper management, and dealing with all the Black Jackals on a regular basis. That last one is more so integrated in your personal life, but you understand the struggles nonetheless.

Luckily, none of the reporters seem to pay his outburst any mind.

"Aihara Fumiko, Sports Monthly! Nakamura-san, what do you have to say about this?"

You watch as Ayako, somehow even more flustered than before, stutters her way through a barely coherent reply.

"I-I… I… I was doing Atsumu a favour! Yes, we broke up, but I agreed to help him and his friend by pretending the relationship was still going."

"I thought you said you didn't know who she was?" Fumiko presses.

"I… yes! But any friend of Atsumu's is a friend of mine, obviously."

"Then why did Miya-san say you were doing it for the publicity?"

"I… He… That's…"

The look of panic on Ayako's face quickly morphs into bitter, bitter hatred as she glares daggers at you from across the stage. "…If you'll all excuse me, I have a plane to catch. I agreed to be here from 10 to 11AM, and it is currently 11:05. Direct all your questions to my PR team, I'm sure they'll tell you something."

Despite the shouts from the press, she rises from her seat and exits the stage like she's floating on air, still more graceful than you'll ever be.

(And yet somehow, it doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore.)

"Kagurazaka Seishiro, Japan Volleyball Association! (L/N)-san, over here!" You flinch at the address, but try to plaster on a fake smile to avoid suspicion. "(L/N)-san, you stated earlier that you and Miya-san aren't dating, but if he went to such great lengths to protect you, doesn't that mean this is more than just a friendship? Is a future relationship on the horizon?"

You gawk.

"Oh God no, that is not what's happening here, I already have–"

Your eyes lock with Sakusa's on instinct alone, even though he's still very dazed and confused. He looks startled for a moment, but that quickly morphs into a fond smile that has your heart threatening to stutter to a stop.

"…I already have someone like that in my life. Atsumu's one of my closest friends, but that's all we are. We laugh at stupid things together, he drives me nuts sometimes, and we're there for each other when it counts."

You meet Atsumu's eyes and give him a little half-smile. All your adrenaline is gone, there's a dull ache in your head, and you're ninety-nine percent sure you'll collapse on the floor the minute you step into your apartment… But that all melts away when you see Atsumu laugh for the first time in weeks. He tries to conceal it with a cough, but you don't miss the twinkle in his eye when he peers up at you with a smirk.

"Well… I suppose that concludes this trainwreck of a PR conference," Watanabe drones from the podium, glasses askew and all the life drained from his eyes. "Unless Sakusa-san, Bokuto-san, or Hinata-san would like to give statements of their own? We're over time anyways and the next gig in this room doesn't start for another half hour."

"Oh, me! Pick me!"

Watanabe rolls his eyes.

"Bokuto-san, please come up to the stage."           

Sakusa facepalms from the back of the conference room, and you can't help but chuckle.

The walk out of the TV station is a much, much more casual affair than the walk in. And for that, you are eternally grateful.

You, Sakusa, Atsumu, Osamu, Bokuto and Hinata – all together now, even if it is a little later than planned – sneak out the back entrance to avoid the press, but at this point, it all seems like an unnecessary precaution.

Once you're out of the building, Bokuto and Hinata wave a quick goodbye before crossing the street to hitch a ride with Akaashi – Bokuto called him up as his "emergency chauffeur", apparently – and you make sure to give him Kuroo's intern's JVA badge before you forget.

After they leave, Sakusa tells you and the twins how he swung a deal with the fraud from the parking lot by promising him front-row tickets to all the Jackals games for the rest of the year. Atsumu pokes fun at him for breaking his clean streak (which applies on the road too?), but you're quick to point out that the rear-ending was your fault, indirectly.

(Sakusa takes the blame again though, so it's all kind of pointless.)

It's when you finally reach the Fuji parking lot that you're forced to part ways. Sakusa tells you he'll wait for you in the car, and Osamu does the same for his brother. That leaves you and Atsumu alone, for the first time since that night.

…Somehow, even after everything that's just happened, it's still a little awkward.

You glue your eyes to the ground.

"Hey, 603. I just wanted to say–"

"I'm sorry."

"Thank yo– Wait, what?"

"I'm sorry. For calling you an egomaniac and all the other terrible things I said that night. I know you were trying to look out for me… It just made me upset that you didn't consider my feelings. And I guess… I guess I was just mad and hurt and sad that you immediately decided to sacrifice yourself, as if you matter that little. You're important to me, Atsumu, so just… don't do anything like this ever again. Please."

You lift your head to peer at Atsumu's face, and when you do, you see the beginnings of tears start to form in his eyes. He blinks them away before they fall, but it still makes you a little misty.

"Okay, I won't. Promise," he says, pulling you into a hug. You wrap your arms around him and sigh, grateful that this is all finally, finally over.

"Thank you for comin' today," he whispers. "Thanks for carin' enough to put yourself out there and stand up to all the reporters, and to Ayako, and to do God knows what to actually get here in the first place, ya gotta tell me the full story sometime…"

He pulls back to look at your face, an adoring smile on his lips.

"And I'm sorry too, for assumin' I knew what was best for you and just doin' whatever I wanted. And for not listenin' when ya told me I was wrong, and gettin' defensive, and just bein' stupid, I'm really sorry…"

You reach a hand up to ruffle his hair.

"I forgive you," you say.

"I forgive you, too," he murmurs.

"So… friends?"

You remove yourself from his embrace to stick out a hand. He looks down at it with wide eyes, and then his features settle into a sad smile.

"…Yeah. Friends."

He takes your hand in his, gives it a firm shake, and then claps you on the shoulder.

"…You should tell Omi how ya feel. I think you're ready for it."

He chuckles to himself when you start stammering, but leaves before you can stop him, throwing back a carefree wave even as you call his name out over and over.

"Atsumu! Get back here!"

"I said what I said, 603! Get on it!"

"Ready to go?"

You jolt as Sakusa comes up from behind you, a hand resting comfortably on your shoulder.

"I thought you were waiting in the car?"

"Mm-hm," he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, "but you were taking a while, so I thought I'd come check on you. Ready to head home?"

You try to catch another glimpse of Atsumu's retreating back, but it's already gone. His words echo around in your head as you peer up at Sakusa.

"You should tell Omi how ya feel. I think you're ready for it."

"…Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go home, Kiyoomi."

Chapter Text

The drive back from the TV station is a quiet affair. After all the chaos this morning, it's nice to bask in the dull hum of the AC while the radio plays softly in the background like an afterthought. Sakusa can't remember the last time he felt this comfortable sitting in silence with someone, with anyone, but he's also pretty sure it wouldn't be as enjoyable if that someone wasn't you.

It's not long before he pulls into the familiar parking garage beneath your apartment. For some reason, Sakusa finds himself wishing that the drive had lasted longer, but he's not about to say that out loud. You must be a daydream away from falling asleep right here and now, and you deserve a comfy place to rest – your bed, probably.

Or his.

(Wait no, that's not right.)

He sighs and reaches to take off his seatbelt, but you stop him by placing a hand over his. When he peers up at you, your eyes are wide and you're gnawing on your lip, the way you do when you're nervous.

…Why are you nervous?

"Kiyoomi."

"Yeah?"

"I… have something important to tell you."

He raises an eyebrow at that. After the day you've had, it's hard to imagine there's much else that needs to be done.

But he'll bite.

"What's up?"

"Um… this is… a little hard to say…" you start. Each word comes out like slow, sticky molasses, and now he's not sure whether to feel scared or excited. "It's about what I told you that day you were sick… When I stayed over to take care of you."

Both, it seems.

Sakusa can already feel his heart start to race, start to pound against his chest, but he wills it away as he looks straight into your eyes.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

"(Y/N), if you're too tired right now, we don't have to do thi–"

"No, I want to. I want to say this to you. I think I have for a while now, actually, I just didn't realize it until, um… until today. And now I want to make it official."

You take a deep, deep breath. Meanwhile, Sakusa holds his, and even though his heartbeat has made it all the way to his eardrums now, it's still not enough to distract from your next words.

"The thing is…"

Thump-thump.

"I've thought a lot about it, and…"

Thump-thump.

"I'm sorry."

Crack!

Sakusa feels his heart drop as he takes in the look on your face – the slight quiver of your lip, the way your eyes refuse to meet his – and now he thinks he's gonna be sick.

"I meant what I said at the time, but after the last few weeks, and just… everything that happened today… I realized I have feelings for Atsumu."

Beep! Beep!

"Is… Is that your car alarm?"

"You have feelings for Atsumu?"

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Bee–

The moment he opens his eyes, Sakusa whacks the alarm as hard as he can, nearly sending it flying off the nightstand from the impact. His heart is still pounding like mad, it feels like there's no air in his lungs, and it takes a few bleary seconds for him to register the disgusting feeling of cold sweat running down his back.

"Oh my God…" he groans, crawling back under the covers. "Not again…"

Apparently a week wasn't long enough for his subconscious to let go of that memory. It's amazing, really, how it comes around with such startling clarity every time, but the frequent reruns probably help. This is the fifth time he's had that dream in the last six nights, and yeah, the movie's starting to get a little old now.

…Thank God the last part didn't actually happen.

Sakusa throws the covers off with a huff before making his way to the bathroom. He grimaces at the dark circles that greet him in the mirror – evidence of the night terrors he's put up with for the better part of this week. He shakes his head as he reaches for his toothbrush.

It's true you had something to tell him that day, something urgent from the sounds of it. But then your phone rang, you were whisked away by a call from Soushi, and before Sakusa knew it, he was alone in the car with only his intrusive, irrational thoughts to keep him company.

"Atsumu's one of my closest friends, but that's all we are. We laugh at stupid things together, he drives me nuts sometimes, and we're there for each other when it counts."

You smile at Atsumu from across the stage like you're the only two people in the room. The twinkle in his eye – the one that's been missing for two months now – is back and brighter than ever. And Sakusa knows he should be happy, should be relieved, and he is, truly.

But there's a niggling feeling of doubt in his heart that just won't go away.

Sakusa gargles and spits into the sink before turning on the faucet, watching the suds swirl down the drain in a daze. You never did tell him what was on your mind that day – it got swept away in the preparations for your big work presentation, the one happening on Monday. You could be quitting your job to raise alpacas for all he knows.

Not that that's a worse scenario than the one he came up with.

"Something important…" Sakusa murmurs. "Important…"

Another image of you and Atsumu flashes before his eyes again, and goddammit, Sakusa can't even hate it.

Not when you look so happy by his side.

"Hey, did Eiko ever hear back from that automotive company in Busan?"

"Not sure, let me check," Soushi replies. For the first time in hours, he tears his eyes away from his screen to look over at your favourite intern. Eiko's currently stationed at the copy machine about ten feet away, and you're about to wave when–

"OI, NEWBIE, DID YOU EVER HEAR BACK FROM THAT AUTO COMPANY IN BUSAN?!"

–the sound of Soushi screaming from the top of his lungs nearly startles you out of your seat. By the time it's over, you can already hear your eardrums ringing – you and half the office, apparently.

(If Soushi's bothered by the dirty glares he's getting from everyone around you, he doesn't show it.)

"Soushi! Stop yelling like a maniac!"

You slap him on the arm as you call out an apology to Eiko, who was apparently so caught off guard that she spilled her ice coffee all over herself. She gives you a half-hearted wave as she dabs at the growing copper stains spreading on her yellow blouse. Poor thing.

"Are you really that lazy that you couldn't have just walked over and asked?"

"Ha! You couldn't even be bothered to talk to the kid," Soushi answers, eyes already glued back to his screen. "Besides, I'm doing the same thing you're doing – skirting all my work onto other people so I can wipe the floor with you on Monday."

"Pfft, you wish," you shoot back, but you're already smiling as you pull up your own spreadsheets for the Xinhua project. "Just know that I'm always one step ahead of you. Like when I whooped your ass at the company scavenger hunt last year."

"You cheated and you know it!"

"No, you stranded five guys a hundred miles from the retreat and faced the consequences. If it makes you feel any better, the gift basket wasn't all that special – just some tea bags and candy. Speaking of which…"

Without moving your eyes from your laptop, you pick up the mug of lollipops on your desk and offer it to Soushi. He takes one look at it, snorts, and then pushes your hand away.

"(Y/N), being desk neighbours doesn't mean I'm obligated to drink from your cup of cavities."

"Ew, why'd you have to say it like that?" You wrinkle your nose before plucking out a lollipop for yourself and setting the mug back on your desk. The second the fruity tang of artificial pineapple settles on your tongue, you melt into your swivel chair with bliss.

"Okay, once I'm done with this, I can finally do the work Fuji actually assigned for today," you murmur, eyes flicking through the endless figures on your screen. Soushi hums thoughtfully beside you.

"Auckland?"

"Yeah."

"Just make sure you back up your Xinhua files to the Cloud first."

"Oh my freaking…! Thank you, oh my God! I nearly forgot about that," you reply, clicking away frantically. Soushi rolls his eyes.

"You should just link up your system so your files go there automatically, like me."

"But what if they get lost in the Cloud?"

"That's why you save an extra copy on a flash drive. Seriously, did they not cover this in orientation?"

"That was six years ago!"

"And it's knowledge for life. You disappoint me, (Y/N)."

It's your turn to roll your eyes as you wait for your documents to upload to the team Cloud. Some of the old project names in the display catch your eye, and you find yourself scrolling through the rest of the files before you can help it. You feel a sudden rush of nostalgia when you pass the revenue charts from Moscow, the ones from your intern days.

"Aww, we had such a good time in New Zealand… and in Korea… and even when I got mugged on our first business trip to New York."

"Oh yeah, I remember that! Wait no, stop distracting me."

You hear Soushi continue to type God-knows-what beside you, but about a minute later, the noise stops. He sighs.

"…Dammit, I want to scroll now too."

You chuckle as Soushi's user icon pops into the Cloud. He murmurs incoherently to himself for a few moments, scrolling through your corporate scrapbook of files…

And then he lets out a gasp loud enough for the entire office to hear.

"What the…! That's… That's not possible!"

He scrolls frantically as you furrow your brow in concern. Within moments, he slams his fist on the desk and curses.

"Oh fucking dammit… My files are missing!"

…What?

"What?" Hana screeches from the other end of the office.

"My files! Aren't! Here!" he reiterates, flapping his arms around wildly.

"For Xinhua?"

"No, for the birth of our first child– Yes, for Xinhua!"

Before you can stop him, Soushi's swinging his desk drawers open and digging through them like a maniac, cursing all the while. His movements only get more and more frantic as the seconds pass, until he's kneeling on the ground and emptying the contents of his drawers right there on the floor.

"The flash drive… It's gone. Oh my God, it's gone."

"Soushi, I–"

"All my work is fucking gone!"

He jumps back to his feet before you can say a word, hunching over his keyboard and scrolling up and down his computer screen until his eyes burn from the strain. A minute passes before he curses again and slams the mouse against the desk.

"What the hell happened?! Everything was in the account yesterday, I checked! Nothing just disappears by itself, and the Cloud's not… it's not even…"

All of a sudden, Soushi goes silent. You feel anxiety pound in your chest as you wait for him to continue, but he says nothing for a good minute. When he finally lifts his head to peer up at you, his eyes are wide with disbelief, and there's a prickling of doubt settling into his features now that has you on edge. You try to reach out to him, but he only flinches away.

"The Cloud's… not open to anyone outside this department," Soushi says slowly. "It's password-protected, (Y/N), that means… that means it could've only been someone on our team."

He's backing away from you now, so slowly it's almost impossible to detect, but you can feel it. The chill in the air, the invisible wall between you, the two feet of distance that suddenly feels like a million miles.

And panic rushes through your veins like ice.

"Soushi, look, please, you have to listen to me… I don't know what happened, but I swear it wasn't me! I would never, ever do that you, you have to know that, you have to–"

"(Y/N)," he starts, eyes never leaving your face. He chews his lip thoughtfully. "I want to believe you… But there's no one outside our department who can access those files. And it's not like anyone had any reason to delete my stuff, except for, well…"

Even though he tries to mask it, the look in Soushi's eyes makes your blood run cold.

"…you."

"No, you don't understand, this isn't–"

He holds up a hand to stop you.

"I'm not saying you did it. I really don't think you would, it's just… it's hard to think of another explanation right now. Actually, you know what? Let's just blame it on a computer error or something, at least for the time being."

He sighs. Not for the first time, you register his bloodshot eyes, greasy bedhead, and the wrinkles in his clothes from sleeping in them the night before. Your perfect double.

…Except he's without any work to show for it.

"I can't deal with this," Soushi whispers, even as the beginnings of tears start to well up in his eyes. "I just… I can't believe it's all gone."

"Soushi," you murmur back. "I am so, so sorry, I–"

"No, I just… I think I need to be alone right now."

Without another word, he heads for the elevator. Hana gives you a consoling glance before trailing after him, and just like that, you're alone. You're dimly aware of Eiko coming up behind you and patting your back, but your eyes never leave Soushi's retreating figure.

You're going to get to the bottom of this.

And hey, maybe there's someone who can help with that.

You can count on one hand the number of times you've actually visited the IT office in person. Once during your orientation, twice more during your interning days, and then that odd time when you went on a blind date with one of Kamiko's colleagues.

(It ended with you falling into the Sumida River. Maybe that's another reason you don't stop by too frequently, come to think of it.)

It's not like they're that easy to find, anyway – they're right above the boiler room, so even if the odd placement's not enough to deter visitors, the temperature control certainly is. You can feel the air physically thicken around you as you enter the office, Soushi trailing behind you. It's wet and warm and suffocating, and God, now you remember why Kamiko sneaks out of this place so often.

"I can't believe Hana leaked my location," Soushi mutters, dragging his feet behind you.

"You're acting like the fire escape isn't my go-to crying spot. You could've chosen somewhere a little more original."

"Yeah, well I've got a lot more to cry about than you do right now."

You stop dead in your tracks and turn around to look at him, but he won't meet your eyes. There's nothing in the world Soushi hates more than pity, but at this moment, your heart breaks for him.

"Soushi, I–"

"If it isn't my two favourite people!" Kamiko yells from the other side of the room, waving her arms wildly to get your attention. "I mean, besides my parents!"

You're about to call out to her when you're interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Oi, keep it down!"

"Lighten up Narumi, it's lunch anyway!" Kamiko shoots back, sticking her tongue out. "You're just sore cause (Y/N) didn't call you back for a second date. And honestly, why would she? You let her fall into the water!"

"No I didn't! She fell by herself!"

"So he says."

"I– Would you…!" Narumi lets out a huff that suspends his fluffy bangs above his forehead. When they fall back into place, he flashes you a tight, phony smile.

"(Y/N), great to see you. Have fun with my five-foot-tall migraine over here." He gestures to Kamiko before picking up his phone from his desk. "Meanwhile, I'll get back to texting my very beautiful, very real, very not clumsy girlfriend, if you all wouldn't mind."

"Literally no one is stopping you," Soushi deadpans. Narumi doesn't even seem to hear him, too engrossed in the messages on his phone.

"Oh, that's so funny! Classic, classic Bethany…"

"Oh, I didn't know you guys were dating now," you chime in. It's a bit of an odd match, if you're being honest – Bethany may call your Sales Team 'a bunch of nerds', but no one fits that description quite as well as the guys from IT.

But hey, what's it to you?

"Okay, okay, okay, you guys didn't come here to gawk at Narumi's sad attempts to be an interesting person," Kamiko says, waving you over to her desk. "You came here to find the dirty scumbag who stole Soushi's work and framed (Y/N)!"

"Well, technically I wasn't framed," you start, crossing over to her side of the room with Soushi in tow. "In fact, all the evidence pointing to me is circumstantial at best–"

"And so you came to the great Kirisaki Kamiko to expose the true culprit and clear your name!"

You give a wry smile as she spins around in her swivel chair for emphasis. Beside you, Soushi's eye has already started twitching, and for the safety of everyone in this room, you pray Kamiko can get the results she promised you as soon as possible.

"Look, can you find who did this or what?!" Soushi finally snaps. "More importantly, can I get my files back?"

"Well… yes and no." Kamiko rubs the back of her neck sheepishly as the spinning comes to a stop. "I can track the IP address and actions of whoever was in the Sales Team Cloud yesterday, so yes, I can catch your guy… but the files will take a little longer."

"How much longer?!" Soushi cries desperately, grabbing both handles of Kamiko's chair and leaning within an inch of her face. "The presentation's on Monday, it's not like we have a lot of time here!"

"Soushi, it's gonna be okay!" You grab ahold of his arm and pull him away from a thoroughly disgruntled Kamiko, who turns back to her keyboard without another word. "If we can catch whoever did this, they probably have the flash drive too. Just… Just take a deep breath, okay?"

And for once, he does just that. You pat Soushi's back as he inhales and exhales again and again, until his eye has stopped twitching and he unclenches his fists. He looks up at you with a weak smile.

"Thanks, (Y/N). All I want is to get my work back, and then when we find whoever did this, we'll give 'em hell."

You smile back at him, relief washing over you in waves.

"You got that right. When we find this guy, I'm gonna–"

"We got it!"

Kamiko's voice brings both of you back to attention. You and Soushi quickly squish in behind her to get a closer look at the screen, your heart already pounding as it continues to load. Just a few seconds more, and you'll have your–

"Oh my God."

"No way."

"What the fuck?!"

Culprit.

"…Okay guys, let's not panic, I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for–"

"Why the hell is (Y/N)'s laptop showing up?!" Soushi screeches. His eyes blaze with white-hot fury when he turns to you, anger rolling off him in waves.

"You told me you didn't do it! I… I trusted you!"

"Soushi, I swear–"

"You swear?! Ha! That doesn't mean bullshit, apparently. How could you do this to me? You knew how hard I worked on this project, this promotion means more to me than anything, so how could you just…!"

Fresh tears well up in his eyes as his face starts to crumple, and even though he's screaming at the top of his lungs, you feel your heart break for him a little more.

"Soushi, I don't know why it's my IP address showing up, but it really wasn't me! Please, you're not thinking clearly! You're just upset, I get it, but if you'd just–"

"You get it?!" Soushi stops crying to let out a dry, humourless laugh. "Like hell you do! Your work wasn't sabotaged by one of your closest friends!"

"I'm telling you, it wasn't me! They… they must've used my computer when I wasn't looking! If you stopped to think about any of this, you'd see it doesn't make any sense!" you cry, reaching out for him desperately. He slaps your hand away.

"Yeah Sou, why would she agree to a data search if she knew she was guilty?" Kamiko chimes in. Soushi's eyes flash as he turns to her.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawls. "To avoid suspicion? Or hey, maybe she didn't think you could actually pull it off! We all know how much you care about your work, after all."

"Soushi, stop it!" you yell. "Kamiko's trying to help us, you can't–"

"You know what?" he continues, pushing you aside as he stares Kamiko dead in the eye. "Maybe if you spent less time hanging around the sales team and actually did your job, we wouldn't have had a data breach in the first place!"

He interrupts himself with another laugh.

"Oh, but sure, maybe it's hard to catch the perpetrator when they're on the inside!"

With that, he storms off, but you grab his wrist before he can get far. He snatches it back immediately before turning to glare daggers at you.

"Soushi, please, if you'd just–"

"What, listen? And why should I? I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, (Y/N), I really did, but this is… this is just…"

He sighs in lieu of words, the rage dying away from his eyes and giving way to raw, piercing hurt. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"…I can't do this anymore. You knew how much this job meant to me, you knew more than anyone, but you still–"

"Soushi, I don't know why the IP address is mine, but I can promise you–"

"No. No. You know what? I don't care about your excuses. I'm going to HR to tell them why I have nothing prepared for Monday's conference, and they can decide what to do with you. Don't follow me, don't speak to me. I'm leaving."

And just like that, he's gone.

You get the call from HR later that night. Their senior manager, Mrs. Tadashi, has got a heart of gold and a soft spot for any of Fuji's kids – they went to college together, apparently – but even with the strings she's pulled, the situation's looking bleak.

"Twenty-four hours?!" Atsumu cries from the backseat. "Seriously? They can't expect ya to find this person in a day! They shoulda just put ya out of your misery and fired ya right on the spot, this is ridicu–"

"Miya," Sakusa warns. "Shut. Up."

It's the next morning when you find yourself in the passenger seat of Sakusa's silver Lexus, fifteen minutes away from the company and already cringing at Atsumu's commentary. Luckily, today's Saturday, which means the Jackals don't have practice. You're not sure when they became your go-to crew for emergencies – somewhere in between water aerobics and the press conference – but you know you can trust this group to get the job done.

(Well, more like half the group. What Hinata and Bokuto don't know can't hurt them, after all.)

"We'll find them, (Y/N)," Sakusa says beside you. "Whatever it takes, we'll find them."

You sigh, looking out the window at Tokyo's concrete jungle wistfully.

"Yes, well, the alternative is me being fired from the company I've devoted six years of my life to… so let's hope you're right."

"Oi, if anyone can do it, it's you, 603." Atsumu slings an arm over the back of your seat as you turn around to face him. "We'll find 'em today, like Omi said. Promise."

You give him a weak smile as you look between the two of them.

"Thanks guys. And thanks for being here, really means a lot."

"Of course. You know we're here for you whenever you need," Sakusa replies as he pulls to a stop at a red light. He takes the chance to spare a glance at Atsumu, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

"…Both of us."

His gaze seems to linger a little too long, but if Atsumu notices, he doesn't show it. Someone honks you from behind, startling Sakusa back to attention. Atsumu hums thoughtfully as the Lexus pulls forward again.

"Why don't ya give us the full run-down here? I mean, we're not just gonna search the office blind, are we?"

"Oh God no, we don't have the time," you say. "Here, I made a list of criteria to help us narrow down our suspects."

You pull out your phone from your purse and open the list of notes you compiled last night.

"Whoever did this must have some sort of grudge against Soushi… they had access to my laptop on Thursday… and hopefully, they still have Soushi's flash drive."

"When did they hack into your laptop, do you know?" Sakusa asks, eyes glued to the road.

"Glad you asked!" you reply. Sakusa smiles a little at the praise. "The only time they could've done it without being seen was during lunch break, but lately, I've just been eating at my desk to work on the Xinhua project. I usually only leave for fifteen minutes at the end, just so my eyes don't melt out of my skull."

Atsumu gasps.

"That's so unhealthy! And how d'ya eat anythin' if you're workin' all the time?"

"You'd be surprised," Sakusa murmurs. "I pack her a full bento Monday through Wednesday, and it's always empty by the time she's home."

It's true – has been for the past two months, actually – but just him voicing it aloud is enough to make you blush. Atsumu's poorly concealed snickering doesn't do much to help.

"Okay, anyway…" you drawl, desperate to get this conversation back on track. "If they were in and out that quickly, it must've been someone who works near my floor. Sales is on the twelfth, so tenth through fourteenth is plausible, maybe? That narrows down our suspects to Soushi's ex in Marketing, the guy from Natural Resources he puked on at New Year's, and the entire International Relations department."

"The entire– What?! Why?" Atsumu stops laughing and turns to look at you, confusion written all over his face. You sigh.

"Soushi was in charge of bussing for the beach retreat last year and he accidentally stranded them in a little fishing village in the middle of nowhere."

Sakusa shrugs. "That doesn't sound so–"

"They spent three hours hitchhiking back to the retreat because he didn't notice they were missing."

"…Oh," they say in unison. You smile a little at the memory – Soushi got kicked from the company scavenger hunt as punishment, but that was just the beginning. Someone replaced his sunscreen with cream cheese, he got trapped in the resort's haunted house, and the seams in his swim trunks disintegrated the moment he stepped into the water.

(You're still not sure how they pulled that last one off.)

"So we're goin' to the office to look for clues?" Atsumu asks, snapping you back to reality. It's not until you peer out the window again that you see you're already here.

"That's right! It's uh, not really… protocol to go snooping around like this… But the good thing is that not too many people come on the weekends," you reply, looking around the deserted parking lot as Sakusa pulls into a spot. The moment you feel the car stop, you hop out and lead the way to the front entrance, the guys trailing just behind you.

"You don't want to interrogate the suspects first?" Sakusa asks, holding your purse as you punch in the security code. The door opens with a decisive click, and within moments, you're standing in the familiar air-conditioned lobby of your workplace, hopefully not for the last time.

"Hana and Eiko are already doing that," you answer as Sakusa returns your bag. "We've only got twenty-four hours, we have to divide and conquer. Besides, Eiko was really excited to play bad cop, and I don't–"

"(Y/N)! What a coincidence, I didn't think you'd be in today too!"

Every cell in your body dies a little as a familiar figure approaches. The clicking of her heels on the tiled floor already has you on edge, especially at 8AM on a Saturday, and you're starting to wonder if it's too late to switch jobs with Eiko.

You groan. Of course it is.

The heels stop clicking, and all of a sudden, you're face-to-face with Bessho Nishi.

"What're you doing here, Bethany? You never come on weekends."

Bethany hums, caressing the white leather purse in her hands. The hand-stitched seams and pearl beading scream luxury, and you can't help but hide your own worn bag behind your back in shame.

"I was just leaving, actually," she says. "New line of designer Italian handbags came in last night and I wanted to be the first to test out the merchandise."

"I can see that," you deadpan. The smile on her face quickly fades as she looks at your company.

"Oh great, you brought the freak with you again." Bethany lets out a groan, and if you weren't already on thin ice with HR, you'd revisit your old plans to throw her down the elevator shaft.

"The blond is new though…" she continues. "From the scandal, right?"

Atsumu's eyes narrow at that. You pat him on the shoulder before turning back to Bethany with a sigh.

"The scandal is over now," you say slowly, "but yes, this is him. Atsumu, say hi to my colleague, Bessho Nishi."

Bethany glares at you before extending a hand to him.

"Call me Bethany, Gorgeous."

Atsumu just snorts, crossing both arms over his chest.

"Call me never, Bessho."

"…I see (Y/N)'s poor influence has rubbed off on you," Bethany drawls, lowering her hand as she eyes him up and down. "Shame. You've got such a pretty face, too."

You frown, stepping in front of Atsumu defensively.

"Bethany, aren't you dating Narumi? From IT?" The man might've let you fall into an ice-cold river, but you know what it's like to be cheated on, and it isn't fun.

"Hmm… Narumi's cute, but that doesn't mean I can't multitask," she replies. Her gaze flitters between Atsumu and Sakusa before settling on you. "And I guess in that way, we're not too different."

"Oi–"

"Atsumu!" Sakusa holds him back by the arm and shakes his head. "Don't bother. We don't have time, so let's just–"

"Oh, that's right!" Bethany interrupts him with a clap of her hands before turning to you. "You're looking for the culprit behind the data theft, aren't you?"

"How'd you–"

"Oh honey, I have ears all over this office."

"…Right. Then you should know I was framed." You sneak a glance at the elevators out of the corner of your eye. "Anyway, we should really be going, so–"

"Of course you were framed. You of all people would never stoop that low."

Your eyes flick back to her face immediately.

"…What?"

In all the years you've known her, you've never seen Bethany look so… sheepish. It clashes with her entire demeanour, with the very persona she constructed for herself the moment you both entered this office six years ago, her in Persian silk and you in polyester.

Still, that's her in front of you right now – clearing her throat, rubbing the back of her neck, and refusing to meet your eyes.

"I mean, everyone knows that you and the sales nerds only have each other," she mumbles. "I'm sure you'd never do anything to hurt someone on your team."

Your eyes go wide. You wait for the other shoe to drop – the snappy comeback, the backhanded compliment, the punch line that's sure to take a jab at your fashion choices – but it never does.

"…Wow Bethany, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever–"

"So!" she interrupts again with a too-wide smile. "Are your two boy-toys tagging along today to help you catch the culprit?"

…Okay, there it is. You sigh.

"That is not even remotely close to our relationship, but yes, they're here to help."

"Amazing! I'll join as well then! Another set of eyes can't hurt, right?"

You grimace, glancing behind you for confirmation. Atsumu gives a firm shake of his head, but Sakusa just shrugs. You turn back to face her, already regretting what you're about to do.

"…Welcome aboard, Bethany."

"You know, I thought you'd have more complaints about how I decided to split us up."

Bethany hums thoughtfully from where she sits beside you. As she combs through the loose files on Hanamura Riko's desk, you study the contents of her mini bulletin board. There are some memos here and there, but aside from that, it's almost entirely covered in photos of Hana with her eyes crossed out in black Sharpie. You shudder. Where toxic exes are concerned, it looks like Soushi could give you a run for your money.

"I was at first, but the more I think about it, you're actually the lesser of three evils for once," Bethany replies, shuffling through another set of pie graphs. "The two of them are hot, yeah. But Lysol is a sadistic creep who humiliated me at the anniversary party, and Gorgeous was obnoxious from the outset. Not cute."

You chuckle as you get down on the ground to sift through the papers in Riko's recycling bin.

"Yeah, my first impressions of them weren't far from that if I'm being honest," you say, thinking back. "Then again, they didn't like me too much in the beginning either."

The sound of paper shuffling above you stops. You glance up at Bethany, only to find her staring down at you with both eyebrows raised.

"Seriously? But don't they, like… worship the ground you walk on?"

You snort, plopping down on your bum before drawing both knees to your chest. "I sneezed on Kiyoomi the first time we met. And then he called me a disgusting ingrate, I told him he was an asshole, and we took turns avoiding each other in the hallway for two weeks."

"Ouch," Bethany says, wincing. "That's… That's rough, huh?"

You feel the corners of your lips twitch up despite yourself.

"Yeah… it was. And then a month later, he almost left me behind in a burning building."

"Oh my God!"

"But then I nagged him until he came back for me." Your memories flicker back to the scent of his skin mixed with sweet notes of grapefruit. "The building wasn't even burning, Bok– some idiot just pulled the manual fire alarm box in the hall, alerted the whole building."

"Same thing happened at my place," Bethany murmurs, shaking her head. "Idiots."

"Right?"

"It was 3AM too."

"4AM over here.

"Whole building evacuated for nothing."

"People were so upset, oh my God."

"I was late for work the next morning, too."

"Me too!"

"Idiots."

"Idiots."

You shake your head along with her, the screech of the alarm echoing around in your mind as if the whole thing happened yesterday. When you chance a peek at Bethany, she meets your eyes, if for a moment. You give her a little smile that's not returned, but somehow, the air doesn't feel as tense as it did before.

"And the blond?" she asks, already returning her attention to the messy pile of documents on Riko's desk. "How'd that happen?"

Memories of butter on the ceiling and Atsumu lying on the couch, crying and completely wasted, suddenly come to mind. You grimace – if you think hard enough, you can still imagine the smell of stale whiskey in the air, consuming your lungs and making you gag.

"We met twice before, technically… but we didn't really know each other until Kiyoomi guilt-tripped me into giving him breakup advice."

Bethany nods her head slowly, humming again.

"You're right, I saw that on the press conference interview. He sure aims high. Nakamura Ayako's even prettier than I am."

"She's an awful person," you say with no hesitation. "Even you're not as bad as she is."

Bethany's brow furrows as she cocks her head to the side.

"Thank… you? Ugh, is this how you feel when I give you all those backhanded compliments?"

"At least you're self-aware," you mutter.

"Hmph."

"I was being serious though," you continue, crawling onto your knees to sift through the rest of the trash. There's a crumpled paper labelled To-Do List, but after scanning over it once, you pitch it back into the bin with a curse. "Nakamura-san is shallow, egotistical, self-centred, heartless…"

"Hmm. Interesting," Bethany mumbles. You stop what you're doing to peer up at her, one eyebrow raised.

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing." She leans back in her seat and looks down at you with a wistful sigh. "I was just thinking about how much you've changed. You never called people out on their bullshit before, that's why it was always so easy to push you around."

You roll your eyes and get back to sorting through Riko's abysmal bank statements.

"Well, I'm glad I was such great target-practice for six years."

"It got old after a while," Bethany murmurs as she returns to sorting through her stack of papers. "I always tried to get a rise out of you, but you never seemed bothered."

That gets your attention. You scoff, the already-crumpled pages crinkling even more within your clenched fists.

"Oh, I was bothered, believe me. You have a way of getting under people's skin."

"I guess so. That's about my only talent, so I might as well put it to good use, right?"

Bethany chuckles, but for some reason, it sounds hollow. You unclench your fists as you turn to looks at her, but she refuses to meet your eyes. For a while, the sound of her sifting through papers is the only thing that fills the silence, and eventually, it drags on so long that you just have to say something.

"…You know, I don't think it gives me much closure knowing you targeted me for years because I was a spineless wimp." You give a weak laugh, which somehow makes things more awkward, if that's even possible. At your words, Bethany stops what she's doing.

"…That wasn't the only reason."

More silence consumes the room as she stares hard at the desk. You gulp nervously, about to make another ill-timed joke when she speaks again.

"People just… always seem to like you. You work hard, you're humble, you're nice to everyone even when they treat you like crap – and that does get annoying, if I'm being honest – and the people around you are there because they want to be. You don't have to rely on being pretty, or powerful, or mean, you just… you just have to be you."

Bethany finally meets your eyes, and when she does, your breath catches in your throat. It's gone, the usual veil of indifference and smug superiority… It's gone, and for the first time, you believe that old cliché about the eyes being the window to the soul.

Except hers is empty and broken.

"Whenever I look at you, you just make it look so easy," she continues, voice trembling as her fists clench, "and I just…"

With a shuddering breath, she closes her eyes.

"I guess it was just easier for me to pick at your insecurities than acknowledge my own."

"Bethany–"

"Stop. I don't want your pity."

All goes quiet again as the two of you sit in the weight of her words. Visions of the past six years flicker through your memory – Bethany tripping you in the breakroom, mocking you in front of your superiors, driving you near insane with her sharp tongue and fake smiles – and you decide that for once, you agree with her.

"Well, that's good. I don't think you deserve it anyways."

Bethany whips her head around to look at you, incredulous. You snort. She always was a bit of a hypocrite.

"Look, everyone in your friend group is either there because they're scared of you, superficially infatuated with you, or they want to get a piece of the designer items you're always flaunting around the office," you say, and even to your own ears, the words sound unnecessarily harsh. "It's not that deep."

Tears start to well up in Bethany's eyes, and you feel your resolve start to crack. You avert your gaze to the floor before continuing.

"…But that's because you never tried. You're the one spreading breakroom gossip, you seduce unsuspecting fools like Narumi, you came in here bragging about your luxury Italian handbag the second we met in the lobby, I mean… You have no one to blame but yourself."

When you look up at her again, Bethany's lower lip is trembling, and a few of the tears have rolled down her cheeks, leaving behind messy black streaks of mascara. You sigh, reaching into your purse for some tissues. She snatches them out of your hand immediately, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"So yeah," you continue. "It is your fault. It's your fault for hiding behind the mean, and the glamour, and the snarky comments in the halls, all because you were too scared to let people see you for who you really are."

Bethany's sniffles finally come to a stop. She lowers the tissue and you meet her eyes again, but this time, they don't look as empty as before.

"…And who is that?" she asks in a small voice.

You look at her thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Haven't met her yet."

Bethany lets out a dry laugh, eyes trailing to the floor. You take her hand in yours.

"But I wouldn't be opposed to it. You know, when and if she comes around."

Bethany hums at that, and then she smiles. For real this time.

"…I'll keep you posted."

An hour into searching the eleventh floor, Sakusa's beginning to feel a little put-out. So far, he's sifted through a few dozen documents on foreign policy, some worn-out translation dictionaries with mould beginning to grow on the edges, and one poor sod's poetry journal about their unrequited office crush.

(He didn't bother touching the dictionaries, he's not crazy. The journal though? Worth a read, even if he hopes and prays with all he's got that it won't be his future.)

Even Atsumu's starting to lose steam now. He came into this humming ONE OK ROCK tunes and dancing along to his own off-key soundtrack, but then he tripped over a recycling bin fifteen minutes in and spent the next ten picking up shredded paper off the ground.

…Yeah, Sakusa's getting real tired of this.

"What fool gets himself targeted by a bunch of foreign language nerds anyway?" Atsumu mutters, kneeling on the floor to rifle through desk drawers. "Oi, ya find anythin' yet?"

"Yeah, a list of company absences," Sakusa murmurs, studying the clipboard with a scrutinizing squint. "Okay, looks like some guy named Hasegawa Ryo was late coming back from lunch… on Thursday, that bastard. Oi, check his drawers, see if you can find anything."

"Mm!"

Sakusa's not sure whether to laugh or cry when Atsumu shuffles across the carpeted floor on his knees to get to Hasegawa's cubicle. It's hard to pinpoint when he made the switch from 'emotionally repressed douchebag' to 'willing to hum, dance, and knee-scoot in public', but if Sakusa had to bet money on it, he'd say you were somehow involved.

…Somehow, that's not a very satisfying conclusion.

Shaking his head, Sakusa walks over to join Atsumu at Hasegawa's desk, peering through the knick-knacks decorating his tabletop. One of the bobbleheads catches his eye, its painted doe eyes nowhere near as menacing as the real thing.

"Looks like someone's a Nakamura Ayako fan," Sakusa says, picking up the bobblehead and holding it out for Atsumu to see. He immediately gags and recoils, and for the first time today, Sakusa laughs.

"Get that away from me!" Atsumu shouts, lip curling in disgust. "I want nothin' to do with that woman for the rest of my life, geez."

Sakusa smiles. "You sound like (Y/N)."

"Hm?" Atsumu raises an eyebrow before his features settle into a fond smile. "Oh… Yeah, I guess so. I think we're startin' to rub off on each other, it's funny."

He returns to humming J-rock tunes as he sifts through the rest of Hasegawa's drawers, and suddenly, there's a pit in Sakusa's stomach that feels bottomless.

Thinking back on it now, he's sure the feeling's been there a while – at least since Valentine's Day, after Bokuto's plan went haywire (no surprise there). It's dark, ugly, and more familiar at this point than he'd care to admit; it claws at his chest and picks at the niggling insecurities in the recesses of his mind, keeping him awake at night and into the early hours of the morning. It makes him angry and sad and selfish all at the same time, to the point he feels ashamed for acting like a child, for acting so–

"Jealous."

"Hm?" Atsumu murmurs, peering up at him. "What'd ya say, Omi?"

"…Nothing."

Atsumu mutters something else, something about Sakusa's weird, recent habit of talking to himself, but he's back to work before long. For a moment, Sakusa's tempted to just leave it at that – bury the ugly feelings in his chest like he's been doing for the past four months, leave his burning questions unanswered until they fizzle out into nothing – but he knows that's not enough this time.

"I realized I have feelings for Atsumu."

Your phantom voice rings out clear in his mind, as if it's mocking him.

He takes a deep breath.

"…I watched the full press conference," Sakusa says quietly. "You know, after it aired."

Atsumu hisses at the memory as he flips through Hasegawa's day planner, not bothering to make eye contact.

"Hey, sorry ya ran into that fraud in the parking lot, man. Just tell me where he's sittin' at the next game and I'll mess with him, just for you."

Sakusa can't help but crack a little smile at that.

"Okay," he replies. "I'm sorry too, that I couldn't be there for you guys."

Atsumu shakes his head, flipping through another page.

"Hey, don't sweat it, ya got 603 there in time and that's what counts." He finally looks up, giving Sakusa a lopsided grin. "Besides, we held down the fort pretty good without ya, so don't feel too bad."

The words leave a bad taste in Sakusa's mouth, but he tries not to let on as Atsumu finally rises to his full height, knees buckling just a touch from how long he's been on the ground. Atsumu winces, but he still manages to clap Sakusa on the shoulder with a wink.

Sakusa grimaces.

"(Y/N) did a great job, yeah," he says, carefully removing Atsumu's hand off his shoulder. If Atsumu's bothered, he doesn't show it. "I was really proud of her."

"Me too." Atsumu lets out a happy sigh. "I don't think anyone's ever gone that far for me before, not even my old girlfriends."

Sakusa bristles at that, looking Atsumu dead in the eye as he waits for him to continue. He doesn't, and before long, there's a suffocating silence filling the room that only Sakusa seems to notice.

Girlfriends.

"…Is that how you see her?" he mutters.

"What?"

"…Nothing."

Sakusa turns to leave and search elsewhere, but before he can get far, Atsumu grabs him by the shoulder and forces him back around.

"Oi, what is it, Omi? I hate when ya leave me hangin' like that, ya can't just–"

On instinct alone, Sakusa shakes him off so hard that Atsumu almost stumbles to the ground. When he looks up again, his face is contorted with fury.

"Oi!" he yells. "What the hell do ya think you're–"

"Do you like her?"

Atsumu blinks, his twisted features melting away into a blank stare. All of a sudden, a knowing look registers in his eyes, and he turns back to the planner without saying a word. Sakusa snatches it from his hands with no hesitation.

"I said, do you like (Y/N)?"

"…I don't think we need to have this conversation."

Atsumu snatches the notebook right back before cracking it open again. Sakusa just scoffs.

"Oi, Miya. You can't leave me hanging like that."

It's Sakusa's turn to grab him by the arm, but Atsumu shakes him off with just as much, if not more force than he did before, so much that Sakusa really does end up on the floor this time.

He lands on his butt, and if this is how you felt after being pushed down a flight of stairs during the fire alarm, Sakusa can attest that both his pride and body are feeling the sting right now.

"No! I don't like her, okay?!" Atsumu yells, throwing the planner on the desk. "God, I didn't think this conversation was even necessary… Calm down, would ya? She already said it at the press conference – we're just friends."

Atsumu stands there for a moment, seething, and even from his place on the ground, Sakusa can see a trace of something flickering in his eyes. Something besides rage, something much more vulnerable.

Something similar to what he's been feeling lately himself.

"…What about you then?" he murmurs.

"What?"

"She said it, you never commented at the press conference."

The frown marring Atsumu's face eases, just a little, as he stares down at the ground. Sakusa notes the troubled expression in his eyes, and he's not sure whether that's good or bad. More silence overtakes the room, and Sakusa's about to apologize when–

"I already told ya no," Atsumu says. He shifts his gaze back to Sakusa, zeroing in on him with narrowed eyes. "Look, we have a crook to find or else (Y/N) loses her job, did ya forget already? So stop askin' about stuff that doesn't even matter, and get back to doin' what we're actually here for."

Sakusa gulps before rising to his feet. Atsumu's right, now's not the time to be selfish.

"…I'm sorry. Did you find anything in the planner?"

"Yeah, 'nother dead-end. Hasegawa had a lunch date Thursday, he's not our guy."

"Great. That just leaves… seven more people on this floor."

They share a collective groan, and Sakusa sure as hell hopes that you're having more luck right now than he is.

It's nearing noon by the time you finish your sweep of the thirteenth and fourteenth floors. When you emerge onto the twelfth, the familiar sight of your office quarters does little to comfort you. If anything, the more you look at your cubicle, the more you look at Soushi's right beside it, and that just leads you down a dark spiral of thoughts leading to–

"Look, I found the flash drive!"

–your broken friendship and impending doom. Wait, what?

From across the office, way over in the Finance Department, you see Bethany jump and down, waving a familiar red USB key in the air. For a moment, you're so stunned that your mouth refuses to form words, but the shrill sound of Bethany's victory squealing breaks you out of your stupor.

"I– What the– Where was it?!" you yell to her, already jogging to join her at the other end of the office. You're so excited that you stumble into the water cooler, but you ignore the rapidly forming bruise on your hip and keep running, adrenaline high even after four hours of searching. Once you reach her, Bethany hands the key over to you to inspect.

Xinhua Aircraft Project, 20XX, in bubbly, black Sharpie letters. Yup, that's Soushi's handwriting alright.

Your knees give way as sweet, sweet relief washes over you, Bethany reaching out a hand to steady you as you sink into the nearest swivel chair.

"Oh thank God, and thank you! Where was it?" you ask, glancing between the USB and Bethany with sparkling eyes.

"It was on Suzuki's desk," Bethany replies, gesturing to the nameplate lying beside you. Your eyes go wide. You really need to pay more attention to the world outside your sales team.

"Suzuki? Suzuki Hatsuo, Hana's old stalker? That creep still works here?!" You hurriedly stand up from the chair, brushing yourself off with a gag. "I thought HR fired him after he got that restraining order!"

"Uh, newsflash," Bethany says with a flip of her hair, "his dad's the CFO. Why do you think I tried so hard to sleep with him at the Christmas party? Seriously, do you not know anything?"

You grimace, shaking your head as you close your eyes in disbelief.

"So what, this was some sort of revenge scheme against Soushi? Ugh, that's so petty! Some people are the worst, God I swear…!"

"Yeah… Yeah, they really are," she replies.

You open your eyes again to look at her. Your smile from earlier quickly returns, even wider this time if that's even possible.

"But geez, thanks so much for your help today Bethany! You saved my butt, and I won't forget it. Ugh, but if Suzuki skirts the punishment because of his dad again, I think I'll just–"

"(Y/N)."

"AHHH!!" you shriek, nearly dropping the flash drive. You look around frantically for the source of the disembodied voice that most definitely called your name, and before long, you see a familiar shock of dyed blond hair emerging from your periphery. You exhale in relief.

"Atsumu?! Dammit, you nearly scared the pee out of me!"

"Ew!"

"Not literally, Bethany," You roll your eyes at her before turning back to him. "But hey, what're you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with Kiyoomi. Wait, what am I saying? That doesn't even matter now!"

You thrust the USB so close to Atsumu's face that he goes cross-eyed trying to look at it.

"We found the hard drive!" you squeal. "See?"

"Uh… Y-Yeah, I see," he stammers, lowering your hand to look into your eyes, "but–"

"And it's all thanks to Bethany! You know, she's not so bad once you get to know her. We had this great talk back on the thirteenth floor, and it turns out, we have more in common than I thought!"

"Mm-hm, that's great but–"

Bethany clears her throat from behind you, and Atsumu's eye starts twitching, just a little. You both turn to look at her as she gnaws on her lower lip.

"Ahem, yes, well…" Before the room can dissolve into awkward silence, she pats you on the shoulder. It's a little stiff, but it's as close to a friendly gesture as you've ever gotten from her, so you'll take it.

"I guess that wraps things up, hm?" she continues, looking at you a little sadly. "I go back to being the office sweetheart, Lysol and Gorgeous go back to the court, you can, uh… keep your dead-end job at sales–"

"You do realize I'm up for a major promo–"

"And we can pretend this whole day never happened!" Bethany claps her hands together and gives you a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Just… back to Textiles, and free couture, and all my admirers, and you'll just, well… you can go back to all the people who care about you. Just like old times."

Her eyes trail to Atsumu and then to the floor, and not for the first time today, you feel your heart ache for her.

"Hey," you start, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder, "I don't want to pretend that today never happened. I meant what I said earlier – when you're ready to start over, for real, I'm just two floors away."

Bethany raises her head to meet your eyes, the expression on her face a mixture of hope and disbelief.

"Did you really mean–"

"(Y/N)."

You and Bethany both turn to look at Atsumu. It's not lost on you, the fact that he hasn't really taken his eyes off her since he got here, even as he calls your name… but you're savouring the moment a little too much to pry.

"You should go find Omi and tell him the good news," Atsumu says, finally breaking his gaze away from your coworker to look at you. He tries his best to smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes either.

"Oh… Okay! Yeah, yeah you're right." Atsumu's weird behaviour can wait for now, you decide. "God, what floor is he on?"

"Uh… still eleventh, last I checked," he replies, scratching the back of his neck. "Go now or else ya might lose him! Check tenth if he ain't there, 'kay?"

"Mm!" With a big, dopey grin, you wrap him in a tight hug, which he returns instinctively. "Thanks for your help, Atsumu! I'll catch up with you guys in a bit!"

He lets you go, an unreadable expression in his eyes, and you ruffle his hair before dashing to the elevators.

You don't look back.

Atsumu hadn't seen the mould on those old dictionaries.

Which meant the moment he picked up Romanian to Japanese, 5^th edition by Murayama Publishing, Sakusa was on him like a lion attacking a gazelle.

Not physically, of course. Because 'the spores could spread', and Sakusa sure as hell wasn't about to risk inhaling black mould to whack Atsumu upside the head. Instead, he yelled at him to wash his hands, freaked out once he realized there was no bathroom on the eleventh floor, and scoured the area until he found an actual map of the building.

Luckily, the nearest bathroom wasn't far.

He got to the twelfth floor before you did, he realizes now. Because when he came out of the bathroom, hands still damp and smelling of honey and clover – really? – the first thing he saw was Bessho "Bethany" Nishi pulling a red USB drive from her purse, then waving it around in the air like a madwoman.

"Look, I found the flash drive!"

"I– What the– Where was it?!"

Then came the sound of your running footsteps, then some sort of crash, then more running, until suddenly, you'd emerged into view, looking more relieved than Atsumu had ever seen you. And somehow, you thought you had Bethany to thank for that.

He meant to tell you, he really did. But that grin was so wide it threatened to split your face in two, and you were so excited, so sincere about being friends with this girl – God knows why – that in the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Atsumu's never had a problem telling the truth before. Gotten in trouble for it, even, when the person on the receiving end couldn't take his brutal honesty any longer.

But he's changed now. And that's why he finds himself face-to-face with a dirty, rotten liar, the quiet tick of the clock the only thing filling the silence once you leave.

"I saw you," he says, and now that you're gone, he doesn't even have to hold back anymore. His lip curls into a snarl as Bethany shrinks in on herself. "Who the hell d'ya think you are?! She trusted you!"

Atsumu slams his fist on the nearest desk so hard that everything on the surface rattles – pens, pencils, a picture frame actually falls over – and Bethany flinches at the sound. He hardly notices.

All he can see is your face – the dark circles and nervous tics you were trying to hide when you FaceTimed him last night, the fake smile you gave him this morning when you told him you were gonna get your job back, the excitement just now that made his heart melt, and oh, you'll be so hurt once you know the truth.

He takes one look at Bethany – who's not so subtly trying to edge away now – and hot, hot rage washes over him all over again. He clenches his fists, and even though it feels like every muscle in his body is threatening to tear itself apart, Atsumu wills himself to take a calm, deep breath, trembling and slow.

"…Ya got one minute to explain. Go."

Bethany's eyes go wide, and for a moment, she just stands there, gaping like a fish.

"Before. I lose. My patience," Atsumu growls.

"I… I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I didn't want her to get fired!" Bethany cries, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His frown only deepens.

She hangs her head and sighs.

"…I got the password for (Y/N)'s laptop and the Sales Team Cloud from my boyfriend in IT. I deleted all the Xinhua files from the Cloud because I thought they were hers, but, you know… obviously they weren't. And then I saw the flash drive just lying there, and I grabbed it thinking it was hers too, but of course it wasn't. How was I supposed to know she and Soushi sit right next to each other?"

"Oh I dunno, maybe don't sabotage your coworkers in the first place?!" Atsumu barks, all the pieces finally sinking in. "It's not like the two of ya were even up for the same promotion, so why the hell would ya do that to her? She almost lost her job cause of you!"

Bethany's lower lip begins to quiver, and although Atsumu's always been weak to crying women, he's going to have to make an exception this time.

"I… I…"

"Spit it out already!"

"I was jealous, okay?!" she shrieks.

Bethany whips her head up to look at him dead-on, and when she does, he can see her pupils tremble as she tries to blink away the tears rapidly forming in her eyes. Her hands are shaking now, but her face is carefully contorted into a scowl that looks a hair's breadth away from slipping, revealing the broken person behind it.

For a moment, Atsumu feels sympathy tug at his heart, but it's gone in an instant after what she says next.

"And it's not like (Y/N) even needed the promotion, she's dating a pro volleyball player–"

"We aren't together!"

"Not you, Lysol!"

"What?!" Atsumu yelps. He's stunned silent for a second, but he quickly shakes it off. "They're– They're not datin' either!"

"Could've fooled me. And… And besides! Everything's solved now, isn't it?!"

"How could you even…? Oi, what about that poor guy ya threw under the bus, huh?!"

"Don't you think I thought about that?" Bethany scoffs. "Why else would I frame the trust fund kid? Suzuki's Teflon, this won't hurt him! I already told you, everything is solved."

The way she says it – as if it's the most natural thing in the world, as if her biased sense of justice, the one uniquely catered to her own machinations, is somehow universal – leaves Atsumu speechless.

He just gapes at her in disbelief for a minute, wondering who-what-when-where-why this happened, and why you had to be the victim of such a pointlessly destructive scheme.

When he looks at Bethany again, he snaps back to reality.

"…Ya really think that makes this okay? Ya don't feel any remorse whatsoever?"

She goes silent, and Atsumu can't help but feel his blood boil at the way she refuses to meet his eyes.

"Oi!" He slams the tabletop again, hard enough that even his calloused palm feels the sting. "Get your head out of your ass. Do ya have any idea what ya put her through?! And ya still have the nerve to pretend it never happened?! You deranged psychopath."

At Atsumu's words, the defiant glint in Bethany's eye all but vanishes, and her face begins to crumple into a teary mess. The sight doesn't soften his heart in the least.

Instead, he leans into her slowly, until his mouth is right by her ear so she can hear all of what he says next.

"Look," he breathes, still seething, "don't mess with her. I don't know you, I don't know what happened in your sad, pathetic life to make ya like this, but (Y/N) doesn't deserve it. Any of it. She's a good person, she'd never do anythin' to hurt anyone – even scum like you who actually deserve it – and I don't want ya anywhere near her ever again. You're gonna tell her exactly what ya did, you're gonna tell her you're sorry, and then you're gonna report to HR and let 'em do whatever the hell they want to you, even if that means leavin' the company for good. Am I clear?"

Bethany shudders, desperately trying to swallow the sob racking through her chest.

"…Yes," she whispers, and as soon as Atsumu backs away from her, she bolts for the elevator.

He scoffs. It's not the first time he's made a lady cry, but it is the first time he hasn't felt bad about it. The only regret he has now is seeing the look on your face once you find out your new friend is a fraud, but even that–

"You like her," a voice calls from behind him. "You like (Y/N)."

Atsumu doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. He only sighs.

"…What're ya doin' here?"

"You took way too long coming back from the bathroom," Sakusa replies, looping around so they're face-to-face. "I thought you might've gotten lost."

"Yeah, well… I didn't," Atsumu mumbles. He takes a seat on the edge of the nearest desk, and Sakusa joins him. They sit in silence for a moment, and Atsumu's almost convinced that he's dropped the subject, but unfortunately that's not the case.

"You're not gonna say anything?" Sakusa says in a small voice. "You like (Y/N). I caught you."

"Congratulations," Atsumu mutters, picking up a nearby fountain pen and inspecting it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "But it doesn't matter. She likes you."

Silence fills the room again. The tick of the clock is soft but incessant, and although Atsumu would normally find it annoying, he's grateful that there's at least something to fill the quiet. He's reading the inscription on the pen for the seventh time when Sakusa speaks again.

"…So you're not gonna tell her?"

"What?"

"That you like her."

Atsumu stops rotating the pen in his hands and turns to look at Sakusa. He's not surprised to find Sakusa's eyes already on him, wide and expecting.

He sighs.

"…Why would I?" he says after a moment.

"You don't think she has a right to know?" Sakusa asks, and Atsumu lets out an incredulous laugh at that.

"Oi, Sakusa," he drawls, eyes beginning to narrow. "Ya tryin' to gloat right now? Or d'ya just wanna see me get rejected that badly? Why, huh? What kinda sick, sadistic–"

"It's not for me."

"…What?"

It's his turn to go quiet as Sakusa looks up at the ceiling and sighs. And even though Atsumu tries, he can't think of a reasonable explanation for the troubled look in Sakusa's eyes.

…If anything, that should be him.

After a while, Sakusa finally breaks.

"She already confessed to me, (Y/N) did," he murmurs, "but we're not dating."

"What?" Atsumu says, sitting up suddenly. "When? Why not?"

"About a month ago, before the press conference. She said she wasn't ready for a relationship."

You should tell Omi how ya feel. I think you're ready for it.

Atsumu's own words ring out in his head mockingly, and not for the first time since that day, he feels a twinge of regret in his chest.

"Well, I mean," he starts, "maybe she changed her mind, so why don't ya–"

"I want her to have a choice."

Sakusa's gaze shifts from the ceiling to Atsumu again, so intense it makes Atsumu gulp. He studies Sakusa's face for a minute, for any sign of malice or jest or insanity, and then he shakes his head with a dry laugh.

"…You're crazy, Omi."

"Maybe."

"Ya realize there're guys out there who literally beg me not to go after their girls?"

"…Okay, now it sounds like you're trying to glo–"

"But what the heck is this? Ya want me to tell her I like her?"

"…Yes," Sakusa says between clenched teeth. "Please."

Atsumu cocks his head to the side, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. When a minute passes with no further comment from Sakusa, he figures he's in the clear.

"…Ya won't regret it, right? If she doesn't choose you."

Sakusa is quiet for a moment, but then he sighs.

"…Yeah. Because she knows herself best, and I know she'll choose what makes her happy."

Atsumu gives him a sad smile.

"…Okay."

"…And that's how it happened," Bethany says with an enormous sigh. "And I just want to say I'm sorry. I mean… to be honest, I didn't think I was before, but after everything that went down today, I really do mean it. You trusted me, you let me get all my emotional baggage off my chest, and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness right now, but I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Truly."

You stand there gaping as you try your best to take in everything she's just told you. The files, the flash drive, the IT guy – dammit, you can't believe you actually felt pity for Narumi – and the fact that you've been walking around with the very person you've been trying to catch all day.

And God, you knew Bethany didn't like you all that much, but to sabotage your promotion on purpose, then put your job at stake by accident, then try to blame the whole thing on someone else… For once, it seems like you underestimated what she's truly capable of.

"Oh my God," you groan, massaging your temples as you collapse to the floor in a heap. "This is just… It's a lot to process, geez."

Bethany nods wordlessly and hangs her head.

"I know… I'm the worst, I get it."

"Yeah, you kinda are."

"I'll tell HR everything I did. Gorgeous revived what little remains of my conscience, so at least he's good for something."

You roll your eyes. You're sure HR will tear her to pieces – probation at least, dismissal at most, and maybe a demotion would fall in the in-between. Then again, if you were about to lose your job for the exact crime she committed, the same punishment would likely follow, no?

So a dismissal then.

"You're gonna get fired," you blurt out with no hesitation. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Bethany murmurs. "I know. Ugh, is this what it feels like to play fair? How do you do this all the time?"

You lift your head to look at her, lips quirking up despite the severity of the situation.

"I dunno. But I'd argue that if you played fair from the start, you probably would've kept your job. I mean, if you hadn't tried to sabotage me in the first place."

Bethany lets out a deep sigh and kneels to join you on the floor. You're not sure how it's possible to feel pity for someone who betrayed you so completely, but you do – you do feel pity, and it's weird.

Because you can't stop thinking about how messed up a person must be to attempt something like this in the first place.

You shake your head, and before you can lose the nerve, you give her a gentle pat on the back.

"Well… I guess there's a silver lining for you after all," Bethany mumbles, drawing her knees close to her chest so she takes up as little space as possible. "You'll finally be rid of me after six miserable years."

You chuckle at that. Somehow, this still feels like an out-of-body experience.

"Yeah… Yeah, I guess so," you reply. You turn your head to look at her. "What are you gonna do now then? After you leave the company, I mean."

She hums thoughtfully for a moment, then lets out another sigh.

"…I don't know. I'm leaving the main branch of one of the biggest trading companies in Japan – this wasn’t really in my ten-year plan, okay?"

You give her a little half-smile and pat her hand comfortingly.

"Well, wherever you end up, I'm sure it'll give you a fresh start," you say, rubbing your chin as you imagine the possibilities. "Doesn't even have to be Tokyo… could be in the suburbs, maybe the countryside somewhere. Hokkaido, Kyoto, Kobe's always nice…"

"Yes, because the bumpkin lifestyle would suit a high-fashion career woman so well. Thanks for your insight, (Y/N)."

You choose to ignore the bite in her words. After all, you're not the one getting fired.

"Or hey!" you chime in again. "Maybe you could open your own boutique? Like in the Ginza district or something?"

Bethany hums at that, brow creasing in thought. You could picture it now, even – her favourite part of her job has always been trying out the sample merchandise, she critiques the fashion sense of everyone in the office for free anyways, and she was great at selling fabrics before, so how different could manufactured goods be?

"Yeah… Yeah, that idea's not terrible, actually," she says after a while, and somehow, that gives you a little ego boost. After a moment, Bethany looks over at you again.

"…How are you so okay with all this?" she asks quietly. "Why are you helping me redesign my life when I nearly lost you your job?"

When you look into her eyes, they're clouded over with confusion and doubt, and for a moment, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Because even you don't know how to answer that.

It's not like you felt any attachment to her before today. Besides, six years of torment outweighs one emotionally charged conversation any day of the week, and even without your history, she's still the woman who almost cost you your job and ruined one of your longest-running friendships.

It doesn't make sense. For this to feel so natural, so normal.

But there's something else here that also doesn't make sense.

"…And what about you?" you ask. "You didn't have to confess all this to me. I know Atsumu caught you, but you could've just gone on pretending that this never happened. Let Suzuki take the fall – he would've been just fine, you know?"

"Of course I know that, why do you think I framed him in the first place?" she mutters. But then she turns to you with a frown.

"I dunno, to be honest. Gorgeous is scary as fuck when he wants to be, but it got me thinking… I really do have issues with myself that need sorting out."

She runs her fingers through her hair before burying her face into her hands with a sigh.

"And maybe that starts with actually facing the consequences of my actions. You know, for once. And then maybe when I'm all sorted out, you won't hate me anymore, and we can be, you know… not-enemies."

"You mean–"

"Not-enemies."

"…Okay, great relationship title. Not vague at all."

Bethany lifts her head from her hands to roll her eyes at you, but the action lacks conviction.

"I guess you really are a good person," she murmurs, "for even entertaining me right now. I would've just stormed out if someone did the same thing to me. Gorgeous was right."

"Don't tell him that, he'll get a big head."

She chuckles. You smile at the sound.

"Your turn," Bethany says. "Why are you still here? And why are you talking to me?"

You mull over that for a minute, rubbing the back of your neck as you feel her eyes on you. After hearing her answer, yours has gained a little clarity.

"…Cause I think the fact that you told me at all means you're genuinely sorry," you finally say. "And that doesn't mean I forgive you, but it means I'm willing to, um… put you on probation."

"Probation?"

"Yeah, uh… 'not-enemy' probation. So within the next year or so, if you prove to me that you've reflected on your actions, and if you promise you won't do anything this deranged or underhanded ever again, we can be… not-enemies."

As soon as the word falls from your tongue, you pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head.

"God, that's a terrible title, but I can't even think of a better one."

"See? I'm usually right, you know," Bethany replies, but she can't conceal the smile on her face. You nudge her in the ribs playfully.

"Sure, I'll let you have this. Enjoy your last few days in this corporate prison while you can."

"Mm-hm," she murmurs. "I will."

A comfortable silence overtakes the room, and just when you remember the reason you came down here in the first place – where is Sakusa anyway? – Bethany's voice breaks the quiet.

"Okay, but seriously, how did you manage to nab both those guys? I bought a pair of polyester pants online, but they reeked so badly of desperation that I donated them to Goodwill as soon as they came."

"What the– You should've just given them to me, what a waste!"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Okay, first of all, there was no 'nabbing' involved, we're all just friends."

"You sure?"

You go quiet for just a second, but it's long enough for her to latch onto.

"Ha!"

"Currently friends, but as a wise man once said, 'Ya never know these things…'"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, a thousand times sorry, you are the greatest sales associate and human being I've ever had the privilege to know and/or work with, you are far worthier than I will ever be, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm–"

"Will you shut up already?!"

It's just past 2PM on Monday when you and Soushi finally wrap up your presentations for the Xinhua execs and investors. You're sitting in the lounge area as you await the results, but after all it took to get here, you can't even find it in yourself to be nervous.

…And hey, you thought it'd be pretty satisfying to hear endless apologies and praise from one of the proudest people you know, but turns out, it gets old after the first fifteen minutes.

Not that it isn't well-deserved.

"I'm serious, (Y/N)," Soushi says, taking your hand in his. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I should've known you would never do something like that, I was just was blinded by my own emotions. And it was stupid, and presumptuous, and totally undermines the integrity of our relationship, and God, I… I really messed up, didn't I?"

You slowly pull your hand out of his grasp and lay it in your lap.

"Yeah… You really did."

"…Can you ever forgive me?" he asks after a moment. His voice is softer than you've ever heard it, and when you look up to meet his eyes, they're full of regret.

You take a deep breath.

"To be honest… I don't know, Soushi. I always thought we'd be partners in crime forever, but when I told you I didn't do it, you didn't believe me."

Soushi's expression rapidly shifts into a frown at your words.

"Well, how was I supposed to know it wasn't you?"

"That's right… That's right, you couldn't have known," you murmur, your gaze wandering off for a moment before returning to him. "But if we were really as close as I thought, you would've trusted me. And hey, maybe that was just a misjudgement on my part. Who's to say, right?"

You shuffle around in your chair until you're facing him fully, and from this angle, you can see his fists clenched at his sides.

"But if the tables were turned, and it was you with your job on the line," you continue, pausing a moment to mull over your words, "I would've been there to help you. I mean, Hana was there, Eiko was there… the only person who wasn't was, well…"

You bite your lower lip so hard you taste blood.

"…you."

"(Y/N)–"

"This doesn't change anything about our work relationship, okay? We're a great team, you're a very capable employee, and I'm sure whoever gets the promotion will do a wonderful job as the new boss. And if it's you, I'll follow your lead and support you as best I can."

For a while, Soushi just searches your eyes desperately, as if he's waiting for you to drop the front and tell him this is all a joke. You hold his gaze firmly though, until eventually, he settles back into his seat with a grimace.

"…And what about outside of work?"

"You want the long answer or the short answer?"

He gives you a sad, knowing smile.

"They're the same, aren't they?"

And even after all this time, it's pretty amazing that he can still read your mind.

You pat him on the shoulder.

"…I don't think we can go back to how we used to be."

Soushi hangs his head, closes his eyes, and lets out a deep sigh. When he opens them again, the last of the tension seems to dissipate from his being, and even though it feels surreal, you decide you have no regrets.

"Okay," he says after a beat. "I understand. And I'm sorry."

The silence that follows isn't necessarily uncomfortable, just… sad. Empty. As if you couldn't fill it even if you wanted to, because there really is nothing else to say.

You always thought it'd be harder to mourn a relationship if you were the one ending it, but turns out that's not the case. You can't even find it in yourself to cry, but there's a numb feeling that's overtaken all your senses, like you were paralyzed for hours and someone just woke you up. At this point, there's nothing you want more than to go home, lay in bed, and bury yourself under the covers, even if it's cliché and you just did it a year ago. What do they call it when friends break up anyway? And why–

"Mr. Ishikawa, Ms. (L/N), we have the results."

You jump in your seat at the attendant's voice. You didn't even notice him come out of the boardroom doors.

"Thank you. We'll be right in," Soushi answers for the both of you. He rises from his chair to follow the attendant, and you do the same. When you cross the threshold into the boardroom, standing in the very same place you were twenty-five minutes ago, the ten pairs of eyes that track your every movement don't feel nearly as intimidating as they did before.

You suppose that's a small victory.

But it still stings when they call his name instead of yours.

"Congratulations to Ishikawa Soushi, the new Head Sales Manager of Matsumoto & Co., Tokyo," Fuji announces with a wide grin, clapping along with the rest of the board. You clap too, and when Soushi turns to you with wide eyes, you just smile. And then, so does he.

"Congratulations to the head of the latest Xinhua-Matsumoto collaboration!" one of the overseas execs cheers, and you join in on the chanting of Soushi's name, even though the words feel heavy on your tongue.

"And congratulations to (L/N) (Y/N), Assistant Head of Sales Development for Matsumoto & Co., Tsuen Wan!" Fuji yells above the commotion. The chanting stops, and suddenly, all eyes are on you. Your jaw drops.

"…What?" you whisper, stumbling on air as your mind tries to process his words. "But… But there's no branch in Tsuen Wan!"

"Not yet there isn't," Fuji says with a chuckle. "But the company's expanding to Hong Kong this summer, and we need a small team of people we trust to oversee the development of the new branch. Sorry, I know it might seem like a consolation prize, but–"

"No! No, not at all!" you rush to say, dismissing the notion with a wave of your hand. "It's the opposite, actually! This is such an honour, but I really wasn't… expecting it…"

Fuji gives you a wry smile.

"We talked it over with the Xinhua execs," he continues. "They'll help you guys set up base there, network with some local businesses until you've got your feet on the ground. It's not a light commitment though – you'll be in Hong Kong for at least a year, starting in a month's time."

Your breath catches in your throat as you look into the expectant eyes of the rest of the panel. You swallow.

"You've got some time to decide (Y/N), don't worry too much," Fuji says, crossing the length of the room to pat you on the back. It's comforting, it always is coming from him, but at this moment, it doesn't provide much clarity.

"Alright, I think that wraps things up," he announces, addressing everyone in the room now. "Let's leave Ms. (L/N) and Mr. Ishikawa alone now, shall we?"

Fuji gives you and Soushi a hug before heading out, and the attendant follows him wordlessly. The rest of the executives file out of the room with little fanfare, throwing you and Soushi the occasional 'congrats' or thumbs-up as they go, but it isn't long until the two of you are the only ones left.

"Congratulations, (Y/N)," Soushi says with a genuine smile. You sigh.

"Yeah, congratulations to you too."

"So are you gonna take the job?" he asks.

"…I don't know," you say after a while. "I don't know."

Chapter Text

"You know, when I said you could pick something for movie night, I never thought you'd choose a film about rodents working in the kitchen. What kind of germaphobe are you?"

Sakusa peers over at you from where you're nestled into his side, curled up in a ball underneath a light quilt. You haven't taken your eyes off the TV this whole time, and even now, as the end credits play in the background, you're completely entranced by the animated rats prancing around the screen.

The sight makes him smile.

"Ratatouille is a classic. I saw it in theatres when it came out."

"And you weren't put off by the fact that they were rats? Rats working in an upscale French restaurant?"

"The message was more important."

"Hm… Yeah, I think so too."

The two of you continue to watch until the charming orchestral music dies away and the screen fades to black. You sit up to stretch your limbs, and the moment you do, Sakusa finds himself acutely aware of the lack of your warmth on his body.

…God, he didn't know he could be so clingy.

"That was fun!" You turn to him with a big, dopey grin, hair slightly mussed from where you've been lying on his shoulder. "I'll let you choose next time, too."

"Mm, and when's that?"

Your eyes go wide. A troubled look crosses your face, and the way you refuse to meet his eyes makes Sakusa's heart drop. Maybe he should've just kept his mouth shut. You've been fine all evening, he thought things were going well, but why–

"Do you want to go with me to the V. League Banquet this Saturday?" he blurts out in a panic.

That, at least, gets your attention. But goddammit, it doesn't change the fact that his palms are suddenly sweating, his heart's racing a mile a minute, and you're taking way too long for this to be good news.

"…Me?" you say after a while. You're looking at him like he has two heads, but Sakusa presses on.

"Yes, you."

"Oh. Well, I just assumed I should, you know… lay low for the time being?"

"What? Why would you…?"

It takes longer than it should to dawn on him, but when it does, Sakusa gives himself a proverbial slap on the head.

You've had more media attention in the past month than most people will have in a lifetime. Of course you wouldn't want to go to the most high-profile V. League event of the year.

"…Yeah, you're right," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm sorry, that was dumb of me to suggest, I can just–"

"Wait, I didn't say I wouldn't go!"

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. You smile.

"I mean… I don't mind if you don't. People already know we're friends because of the birthday texts, right? From the press conference."

"Oh. Um, right. Yeah, that's right," Sakusa says. It's a little frustrating that his vocabulary's suddenly been reduced to five words, but hearing you say you'll go with him is worth it, he decides.

"So hopefully it's not too big a deal if I'm there," you chime in. The corner of your mouth quirks up. "I mean, I think people are gonna be a little more occupied with Oikawa Tooru landing in Japan. What day is he coming again?"

"Day of the banquet."

You chuckle, and the sound is enough to relieve the last of his worries.

"Figures," you continue. "And how long's he staying?"

"About a week? Hinata told me he's spending a few extra days to visit family in Miyagi."

"Oh, no way! He's from there too?"

"Yeah… Oikawa, Hinata, Kageyama, Ushijima," he says, counting them off on his fingers. "That's all I can remember off the top of my head."

"What the!" You startle in your seat, causing Sakusa's protective plastic covers to crinkle beneath you. "Does everyone there play? I thought Miyagi was just, you know… cow country. Green fields. No wonder I got hit in the face with a volleyball when I went."

Sakusa scoffs.

"That's probably just because it was you."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're naturally unaware of your surroundings." Even as he says it, he finds himself reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're also unlucky enough to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"…Well, geez," you reply with a grimace. "You didn't have to put it so eloquently."

Sakusa chuckles.

You scoot a little closer to him and readjust the blanket so that it's covering the two of you. Humming, you nuzzle your head against his shoulder as his hand finds yours. Sakusa knows he's naturally cold to the touch – body and soul, his family used to say – but in the few weeks that he's let you get a little closer, you've never complained.

"I don't know why I was so nervous," he says eventually. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"You were nervous? About what?"

"About asking you to–" Sakusa tilts his head down to meet your eyes, but the moment he does, he realizes there's less than an inch between your mouth and his. You notice too, if the flush in your cheeks is anything to go by.

…And you move away. Not far enough that he can't still feel your warmth, but far enough to make a point.

Sakusa swallows.

"About asking you to the banquet."

"You were nervous about that? Why?"

The way you say it isn't unkind. But Sakusa finds his mouth running dry all the same, and it's for the sole reason that he doesn't know how to answer you without sounding like an idiot.

"Kiyoomi, is everything–"

"I thought you might say no."

The words are off his tongue before he can stop them.

"…Oh." You cock your head to the side curiously. You still haven't let go of his hand, and he doesn't really want you to.

"Well… I'm saying yes?" you say with a smile. "So uh, don't worry too much."

You give his hand a little squeeze.

"I mean, I don't think you had much reason to worry in the first place," you continue, running your thumb over his knuckles soothingly. "Of course I'd want to go with you! I just wasn't sure if–"

"With me specifically?"

"Huh?"

Dammit.

"…Did you want to go with me specifically?" Sakusa asks again. It sounds clingy, uncertain and small even to his own ears, and maybe he really is all of those things.

But more than that, he just wants to know.

"Did you want to go with me, or did you just want to go to the banquet in general?"

Your eyes go wide, then you let out a surprised laugh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. Sakusa leans into it almost instinctively, and not for the first time tonight, he wonders if he was always touch-starved or if it's something new he picked up just from being around you.

"…I wish I could be this cute without trying," you murmur with a smile. Sakusa feels his cheeks burn, but he doesn't move away as you start to twirl individual curls around your index finger.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I want to go with you. Obviously."

You start muttering things about how dense he is, but Sakusa barely catches them. He tries and fails to hide the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but seeing him smile just makes you laugh and ruffle his hair again. So it's not so bad, he thinks.

"I can't believe you thought I just wanted to go to the banquet…" you mutter. Suddenly, you stop playing with his hair, cup his face in your hands, and look him dead in the eye. "Oi Sakusa, if you told me you wanted to skip the whole thing and spend the night… I don't know… building a fort! I'd say let's do it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's not just because you like forts, right?"

"No, it's because I–"

♪ Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri! ♫

♫ Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara! ♪

…Damn.

You let go of him entirely to reach for your phone on the coffee table. Sakusa curses whoever's on the other end, because if you were about to tell him–

"Atsumu?"

…Alright. That catches his attention.

You sit back in your seat as Atsumu's unintelligible ramblings ring in Sakusa's ears. A million possibilities run through his mind, but if he had to put money on it, Atsumu's probably calling about–

"Oh, what the heck? Kiyoomi just asked me the same thing! Yeah, of course I'm going."

–the banquet. Goddammit.

"Mm, I thought about that already," you continue, nodding your head even though Atsumu's not here to see it. "I mean, if the press is there, the most they'll get is a group of friends spending a night out together. And maybe a photo of me falling on my face, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Uh-huh. Hey, I know how to dress myself! Geez, okay fine. Alright, see you!"

You hang up the phone, and it's the sweetest sound Sakusa's ever heard.

"Atsumu was calling about the banquet?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.

"Mm-hm."

"Did he ask you to go with him?"

"Oh, um… I don't know." You scratch your head. "I guess you and I will drive together, but we'll probably meet up with him when we get there, right?"

"That's not–"

What he meant. But maybe he'll leave it to your imagination.

"Never mind," Sakusa says instead. "Yeah, you and I will go together."

"Okay."

Another round of silence fills the room, this one decidedly less pleasant – on his end, at least – and Sakusa's about to say something when he notices the look on your face. Dreamy, distracted, and entirely focused on him.

"…Is there something on my face?"

And just like that, the spell's broken.

You startle immediately, nearly dropping your phone as you tear your eyes away from him.

"What?! No! No, I just, um… I just wanted to commit it to memory." You chance a peek at him, pupils shaking, and Sakusa wishes again that he'd just kept his mouth shut.

"I wanted to remember your face, and uh… other things," you say. He studies you for a moment, then frowns.

"…Pervert."

"Hey!"

"You've seen me shirtless too many times."

"And whose fault is that?!"

"You're not denying that's what you were thinking of."

"That wasn't– I just– I was talking about other ' other things'!" You groan in frustration and hit him on the chest, but he doesn't budge. "Things like… like… the scent of Lysol and grapefruit that follows you everywhere, and that weird wrist-flexy thing you do before practice, and how the top of your nose scrunches up beneath your mask when you're annoyed…"

Your voice gets softer and softer with each word, until you're looking into his eyes again with that same dreamy, troubled expression. Part of him likes it, likes that you're looking at him as if he's the only man in the world, but the other part wants to hold you close until whatever's worrying you is wiped clean away.

"Things like that," you finish. Sakusa sighs.

"Why would you need to remember that kind of stuff? You see it all the time."

You go silent for a moment, eyes never leaving his.

"…Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I guess I was just being silly. I'll, uh… head back now."

You rise from the couch and start towards his front door, but something in your words unsettles him. And he's not sure what's going on, or why you're acting like you're going to lose him, but he knows he can't leave things like this.

You haven't taken five steps when you feel Sakusa's warmth on your back. His arms circle your waist, loose enough that you could walk away if you wanted to, but you don't. He rests his chin atop your head.

"…I'll keep showing you those things," he murmurs. "Every day, if you want. So you don't forget."

He thinks he hears your breath catch, but it happens too quickly for him to be sure.

"…Okay," you whisper. "Thanks, Kiyoomi."

Saying and doing are two completely different things, you find. At least in the context of promising your coworker that nothing would change in your work relationship.

You're trying, really. But you had too much pride to accept Hana's offer to switch cubicles, and now that you're working a foot away from your future boss and ex-friend, the proximity makes things a little… awkward.

"Uh… hey! Morning, (Y/N)."

"Morning, Soushi."

"Did you finish looking through–"

"You did a great job on–"

"Oh, sorry, you go–"

"My bad, you first–"

"No, I–"

"Sorry, you can–"

And silence. Followed by your muttered reassurance that yeah, he did a great job leading the meeting yesterday, you'll definitely look through the Auckland documents when you get the chance, and would you look at that? Next thing you know, he's made an excuse to run to the copy room, and you're too relieved to stop him.

Lovely.

"Well, that went a little better than last time."

You hear Hana's voice before you see her, looping behind your chair to place a steaming cup of coffee on your desk. You turn to her to nod your thanks, then take a deep, long sip. You sigh.

"It's a process," you mutter.

"I can see that."

"It's like the conversation equivalent of a bad handshake."

"Can't say I disagree."

"But the work is still getting done… Just a little slower now that 80% of our communication takes place over email."

She winces at that last remark. "Yikes. Even though you guys sit right next to each other?"

"Especially since we sit right next to each other."

Hana goes quiet at that, and not for the first time this week, the sugar-sweet smile that always seems to grace her lips slips away. It makes your heart feel heavy.

"I'm sorry about what happened," she says after a while. "I tried talking to him, I told him you'd never do something to sabotage–"

"Hana." You look straight into her eyes before taking her hand in yours and giving it a gentle pat. "It's okay. None of this is your fault. It's between me and him, and we already promised we'd keep it professional, so all this? All the tiptoeing and awkward silences, and the weird shuffle thing we do when we cross paths in the same hallway? That's on us. So don't worry too much, yeah?"

Your squeeze her hand reassuringly, and a little bit of Hana's signature smile returns. She nods.

"Okay. Thanks, (Y/N)."

"No problem."

She returns to her cubicle, and when Soushi comes back to you with five copies of an outdated business statement, you just sigh.

"Okay, new rule: no more useless trips to the copy room."

"What?"

"And no more using Outlook as a crutch. It's awkward to be around each other, I get it. You're not exactly my favourite person right now, but we'll never get out of this… funk, unless we start acting like adults. So tell me what you need from me, I'll do the same for you, and if it's awkward, we just suck it up. Deal?"

Soushi grimaces, but you can tell by the way his fingers drum on his desk that he's considering it. Funny, how you still know his habits so well.

"Fine, deal," he says eventually. "So did you look through those–"

"And I finally read through the–"

"Auckland documents?" he finishes before the two of you can start spiralling again. You let out a dry laugh.

"Yeah, those."

"Great. Send me your revisions by the end of the day, and I'll pass them along to Fuji."

He takes his seat next to you, and even though his presence is still an unpleasant weight on your shoulders, you force yourself to shrug it off. It becomes less and less pronounced with each passing hour, and by the end of the workday, you don't even notice when he takes his leave.

It's a little sad to admit, but you feel relieved.

You're still lingering in the office as the sun sets, furiously typing at your keyboard even though everyone else has gone home already. It's nearing the end of the second sales quarter, and before you can let loose for the weekend, there are a few last details you need to take care of.

You've just sent off your last document when the pleasant chime of the elevator captures your attention.

Your eyes go wide when you see who's inside.

"…Bethany?"

"(Y/N)? What the heck are you still doing here?"

"Overtime's a beast."

"Right. I almost forgot your catchphrase."

"Hey!"

"Just teasing. I'm here to gather my things, actually," she says, looking around her old office space with a small, wistful smile. It's only then that you notice the stack of cardboard boxes in her arms.

"...Need any help with that?"

"I won't say no."

It takes thirty minutes to pack up six years' worth of Bethany's existence at Matsumoto & Co, and by the time you're finished, it all feels a bit surreal.

(The part about her leaving, yes, but even more so the fact that you've maintained a civil conversation for the past half-hour. You make a note to yourself that your last heart-to-heart with her might not have been a fluke after all.)

"I don't want Hana to feel like she has to pick sides, you know?" you say, taking a moment to admire Bethany's handcrafted Tiffany snow globe. "And it's even worse because Eiko's out of town this week, plus Kamiko's busy training your ex's replacement."

At your words, Bethany stops sifting through her desk drawers. The look of guilt that flashes across her face is warranted, you think, but you still feel a pang of sympathy in your chest.

"I'm sorry," you're quick to amend. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's fine." She shakes her head and continues rummaging through her drawers, the sound of paperclips scratching against the wood making you cringe. "If it weren't for me, he'd still have his job."

And yeah, maybe it's hard to argue with that.

"Well…" you begin tentatively, "you didn't really force him into anything. He was just lovesick and desperate, so he did something stupid that could've really hurt someone. Me, actually. He knew what he was doing, he knew people would get hurt, and he went through with it anyway. That was his decision."

Bethany hums at that, stacking her old stationery on the surface of her desk before turning to you with a small smile.

"…Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me."

"I know, it's just… It's nice having someone to talk to."

And with that, visions of volleyball and business deals and a certain someone flicker through your mind like a bad movie. You haven't discussed it with anyone yet, even though the deadline's drawing near, and the thought makes you shudder. Bethany notices.

"I heard about your promotion," she says. "Congratulations. Hong Kong's nice, you gonna take it?"

"…I don't know."

"Tough choice, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Pretty awful timing if you ask me. I mean, that bitch Ayako's finally out of the picture–"

"Bethany! Language."

She rolls her eyes at you and drops her stack of stationery into the last box with a thud.

"…that witch Ayako's finally out of the picture, so isn't it time to put Lysol out of his misery? You like him, don't you?"

You gnaw on your bottom lip. The quiet tick of the clock has suddenly become incessant, as if it's telling you that you're running out of time, running out of excuses, running out of–

"You're gonna have to make a decision at some point, you know," Bethany remarks, but her tone softens when she sees the helpless look in your eyes. "I'm… I'm sure it'll all work out in the end, though. You'll figure it out, you always do."

You give her a wry smile.

"Mm. Thanks."

"Oh, that's right!" She claps her hands together as her face lights up. "I heard Oikawa Tooru's coming back to town for the V. League banquet. You going?"

"Oh. Yeah, I am… with Kiyoomi, actually."

"And do you know what you're wearing?"

You nod. "Same dress I wore for the company anniversary party."

"What? You can't wear that!" Bethany grips your shoulders, and the look on her face would almost be comical if her nails weren't currently digging into your skin. Ouch.

"Would you let go of me already!" you snap, pulling away from her with a frown. "And why can't I wear it? I like that dress!"

"He's already seen you in it! This is a celebratory thing for them, isn't it? C'mon, throw him a bone here."

You snort. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bethany sighs. You're about to tell her off for being so ridiculous when she asks you to hold out your hands, drops the heaviest cardboard box into your outstretched arms, and shakes her head as you nearly buckle beneath the weight.

"What the heck?! Warn me first!"

"It means you're gonna help me lug this junk to my car, ride with me to Ginza, and buy something that conceals your natural aura of homeliness and insecurity."

You grimace.

"…Gee, you couldn't have put that in a nicer way?"

"Take what you can get, darling. I'm working on it."

The V. League banquet has always been an evening affair. And traditionally, on the morning of, Sakusa sleeps in as late as possible so he has the energy to deal with Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu's wacky hijinks.

This year, he'd planned to spend the day picking out something nice to wear – maybe style his hair, choose a new cologne, and above all, take his time to mentally prepare for what he plans to do tonight.

He should've known by now that nothing ever goes according to plan.

It's the morning of the V. League banquet, and instead of pacing his room anxiously and trying on fifty combinations of shirts and suit jackets, Sakusa finds himself at the actual venue. Early.

Which is a damn shame, because the two of you were supposed to arrive here together.

"Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice!"

The attendant ushers him into the main atrium with a nervous smile, her trembling hands and voice indicative of either major sleep deprivation or caffeine overdose. Probably both, if he's being honest, and even though Sakusa's miffed that his morning plans have been thrown to the wind, he knows he's not the only one having a rough day.

"It's alright," he says with a nod. "Thanks for all your hard work. The place looks great, I'm sure everyone will have a wonderful time tonight."

The woman looks up at him with wide eyes, and briefly, Sakusa wonders if his reputation as a notorious hard-ass has spread all the way to the V. League event planners. But then the woman gives him a radiant smile, and those thoughts are gone as quickly as they appeared.

"Yes, of course!" she says, bowing deeply. "Now right this way, there's someone here who wants to meet you…"

Sakusa follows her up the marble steps into a wide corridor, tall stone pillars flanking him on either side. Draped between them, high above his head, are colourful banners with his teammates' faces plastered across. He cringes a little when his own stoic profile comes into view, but then the attendant takes a sharp left down a hallway he's never seen before, and he remembers why he's here.

She stops at the last door, and she's barely rapped her knuckles against it when the person inside yanks it open.

It happens in a blur. There's a shriek, the quick stomping of little feet, and before he can even process what's happening, Sakusa's being tackled by a very small, very loud body.

The impact isn't enough to send him to the ground, thank God, but he loses his footing for long enough that he crashes into the wall back-first.

Bang!

"Ugh…" Sakusa groans, raising one hand to feel the rapidly forming bump on the back of his head. The other is wrapped around the hyperactive child currently squealing in his arms, and not for the first time today, Sakusa wishes that Watanabe's phone call this morning had just been a prank.

Apparently, one of this year's banquet sponsors had a nine-year-old nephew who was obsessed with Sakusa Kiyoomi – Sakusa wonders why, honestly. From his bendy alien wrists to his ice-cold demeanour, there's nothing about him that should appeal to children. What's more, in this moment alone, he can feel every inch of his being die a little as the kid wraps him in a hug so tight that it's hard to breathe.

"Uh… kid? You can let go of me now, you know."

"Oh! Sorry, Mr. Sakusa!"

The boy releases him from his iron grip and hops back to the ground with a big, dopey grin. His choppy black hair falls to his chin in uneven locks, but apart from that, the spring in his step and the boyish gleam in his golden eyes reminds Sakusa of Hinata. And despite the dull ache in his head, Sakusa finds the corners of his lips quirk up a little.

"I'll leave you to it!" the attendant chimes in, and as she takes her leave, Sakusa can see her shoulders shake with a silent giggle.

He turns back to the kid with a wry smile.

"So… what's your name?"

"Kozume Kazuhiko! But you can, uh… you can call me Kazu!"

"And you like volleyball?"

"Mm-hm!"

"You play?"

"Yeah, yeah that's right! I play with my friends!"

"What position?"

"Wing spiker!"

"Oh, like me."

"Uh, yeah!" Kazu scrunches his eyebrows at him, and the expression reminds Sakusa so much of himself that he snorts.

"You're my… Y-You're my favourite player!" Kazu presses on. "I have all your posters, and I watch every Jackals' game, and see! See! I even wore your jersey today!"

He turns around, and it's true. Number 15. And Sakusa knew going into this that the kid was some kind of super-fan, but it's still a strange feeling to have someone look up to him so much. Strange, indeed.

…But kind of nice.

He reaches out a tentative hand and pats Kazu on the head. Once. Twice.

(If you were here, you'd laugh at him till you were blue in the face, he thinks.)

Kazu doesn't even point out how awkward he is, just grips the hem of his jersey and holds it out proudly.

"My uncle got it for me for my birthday, he's the best! And now you're… And now you're here! Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life, oh my gosh… Oh my gosh, this isn't real, you're actually here… I've been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea… Wait a second, you're really, really here, this is… This is so much…"

Suddenly, he trails off into whispered mutterings, pacing the doorway back and forth until he starts hyperventilating – and geez, now it really is like looking in a mirror. Sakusa scans the area for a supervisor, an aid of some sort, but when none appears, he takes the kid by the shoulders and steels himself for what he’s about to do.

"Hey, uh, everything's fine, Kazu, just breathe," he says, in what he hopes to God is a reassuring voice. "It's really me, I'm really here, and the two of us are gonna have a lot of fun, okay? I'm here, you're safe, everything's okay. Just, um… just breathe with me, see? Deep breaths, yeah? Count: 1… 2… 3… There you go, good job."

Kazu's breathing eventually shifts from short, ragged pants into something a little more regular. Sakusa rubs his back soothingly, but as soon as he does, Kazu's eyes well up with tears.

(Dammit, he knew he could never be good with kids.)

"So embarrassing…" Kazu mutters between sniffles, burying his face in the neck of his jersey. Sakusa cringes a little as he imagines the snot staining his – Kazu's – jersey, but it's not the time, he knows it isn't.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sakusa," Kazu sobs, voice muffled by the fabric covering his face. "This used to happen, hic … when I was little and I got too excited, but I've been fine for, hic… years, and it just h-had to happen again today... You must think I’m, hic, such a baby."

"Hey, that's not true at all," Sakusa says softly. He shakes his head at himself for what he's about to do – what kind of germaphobe is he, really? – but in the next moment, he's pulling the jersey down off Kazu's head, cupping his face in his hands, and brushing the tears away with the pads of his thumbs.

"I'm a baby too, in that case."

"What do you, hic… What do you mean?" Kazu asks, voice still raw with tears.

"This kind of thing happens to me too."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. When I'm in crowded places, mostly, with lots of people around that I don't know." He gives Kazu a little smile. "That's why I've always hated the banquet, but this year's looking to be pretty good for once. You know why?"

"…Why?"

"Cause I got to meet you today, and you seem like a pretty cool guy."

Still hiccupping, Kazu's face breaks into a watery smile, and he laughs through his tears as Sakusa digs into his pants pocket, fishes out a pack of tissues, and offers one to him to blow his nose. Kazu does, and then finally, he leads Sakusa out of the doorway and into the empty conference room behind them. There's a large table in the centre covered in an assortment of Sakusa's favourite snacks – umeboshi onigiri, okonomiyaki, black sesame Pocky – and hey, maybe his fan page is more accurate than he gives it credit for.

"Thanks, Mr. Sakusa," Kazu says, dabbing away the last of his tears. He pulls out a seat for Sakusa at the table, then plops down in the one right next to it. "You're a really nice guy."

"Ha, thanks," Sakusa replies, giving the kid another pat on the head. "You'd be the first to say that, though."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"What about your girlfriend?"

Sakusa chokes on air, and now it's Kazu's turn to pat him on the back until he recovers. The kid is sweet enough to pour him a cup of tea, even, and it's three sips later that Sakusa can finally form words again.

"My, kergh … My what?" he manages.

"Mr. Sakusa, you don't have a girlfriend?"

"No!"

Kazu's eyebrows furrow together. Then, a look of understanding crosses his face.

"Ah, okay, okay. Boyfriend then?"

"No, it's not that, I just–"

"Not that either?" This time, Kazu cocks his head at him and shakes his head. "Mr. Sakusa, how come you're not dating anyone?"

"I… Well, I…"

"You're tall, you're nice, you're good at volleyball! So how come?"

Sakusa goes speechless for a moment, and he has half a mind to scold this kid for being so blunt, but that would be hypocritical. You can attest to that.

"Well… even if you're all those things, it doesn't mean you need to date someone," Sakusa says eventually. "What if there wasn't anyone I liked?"

"Well, is there?"

…Damn.

"…Yes, but that's just a coincidence," he mutters beneath his breath, and Kazu grips the arms of his chair as his eyes light up immediately.

"A-ha!"

"Oi, keep it down."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"…A girl."

"Why aren't you dating her?"

"Well… one of my friends likes her too."

Silence fills the room. It drags on so long, in fact, that Sakusa's about to change the subject to something a little less intrusive, but Kazu chooses that exact moment to chime in again.

"So what?"

"So what?"

"Yeah. So what?" He adjusts himself in his chair so he's facing Sakusa directly. "You're not gonna tell her you like her?"

Sakusa swallows. It's something that's been on his mind for a while, honestly, and even though nothing has gone as planned today, even though he'll have to scour the banquet for you instead of arriving together like he wanted, he knows he needs to–

"–tell her tonight, actually. I was gonna tell her tonight."

"Oh!"

"But I'm a little… nervous."

Kazu scrunches his nose up. "Why would you be nervous?"

"…Because I think she might say no."

"Why would she say no?"

"I… I just… You shouldn't ask so many questions, kid."

It's such an odd feeling to be interrogated by a nine-year-old, Sakusa thinks. Kazu doesn't even know he's backed him into a corner, didn't even intend for this to happen, but he's still managed to render Sakusa speechless.

"You didn't answer," Kazu continues. "Why would she say no?"

Why would she say no?

Visions of you and Atsumu flood Sakusa's mind – laughing, crying, looking into each other's eyes like you're the only people in the world. He sighs.

"Well… my friend has a lot in common with her. And they understand each other in ways that I don't. So I feel like he might make her happier than I could."

Kazu finally goes quiet at that. His silence feels a little ominous, maybe, but Sakusa is sure of one thing and one thing alone.

"I'm gonna leave that up to her to decide, though. I’m still gonna tell her."

"…Yeah, that's probably good," Kazu replies.

"Yeah."

"But you shouldn't worry so much, Sakusa-san." Kazu looks up at him again with those bright, twinkling eyes, and somehow, it's enough to set his heart at ease. Sakusa smiles.

"Why's that?"

"Because you're a good guy."

"You just met me, kid."

"I know. But you're a good guy, and she's gonna see that too."

"You really think?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

It's an hour before the banquet when you find yourself knocking on Bokuto's apartment door. However, the face that greets you is decidedly older, plumper, and – oh look, there's your Pilates instructor sidling in beside him.

"(Y/N)," she gasps. "You look beautiful!"

"Inomata? Piratisu? Did I… Did I knock on the right door?"

You peer over at the apartment numbers to your left and right, refusing to believe you pulled an Atsumu and got the address wrong. Piratisu notices, and she giggles at the perplexed look on your face.

"No, this is the right one, (Y/N)!"

"Oh, thank God. The last time I was here was for a baking show in the fall, but I should really drop by more often." You step into Bokuto's front foyer, slip off your heels, and thank Piratisu as she takes your coat. Inomata guides you into the sitting area, and you take note of the mess of suit jackets strewn haphazardly around the apartment.

"So uh… What's all this? And what are you two doing here anyways?" you ask, carefully folding a velvet Armani jacket to make room for yourself on the sofa. "I thought it was weird that Bokuto called me an hour early, especially when he's not even here."

"Oh, he's here. Just in his bedroom changing into the next outfit," Inomata replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You raise an eyebrow.

"I… What?"

Piratisu hits him playfully on the shoulder. "Context, love!"

She turns to you with a kind smile. "Bokuto called all of us here to model some outfits and help him choose what to wear tonight. He wanted our advice so he'd look extra good for that nice boyfriend of his."

"Yeah," Inomata pipes in. "He really wants this night to go well. Keiji-san had to miss the banquet last year because he got salmonella poisoning from Bokuto's monster cookies, so uh… Bokuto's trying to make it up this year."

"Oh! Well that's… That's sweet."

And it is, but you can't help but imagine poor, poor Akaashi vomiting his brains out on the night of last year's V. League banquet. Now that you think about it, that was also the night Bokuto clogged the chocolate fountain and Atsumu met Ayako.

You shudder. Hopefully things go more smoothly this year.

"By the way, where's Sakusa-san?" Piratisu chimes in, bringing you back to the present.

"Ah, the two of us were actually supposed to go together," you say. Voicing it aloud makes you deflate a little, but you manage a wry smile. "He's there already, got called in early this morning to meet a fan. It's fine though, I'm lucky I can still hitch a ride with Bokuto and Akaashi."

"Yup, that's the great thing about neighbours," Inomata tags on, and the comment is so innocent, so simple, but it still drives a knife through your chest.

"Yeah… neighbours. Just a few doors apart," you mutter.

Not 3000 kilometres away.

The thought is there before you can stop it, but you shake it off. Instead, you clap your hands together and plaster on the biggest smile you can muster.

"So! Tell me, how are things going between the two of you? It's been, what, four months since Valentine's Day? Give me all the details!"

Inomata and Piratisu look at each other with the softest smiles you've ever seen, and the adoration in their eyes is enough to make you blush.

"You want to start, love?" Piratisu whispers to him.

"I don't see why not," Inomata replies, brushing an errant curl behind her ear.

And they give you the full scoop. The two of them have been seeing each other ever since your harebrained matchmaking scheme fell through, and not long after, Piratisu encouraged Inomata to start a food blog which they now run together. In the meantime, Hard Core Workouts has expanded to a second studio in Yokohama – they're currently short on staff, so for the past two months, she's been going between the two locations to work extra shifts.

"It's harder now to find time to see each other, definitely," she tells you. "But Inomata brings me lunch on the weekends, and sometimes he even attends my classes!"

"All worth it to see you, sweet," he says without a hint of malice. He strokes her hair with such a tender fondness that you'd swoon if you had half the mind to, but right now?

You don't.

"And that doesn't bother you?!" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Inomata freezes, and he and Piratisu give each other a blank stare before looking at you.

And it's only then that you process your own words.

"…I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude!"

"Oh, no! Don't worry about that, dear." Piratisu places a gentle hand atop yours. "It's just… it does get tough sometimes, definitely. But whatever time we do get to spend together, we just cherish so much that I couldn't imagine not being with him."

She looks over at Inomata with that same soft, dreamy look in her eyes.

"Is it the same for you, love?"

"You read my mind," he says, and then all goes silent as they bask in each other's mere presence.

…So this is what third-wheeling feels like.

"…I see," you say after a while. There's something niggling at the back of your mind, something you really need to get off your chest, and you figure now's as good a time as any.

You glance over at Inomata. "And what if… what if Piratisu moved to another country? Say, for a year? But it was for work, and it was really, really important to her."

"Oh god, I'd miss her terribly," he says without a second thought.

"I'd miss you too!" she pipes in.

"But if it was that important…" Inomata sighs and scratches his balding head thoughtfully. "Well, it's not like she's gone forever, right? I'd keep doing my own thing here, working, baking, building the brand, and she'd be doing her thing over there. Y'know, whatever pixie dust magic that makes her so radiant."

"Aw, stop it! You big sap."

"It's true!" Inomata gives her a kiss on the cheek before returning his attention to you. "But yeah, (L/N), we'd do our own thing, call every day, and it wouldn't change the fact that I'd miss her terribly, but if she's over there doing something she loves? I couldn't stop her. I wouldn't have the heart."

Piratisu lets go of your hand to wrap him up in a big bear-hug.

"Darling, I'm so lucky to have you," she murmurs into his shoulder.

"I'm so lucky to have you, too," he says. The way they speak, the way they hold and look at each other reminds you of a certain someone – and the feelings in your heart feel equal parts sweet and sombre, if that's even possible.

"And when she eventually comes back?" you ask, even though you already know the answer. Inomata chuckles.

"I'd give her all the hugs and kisses in the universe, cover the entire apartment in rose petals, and have a dozen red velvet cupcakes waiting for her at home."

"Damn! You're pretty smooth Inomata, what happened?" a voice calls out from behind you.

You all turn around to face him, the man of the hour, and even in the harsh lighting, Bokuto cuts an attractive figure. His charcoal suit jacket hugs his muscular arms and shoulders, his gold cuff links bring out the colour of his eyes beautifully, and the fabric of his shirt barely contains his broad chest.

(You have a feeling Akaashi will like that just fine, though.)

"Bokuto, you look great!" You're the first to say it, but Inomata and Piratisu join in with just as much enthusiasm. Bokuto soaks up the praise happily.

"Ha-ha, of course I do!" Suddenly, his voice goes soft and his cheeks tinge with red. "Do you, uh… Do you think Akaashi will like it?"

You nod, grinning from ear to ear.

"He won't be able to take his eyes off you," you say, and that's all it takes to restore Bokuto's confidence.

"Ha! That's just a normal day for us!"

"Mm-hm, I'm sure it–"

You freeze as you catch sight of the oven clock.

"Oh wow, I… I think we should maybe get going? Bokuto."

Bokuto raises an eyebrow, glances down at his wristwatch, and gasps.

"Oh my god, is that the time?! You're right, we got to go! I told Akaashi I'd meet him outside our building ten minutes ago, he's gonna be so mad!"

As Bokuto scrambles to get his shoes on, Inomata retrieves your coat from the closet, Piratisu tosses you your heels, and you barely have time to say thank you before Bokuto is ushering you out the door.

The elevator ride affords you a little time to breathe, at least. And when you check the text on your phone, you nod to yourself.

Fujiyama, 10:22PM: You made the right call. They can't wait to have you on the team!

This is it. And there's no going back.

The inside of the banquet hall is sleek, modern elegance. Beneath the dim white light of a glittering chandelier, champagne flows freely between crystal glasses, filling the room with the scent of luxury and celebration. What must be three dozen dining tables occupy the vast space, veiled in freshly pressed silk cloths and topped with flourishing arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, and delicate strands of pearls interwoven between each blossom. Floor-to-ceiling windows expose the illuminated concrete jungle of Tokyo's cityscape, and sitting in the middle of the room is an enormous stone fountain, water trickling in clear, pristine streams.

"(Y/N)?" Bokuto taps you on the shoulder, startling you back to reality. "You okay?"

"Oh! Yeah, I'm fine," you assure him. You rub the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. "It's just… It's stunning, beautiful. Thanks so much for the ride, Keiji-san."

Akaashi gives you a kind smile.

"Of course. Thanks for getting Bokuto out of the apartment when you did. He always seems to lose track of time."

"I said I was sorry! And hey, at least we beat the paparazzi," Bokuto huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as his mouth twists into a childish pout.

"Mm-hm, you're right about that." You pat Bokuto on the back before his hair can deflate. "Obviously, Bokuto planned this from the start so I wouldn't have to deal with any reporters tonight. Brilliant, as always."

You wink at Akaashi as Bokuto puffs his chest out with pride. Akaashi chuckles behind his hand, but only you seem to notice.

"So where's Sakusa-san?" Akaashi asks, scanning the room with a scrutinizing squint. "You two were supposed to come here together, right?"

"Ah, I forgot to text him! Hold on, just a sec."

Bokuto whispers something to Akaashi that has them both dissolving into a fit of giggles, but you're too occupied with your phone to pay them any mind.

You, 7:49PM: We're here! Avoided paparazzi cuz Bokuto was late. Where do you wanna meet up?

You hit send, and as soon as you do, you feel an arm wrap around your shoulders accompanied by the familiar scent of sandalwood.

"Atsumu," you say without turning around.

"Glad ya could make it, 603."

You can hear the smile in his voice, and sure enough, when you turn to face him, he's wearing his signature smirk. It's gone soon enough, though, as he takes in your full appearance with wide eyes.

Spending yesterday with Bethany in Ginza wasn't as awful as you expected. She brought you to five different boutiques, scoured the racks for you each time, and dumped whatever she deemed worthy into your arms before shoving you into one of the changerooms. Every time you emerged, half of you expected her to tear your appearance to shreds, but she was pretty tame.

"Okay, that one looks like a clown barfed on you then ran you over with a unicycle covered in lion guts. It's awful, oh my God, what was I thinking?"

"Your waist looks great in that one, but all the tulle at the bottom is giving major loofah vibes."

"If Wednesday from the Addams Family was twice-divorced and trying to seduce the young CEO of a tech start-up, she would wear this dress. Go change."

For the most part.

Eventually, the two of you decided on a cream-coloured A-line gown with delicate pink and gold flowers cascading down the bodice. The full skirt billows around you like a waterfall of silk and satin, and as Atsumu looks you up and down, you fiddle with the matching crystal rose in your hair self-consciously.

"Hey, hey don't do that," he murmurs gently, taking your hand in his and lowering it from your head. You think you see a tinge of red on his cheeks, but the dim lighting makes it hard to tell.

"Ya look good, 603, I was just… wow."

"Oh! Thanks," you reply, and you can't help the tiny smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Um… Are we even here?!" The grating tone of Bokuto's voice brings your attention back instantly. "Tsum-tsum, you didn't even say hi to me!"

Atsumu tears his eyes away from you, and suddenly, that cocky little smirk is back. He claps Bokuto on the shoulder with a laugh.

"Oi, Bokuto, lookin' good! You and Akaashi are prob'ly the best-lookin' couple here, lemme tell ya… Nice to see ya, Keiji-san."

"You too, Miya," Akaashi says before turning to look at Bokuto with a soft, adoring smile. "And you're right, Bokuto is very handsome tonight."

Your 7th-floor neighbour instantly melts under the sugary sweet praise, and even though he dwarfs Akaashi in both height and width, Bokuto looks so small, so endearing as Akaashi pats his head like a puppy.

"Oh, yeah!" Bokuto chimes in again, draping himself over Akaashi's shoulders like a human backpack. "Tsum-tsum, have you seen Omi?"

All three of you look to Atsumu with wide, curious eyes, but he only shrugs.

"Can't say I have. Thought he got here early?"

"He did, but I texted him just now and he hasn't replied yet," you say, opening your phone again. The empty notification screen makes you frown.

"M'sure we'll catch up with him in a bit," Atsumu replies, giving his surroundings a brief once-over before returning his attention to you. He smiles.

"In the meantime, how bout I introduce ya to everyone? Dontcha wanna meet all my rivals?"

"If they're anything like you? Hard pass," you say, but you're already grinning.

"Harsh tonight, huh?" Atsumu chuckles, a familiar gleam in his eye as he says, "Bokuto, why don't ya show Akaashi all the dance moves you've been practicin' for tonight? I'll make sure (Y/N) doesn't get lost, don't worry."

Bokuto's eyes light up at that, and before anyone can protest, he's dragging Akaashi onto the dance floor without so much as a 'goodbye'. You let out a sigh that's equal parts fond and exasperated, and before your mind can wander to Sakusa again, Atsumu's guiding you by the hand to his friends.

"Oi Kageyama, cut it out! Oh wait, oh my gosh, look who it is… Hi, Tsumu-san! Hi (L/N)!"

From where he's stationed at the buffet table, Hinata jumps and waves both arms in the air like a maniac, as if you couldn't spot his flaming orange hair from a mile away. As you come closer, you notice two men standing next to him: one is tall and imposing, with dark hair and an intelligent gleam in his eyes that reminds you of a crow. The other seems to vibrate with barely contained energy – a little like Hinata – but the stark white of his hair is cold and striking, not at all like your warm little sunshine child.

"Hinata, so good to see you!" you say as soon as you approach them. You open your arms up for a hug, and Hinata comes bounding into you with so much force that you'd have fallen over if Atsumu wasn't there to catch you.

"Woah there, Shrimpy, careful," he says with a frown, but Hinata isn't even fazed. He hugs Atsumu next, wrapping him up so tight that Atsumu has to physically pry his arms and legs off one at a time.

"Little touchier tonight than usual, huh?" you ask with a chuckle. Hinata grins.

"It's because I'm excited! Tonight's gonna be so much fun! I can't wait for the awards, and to see everyone, and the food's amazing! And, and… oh yeah!"

Hinata turns between you and the two strangers, grinning even wider.

"These are my friends from the Adlers, Kageyama Tobio and Hoshiumi Korai! This is (L/N) (Y/N), Omi-san's neighbour. We're close now too, we've worked on, like, three secret missions together!"

"Secret missions?" The dark-haired man, Kageyama, raises an eyebrow. "Oi dumbass, what kind of trouble are you getting into?"

"Not trouble! Why do you always assume the worst?" Hinata whines. "We pulled a super cool matchmaking gig together! Which sort of worked out, but not the way we thought it would… Uh, but then we threw Omi a surprise birthday party! And even though he got super depressed in the middle, it was all good at the end, but then of course, there was that footage of (L/N) that went viral… Oh! But the press conference was really good! I wasn't there for all of it though, because I… well… actually, by the time I got there, it was over…"

Hoshiumi snorts as Hinata's ears turn bright red.

"Oi Shoyo, I already heard about that from Bo. You got lost on the subway again? After what happened last year?"

"Hey! Stop bringing that up, it's embarrassing!"

Apparently not everyone's immune to Hinata's puppy-dog eyes, because Hoshiumi launches into the story immediately.

"So basically, we were all supposed to meet up in Osaka for a training camp with Team Argentina, yeah? But somehow, Shoyo got off at the wrong station and met this group of Portuguese tourists, and he just assumed they were the right guys, so by the time we tracked him down, he was in the middle of climbing Mount Fuji with three guys named Santiago."

"What the…! No, that's not what happened!" Hinata yells, tugging on Kageyama's sleeve as if it'll make any difference. "Oi, Kageyama! Tell them what really happened!"

"Yeah, that's exactly what happened."

"Hey! That's not… I didn't…!"

You try to cover your laugh with a cough, but you're a second too late. Hinata's eyes flick over to you, and now he's looking at you with the biggest pout you've ever seen.

"They speak Portuguese in Argentina! And those guys were really nice, and I thought the mountain thing was part of the training, so how was I supposed to know…"

You let Hinata ramble on for a few more minutes before Atsumu tugs you towards the bar.

"Oikawa! Iwaizumi!"

"Miya-san, good to see you!"

Oikawa Tooru isn't nearly as intimidating as he appears on TV, you find. Off the court, the fire in his eyes has dimmed to a kind twinkle, and the air around him is calm, gentle. His features are sharper now, more masculine than they were in the old high school photos Hinata showed you once, but you can tell from the smirk gracing his lips that the mischievous heartthrob attitude never really left him.

"And who might you be? His date tonight?" Oikawa leans into you with smiling eyes, and you overhear Atsumu muttering profanities behind you. You chuckle.

"No, just a friend!" You stick out your hand for a handshake, not-so-accidentally putting some space between the two of you. "It's nice to meet you, Oikawa-san."

"Likewise. And your name is…?"

"(L/N). (L/N) (Y/N)."

"That dress is lovely on you."

"Thank you!" You twirl the silk skirts around your ankles and he laughs. "It's so crazy that I have a chance to see you in person, honestly. My friend Eiko would flip, she's such a big fan of yours!"

Oikawa cocks his head to the side and pouts. "Hm, and you're not?"

"Oh!" You gulp. "No, I didn't mean that, I uh…"

Luckily, Iwaizumi Hajime saves you from putting your foot in your mouth.

"Oi, knock it off, shithead!" He bonks Oikawa on the head, hard, and from the blatantly pissed but unsurprised look on Oikawa's face, you can tell this kind of thing happens all the time.

"Ouch!" He rubs the back of his head, mussing up his fluffy brown hair. "That hurt, Iwa!"

"He's always like that, don't mind him," Iwaizumi says, turning to you. You respond with a dismissive wave of your hand.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. I'm used to dealing with Atsumu's annoying ass anyways."

"I am literally just standin' here," he deadpans.

"It's not my fault you make an easy target."

You ruffle Atsumu's hair with a proud grin, ignoring the sour look on his face that makes him look like a little kid. Oikawa notices and laughs.

"Don't worry, Miya. It's affection, Iwa-chan's the same way."

"Yeah," you drawl sarcastically, "it's 'affection'."

Atsumu mutters something under his breath that's too faint to hear, but you think you catch the words 'bullshit' and 'Shittykawa'. A laugh bubbles out of your chest before you can stop it.

"Oh yeah," Oikawa interrupts, bringing your attention back to him. "Bokuto sent me those unaired clips of his baking show a few months ago. Miya-san, you had some interesting things to say about me?"

You choke, and so does Iwaizumi.

(Coincidentally, you missed the latest showing of your favourite reality TV show to attend the banquet tonight. Briefly, you wonder if you should say something to defuse the situation, but the petty squabble rapidly developing in front of you seems too entertaining to stop.)

Atsumu smirks, as if daring Oikawa to continue, but Oikawa just waves him off with a phony smile.

"It's okay, it's fine! I can take a joke," he says.

Somehow, you seriously doubt it.

"And speaking of jokes," Oikawa continues, drawing himself up to his full height, "how many people are in your fan club again, Miya? Cause last I checked, I'm leading by about a hundred thousand."

"This happen a lot?" you whisper, sidling up to Iwaizumi to watch the drama unfold.

"What, Oikawa trying to start shit with people? Cause yeah, it does."

"Mm-hm," Atsumu replies, approaching Oikawa with barely concealed distaste, "but I heard ya just lost your three-year winning streak for Volleyball Dispatch's Prettiest Setter . Someone else got it this year, who was it again? Oh yeah, me."

"My God, there's two of them," you whisper to Iwaizumi. He rubs his temples.

"I haven't dealt with Oikawa's bullshit in a year, but one hour in and I think I need an aspirin."

"(L/N)-chan!" Oikawa suddenly calls, startling you.

"Yes, I'm here! What is it?"

"Who do you think is prettier, me or Atsumu?"

…Oh, darn.

"Um… both of you?" you offer, but Oikawa isn't having it. He puts both hands on his hips and pouts, and it's amazing how much of his high-school self you can still see in this moment.

"That won't do! Pick only one."

"Uh…"

"If you pick me, I'll give you an autographed photo for your friend," he says with a wink, and it's game over.

"Oikawa! Oikawa Tooru is the prettiest setter I've ever seen!" you blurt out immediately. Atsumu just sighs.

"Wow 603, talk about loyalty."

"Eiko is worth it!"

It's about an hour into the banquet when Atsumu leaves you with Komori and Ushijima at the water fountain. He tells you he's going to see some other friends up in the VIP lounge, and although the shifty look in his eyes is a little suspicious, you don't pry. Maybe there are some real assholes up there and he's just making his rounds – you work in business, you know how it goes.

Unfortunately, there's still no word from Sakusa, despite your seven outgoing calls. Komori's small talk isn't exactly the best distraction, either.

"So (L/N)," he drawls, swirling the red wine in his glass like a Bond villain, "how's it going between you and Omi?"

You nearly choke on the piece of sushi in your throat.

"Kergh! Ugh… Um, what do you mean, exactly?"

"I mean, how are things… progressing?"

"Oh… Oh! Um…"

"Komori-san," Ushijima interrupts, and even though it's your second time meeting him, he's so still and stoic that you would've forgotten he was there had he not said anything. "Are you implying that Sakusa and (L/N)-san are romantically involved?"

You choke again, this time on air.

"Woah, woah, woah, let's not jump to–"

"Because I would have to disagree." Ushijima studies you with a careful eye, as if you're some novel volleyball play on TV. You try and fail not to squirm under his cold gaze, but eventually, he just nods.

"(L/N), I thought you handled the PR conference with Nakamura Ayako brilliantly."

You raise both eyebrows. Apparently, Ushijima is more tactful than you give him credit for, even if the change in subject is a little abrupt.

"Oh, thank you! I had a lot of–"

"And it was obviously because you have feelings for Miya-san."

…Dang.

"This follows the exact same plotline as the shoujo manga I'm currently reading," Ushijima continues, completely oblivious to the fact that your soul just left your body. He claps you on the shoulder. "You don't have to lie to yourself anymore, (L/N), just embrace your feelings and you will undoubtedly reach your happy ending."

You let out a deep sigh, resisting the urge to face-palm.

"Okay look, Ushijima-san, I appreciate it but–"

"Oi, Ushijima," Komori cuts in for you. "One manga doesn't mean you can suddenly read people's emotions."

"Yes! Yes, that!" You nod adamantly, grateful that's there's at least one sane person here besides yourself. Ushijima just shakes his head.

"It's not just one. Many others follow this same plotline, wherein the female protagonist defends her love interest at the climax of the–"

"Okay, let me stop you right there," Komori interrupts again, and you're about to give him a medal when he follows up with, "Are you familiar with the trope, 'enemies-to-lovers'?"

This time, you really do face-palm.

"Of course," Ushijima says.

"You know how Omi and (L/N) met?"

"No."

"She sneezed on him."

"Hey! Komori, that's classified!"

"And he yelled at her."

"So much," you say with a shudder.

"And then he felt bad and brought food to her door for a week straight. Plus, they're neighbours! That's a golden rom-com set-up right there."

Ushijima goes silent for a moment, and just when you think you can get a word in edgewise, he's rambling again.

"I see your point, Komori, but that doesn't override the fact that (L/N)-san's love for Miya gave her the strength and courage to overcome the greatest obstacle in their relationship thus far. By all forms of narrative logic, a romantic confession is inevitable."

Komori snorts, and you roll your eyes so far back into your head that, for a moment, you're afraid they'll stay there permanently.

"You can't seriously think she's gonna choose Atsumu," Komori says.

"I could say the same for your confidence in Sakusa."

"Omi's a textbook tsundere, they always get the girl!"

"Miya's a reformed playboy, they serve as the male lead in 70% of shoujo manga."

"That's… a good point, but (L/N) drew Omi out of his emotionally repressed shell!"

"And she helped Miya heal from his traumatic breakup with an A-list celebrity."

"Cut it out!" you yell, drawing the attention of almost everyone in a six-foot radius. You can't even find it in yourself to care, honestly.

"Are you two going to keep comparing my life to classic TV and manga tropes, or can we have an actual conversation now?"

They're silent for a moment, but only a moment. The next thing you know, Komori's bringing up the phrase 'only in an alternate ending', and that's when you decide to just book it out of there.

"(L/N), meet Kuroo! Kuroo, meet (L/N)!"

"Ah, it's so nice to finally meet you! Bokuto talks about you all the time."

"You as well. I've heard lots of good things."

It feels a little funny meeting Kuroo Tetsurou in person, especially after you impersonated one of his employees and came face-to-face with a major work rival. Part of you feels like you know him already, at least a little bit, but the mischievous gleam in his eye tells you there's a lot more to uncover.

"Thanks for all your help with the ID badge, by the way," you tell him. "It did feel a little illegal, but um… all's well that ends well, right?"

Kuroo looks between you and Bokuto, then chuckles.

"Don't worry too much. Sakura-chan left the team three months ago. Besides, I'm pretty good at keeping a secret." He winks at you, and not for the first time tonight, you wonder how it's possible that there are so many good-looking people in the volleyball world. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe it just comes with the territory… You'll never know.

"You did a good job out there, by the way," Kuroo continues. "I watched the full conference when it aired. Had a field day with Kagurazaka's report, but that's a story for another time."

The very mention of Kagurazaka's name has you smelling cigarettes and dandruff shampoo all over again, and it's like you can hear the grating tone of his voice. You curl your lip in disgust, and both Bokuto and Kuroo laugh.

"Oh my God, how do you deal with that guy? Even the sound crew at Fuji seems to know him."

Kuroo scratches the back of his head with a frown. "Yeah, not my favourite colleague either."

"He had a lot to say about you."

"All good things I hope?"

You lean into him with a smirk. "I think you know the answer to that."

He gives you a devilish grin, and the way his bangs fall carelessly over his golden eyes reminds you of a stray cat.

"Charming, aren't you?"

"You'd be the first to say so."

Ding!

You're interrupted by the long-awaited sound of your text notification. As you scramble to dig your phone out of your purse, Bokuto lets out a low whistle.

"Who is it, Omi-omi?"

You open the text with bated breath.

Atsumu, 8:31PM: hey 603. meet me on the 3rd floor balcony. it's hidden behind the adlers banner, just look for Ushijima's giant constipated face and ure there

You chuckle. Part of you is a little disappointed, it's true, but you try not to let it show.  

You, 8:31PM: Ok 1 st : ouch, I just had a conversation with the man. Stop being a meanie. 2nd: why? Isn't the point of the banquet to actually be around ppl?

Atsumu, 8:32PM: pls? it's important, promise. just come find me

You, 8:32PM: Ok omw

When you emerge into the pale moonlight of the balcony, you take a moment to breathe in the cool night air and savour the soft breeze blowing on your face. The chatter of the banquet hall is a dim hum contained by the double doors behind you, and as you approach Atsumu's tall figure, the voices fade out until the only sound you hear is the wind in your hair.

(And the revving of engines below, but that's just Tokyo.)

Atsumu turns to you as he hears you approach, and when he takes in your figure in the moonlight, he smiles.

"Glad ya made it safe. Honestly, I was half-expectin' ya to get lost on your way here."

"After your flawless directions? Of course not."

"Thought ya said I was bein' mean?"

"You were. Mean but accurate."

Atsumu chuckles at that – warm, honest, and bringing a smile to your lips before you can help yourself.

"We should stop laughing," you say through a giggle. "Ushijima would be sad."

Atsumu snorts, pulling you closer to the balcony railing by the wrist until you're directly beside him.

"That guy? No way, his fan club maybe."

You hum thoughtfully at that. Atsumu might have a point – in the brief time you've known him, Ushijima has shown you the emotional range of a rock, and even that's being a little generous.

"Don't forget Kiyoomi," you tag on. "He'd be furious if he knew we were making fun of his work crush." You chuckle to yourself again, but Atsumu is silent. It makes you peer over at him curiously, but when you do, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

"Let's not talk about Omi for now," he says softly, and though his voice isn't unkind, the comment still has you raising an eyebrow.

"Atsumu, is everything–"

"Tokyo's really beautiful at night, huh?"

He turns towards the railing again before you can say a word. You frown, but lean closer to join him. It's true, the evening cityscape is lovely, especially on a clear summer night like this.

"Wish we could see more stars tonight." You look up at the inky black sky above. "City smog is a real let-down, but at least the moon is full."

"Yeah. It's… really pretty," he murmurs, so quiet you almost don't catch it. You're so distracted by the silvery-white marble in the sky that you don't notice him peeking at you from the corner of his eye.

Another breeze blows by, this one a little harsher than the last, and you pull your arms around yourself as you shiver.

"Here," Atsumu says, already slipping off his jacket, "take it."

"Ha! No, not happening."

"C'mon, just take it."

"No! This is exactly the sort of romantic cliché that makes me a target for shoujo-esque conspiracies."

He looks at you like you've grown two heads.

"… What?"

"Nothing," you mutter, but Atsumu is already coming up behind you to drape his jacket over your shoulders. You accept it with a frown.

"This jacket smells like you."

"Like success?"

You snort. "No, more like poorly timed jokes and misplaced confidence."

"Wow, not takin' it easy tonight, huh?"

"On you? Never." You turn to face him, and as soon as you do, Atsumu reaches out a gentle hand to tuck a loose curl behind your ear.

"Doesn't bother me," he murmurs. "It's just how ya show 'affection', ain't it?"

Somehow, the tone of his voice is both teasing and sad. You shake it off.

"Ha! You wish."

"Maybe I do."

And with that, your mouth goes dry.

The darkness around you doesn't obscure the intensity in his eyes. Swirling golden tides of resolve, bitterness and longing make your heart stutter, make it ache, and you wonder how you never noticed it before, the way he looks at you. You wonder if some small, subconscious part in the deepest recesses of your mind purposely chose to ignore it, and the thought makes you feel a little numb.

When Atsumu speaks again, you hang onto each word like it's his last.

"I like you," he finally says. "In the way that my heart beats a little faster when ya get too close, and sometimes I find myself wonderin' what it'd feel like if ya kissed me, and I think life wouldn't be too bad if I got to wake up next to ya in the mornin'."

You're not sure what face you're making right now, but whatever it is has Atsumu releasing a fond, albeit exasperated sigh.

"But more than that, I just like you, " he says, reaching a hand out to stroke the top of your head. "As a person. I like the way ya listen, how ya know just what to say, and I like how ya give your all when ya really care about somethin'."

He smiles then, raw and careful and sad, and cups your face in both his hands like it's something precious. His words have tears almost springing to your eyes, but you swallow the quiet sob in your throat before he can hear it.

"I wanna do things to make ya smile and to make ya proud of me," Atsumu continues, planting a kiss on the top of your head. When he pulls back, he looks into your eyes with resolve. "It's like that. So… ya don't need to feel too bad, okay?"

"Atsumu, I–"

"603, I don't do pity–"

"It's not that."

You wrap your arms around Atsumu, pressing your ear to his chest so tightly you can hear his heartbeat. It starts racing erratically, but after the initial shock, it evens out again to a slow, regular pace. He returns the hug a second later, rubbing his hand over your back soothingly.

"I just wanted to say thanks, that's all," you murmur. "Thank you for liking me, Atsumu."

You make to pull away and see his face, but Atsumu keeps you caged within his arms for a minute longer.

"…You're welcome," he whispers eventually. You can hear the strain in his voice, can only imagine the look on his face right now, but when he finally releases you, his features are already arranged into a carefully contrived smile.

"Now let's get some food, I'm starvin'," he groans.

"Alright, sounds good," you say with a chuckle. Atsumu offers his arm to you like a gentleman, and you're about to take it when your phone beeps again.

Ding!

Your eyes go wide when you see the sender's name.

"…It's Kiyoomi!"

"What? What's it say?"

"Oh my freaking… He's in the hospital!"

"Hey. This isn't your fault, alright?"

From where he lies on his hospital bed, Kazu only sniffles. Sakusa sighs and runs a hand through his own tangled curls, breaking apart the last of the pomade he applied this morning. So much for sweeping you off your feet.

"Kid, look at me. Hey, look at me." Taking both of Kazu's hands in his, Sakusa speaks his next words slowly. "The timing? Not the best, if I'm being honest. But that's not your fault. I was out sick for my first volleyball tournament in middle school because Furukawa Sato sneezed on me in homeroom. Some things we just can't help, okay? You didn't wake up this morning and tell your appendix to explode like a piñata."

Kazu giggles a little at that, and the sound brings a smile to Sakusa's lips.

"O-Okay… Thanks, Mr. Sakusa."

"No problem, kid."

"But what about that girl you like?"

Sakusa sinks back into his bedside chair with a sigh. Briefly, he wonders if this is the universe's cruel, roundabout way of telling him that now isn't the right time, that he should wait a little longer or maybe just give up. The latter isn't an option, in his mind at least.

"Don't worry about her. We're neighbours, I could tell her any time," Sakusa says, and it's half-true. He pats Kazu on the head again, the physical contact somewhat more natural now that they've spent almost twelve hours in each other's company. Eleven, sure, if he subtracts the time for the appendectomy.

"I'm sorry," Kazu says again, and Sakusa just shakes his head.

"Don't be."

"I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Unnecessary," Sakusa says. "But out of curiosity, what did you have in mind?"

Kazu goes silent for a moment, rubbing his chin in deep thought. Sakusa's about to dismiss it all as a joke when Kazu says something that leaves him near-speechless.

"I can be your wingman?"

"I… You… Man, you're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you, kid?"

Sakusa chuckles, and after a moment, so does Kazu. It isn't until he catches sight of the clock that Sakusa excuses himself from the room, bidding farewell to Kazu with a rare hug and a promise to see him at the next Jackals' game.

"Thanks for spending the day with me, Mr. Sakusa," Kazu says, voice muffled from where he's buried his face in Sakusa's shoulder. "It's still been one of the best days of my life, even though we were in the hospital for half of it."

Sakusa feels the ice around his heart melt a little bit. "No problem, kid. I had fun, too. Let me know if you want to hang out again, we'll make time."

When Sakusa finally leaves the room, he closes the door with a soft click and is immediately ambushed by one very raggedy Kozume Kenma.

"How's he feeling? Has he stopped crying?"

"All good now."

"Oh, thank God!"

Kenma nearly collapses to the ground in relief, and although Sakusa's heard stories about the ever-aloof, somewhat lackadaisical CEO of Bouncing Ball Corporation, all he sees in this moment is a concerned, sleep-deprived uncle.

"I promised my sister I'd take good care of him while she's away," Kenma explains, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just that there was this big PR event for the banquet this morning, and Kazu's usually pretty well-behaved, so I thought he'd be fine as long as there was an adult around. I never thought this would happen. Thanks so much for bringing him here when you did, Sakusa-san."

"Of course. I had fun hanging out with him today."

Kenma gives him a small, tired smile.

"I'm glad. He's a good kid. I'm trying to get him into gaming, but all he ever wants to do is play volleyball. He idolizes you so much."

Sakusa lets out a dry laugh. "Yeah, I have no idea why, but–"

Ding!

(Y/N), 9:45PM: I'm in the hospital courtyard! Where are you?

"…Sorry, you'll have to excuse me," Sakusa says, trying his best to keep his tone even and repress the urge to run off right this second. "Nice meeting you, Kozume-san, tell Kazu I look forward to hearing from him."

Me, 9:45PM: Stay right there, I'm coming

Before Kenma can even say goodbye, Sakusa finds himself racing through the hospital hallways, feet pounding against the tiled floors even as the nurses yell at him to slow down. He's cutting corners, the leather soles of his dress shoes are sliding around in protest, and he's sure his hair is a tangled mess now if it wasn't already, but none of it seems to matter when he finally sees–

"You…" he pants, the cool night air whistling through the trees as he takes in the sight of you, all of you, for the first time today. "It's really you."

You come bounding towards him like a vision from a dream, the long skirts of your dress flowing behind you like a trail of mist. When you're finally in front of him, real and here and beautiful, all the fatigue in his body seems to just melt away.

"Kiyoomi!" you cry, gripping his shoulders as you look him up and down for signs of damage. "Is Kazu okay? Are you okay?"

"Yes," he says, taking one of your hands in his and holding it up to his face instead. He leans into your touch like a child, but you're too relieved to protest. "He's fine, I'm fine. Got him here in time, the surgery went well, and now his uncle's here to look after him."

"Oh, thank goodness!" You sigh, stroking your thumb over his cheek absent-mindedly. He closes his eyes at the feeling. "I was so worried. I've been calling you all night and the first thing you texted back was I'm at the hospital. Seriously, why would you lead with that?"

"Wasn't thinking," he murmurs, too distracted by your touch to come up with a better excuse. "I'm sorry."

"You should be."

"And I'm sorry for missing the banquet," he adds on, opening his eyes now. "We were supposed to arrive together."

"I know," you say with a half-hearted smile. "Carpool buddies."

Sakusa nuzzles into your hand. "I've been wanting to see you all night."

"I wasn't really hiding."

"You look beautiful."

"Thanks. You look good too, but you look good on a daily basis, so that's not really saying much."

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. Even beneath the dim light of the street lamps, he's sure you can see the red dusting his cheeks, but he'll bask in the moment a little longer.

"Really? You never mentioned it before."

You chuckle. "I didn't think I had to."

"It's nice to hear."

"Oh," you say, and your brows furrow together in a way that he finds inexplicably endearing. "That's… surprising. I just assumed people told you that stuff all the time."

"They do, but it doesn't really do much for me."

"…And my saying it is somehow different?"

"There are a lot of exceptions when it comes to you."

"…I see."

It's your turn to blush now, and the sight makes Sakusa grin even wider. Part of him feels the urge to kiss away the pink spots tinging your cheeks, but he holds himself back.

"You know, I've always hated the V. League banquet," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist instinctively. "Too many people, too crowded, too loud."

"And yet you asked me to go with you," you drawl. "Why?"

"Because there's something new I wanted to do this year."

"And what's that?"

"Share a dance with you."

The look on your face softens. You reach up to tuck an errant curl behind his ear, and then your eyes light up.

"Well, no one's stopping us from doing that now."

"But there's no music," he remarks.

"You lack imagination, Kiyoomi."

You flash him a mischievous smile before rummaging through your purse for your phone and earbuds. You pass one of the earbuds off to him, keep the other for yourself, and before he can protest, you've pulled up one of his favourite songs.

You hold your hand out to him, and as if he would ever turn you down, you ask:

"May I have this dance?"

Honestly, you wonder how your life got to a point where slow-dancing in a deserted hospital courtyard would qualify as one of the less extraordinary things you've done in the past two months.

Nonetheless, it's also one of the experiences you think you'll treasure most.

Sakusa's jacket over your shoulders keeps you warm in the cool summer evening, and his strong arms around your waist help you feel safe, grounded. The clean scent of Lysol and grapefruit – impersonal before, but so familiar now – makes your heart flutter every time he gets too close, and even in the harsh yellow light of the street lamps, he's still the most handsome man you've ever seen.

Eventually, the song fades to a close. Sakusa's still holding you, still looking at you like you're the only two people in the world, and the longer he keeps it up, the harder it is for you to say what you need to.

"I have to tell you something," you finally blurt out. "Well, more like two somethings."

He gives you a wry smile.

"Funny, I actually need to tell you something too."

"Oh," you say, and darn, does that put a wrench in your plans. "Okay. Um… Hm. Do you mind if I go first? I really, really need to get this off my chest."

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. "Why, is it bad?"

"Um… maybe good and bad?"

"…Okay, well maybe you should just–"

"I like you," you say before you can lose the nerve. "Still."

Sakusa's eyes go wide, and now that you've gotten started, you can't stop the words from falling off the tip of your tongue.

"I want to be with you, Kiyoomi. You set me straight when I let my own insecurities get the best of me, you keep a clear head when I'm a second away from falling apart, you're always more selfless than you give yourself credit for, and my God… I don't know what you did to me, but even all your flaws and idiosyncrasies, even the weird, smushy thing you do with your wrists before a game… They're all somehow endearing to me, because they remind me of you."

All of a sudden, Sakusa's features settle into a fragile, adoring smile, as if he can't quite believe this is real, as if he could shatter into happy tears at any moment based on what you say next. It's terrifying to have this much power over someone, you realize. But God, does the look on his face make your heart beat faster.

You shake your head and sigh.

"And you know what the worst part is?" From where they rest on his shoulders, you reposition your hands so that they're cupping his face.

"It's so, so selfish of me to be saying this right now, because I'm moving to Hong Kong in a month and staying there for a year, and I don't even know if you're down for the whole long-distance thing, especially since this is your first relationship, but – oh God, I'm rambling – if you'll have me, I would really, really like to be your girlfriend, and if you won't, I completely understand, so–"

The last of your words are cut off as Sakusa draws you into his arms completely, burying his face into your neck and keeping you tucked against his chest. You can feel his heart beating a mile a minute, and you're not even sure if he caught everything you just said, but you circle your arms around his waist anyway and hold him close.

"…Can you say it again?" he whispers, and his warm breath on your neck makes you shiver.

"Wha– All of it?" You shake your head against his chest in disbelief. "I mean, that was a lot of words, I can't even remember–"

"No. Just the first part."

You go still in his arms, and then you draw back to see his face. You've known him for a year now, you know how much of an uptight worrywart he inherently is, but at this moment, his expression is full of relief, hope, love.

"…I like you. I really do like you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. And I'm unsure about a lot of things in my life, but I do know that I want to be with you. If you'll have me."

He smiles, and though you've always been enamoured by the cold, impenetrable darkness of his obsidian eyes, they soften for you now, sweet and gentle and kind.

"Yes," he says.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll have you."

You gape. "You… You're sure? Even if I'm 3000 kilometres away? For a year?"

Sakusa nods, running his fingers through your hair as delicately as if it were silk.

"I travel a lot too, you never seemed to mind," he replies, and you think back to all the times he was away for tournaments, training, and PR work. You smile sadly.

"…Actually, there were times I missed you terribly."

"And it'll probably be the same for me when you're gone," he says, lifting your chin so you're forced to look him in the eyes. "But it's worth it if it's you."

"…You're secretly a sap."

"And you will tell no one."

You stand on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, and you're a bit surprised when he doesn't immediately flinch away. Instead, he leans into you, and you smile as you pull back. Just as the two of you settle into a content silence, you remember his words from before.

"Wait, what was that thing you were gonna tell me?"

Sakusa laughs. "You kinda beat me to it."

"…Oh."

"Yeah. But this is good. I'll tell Kazu he had nothing to worry about."

"Hm, what do you mean?"

He shakes his head. "I'll tell you later."

You nod, and as your thoughts flicker back to the conversation on the balcony, your heart feels a little heavier.

"I guess I should've known," you say. "Atsumu actually, um… he told me the same thing tonight."

You feel Sakusa stiffen in your arms, and when you peer up to look at him, his expression is tight, concerned.

"…And you said no?"

"Yeah."

"Do you regret it?"

"No."

"…Okay."

"You're smiling."

"Of course I'm smiling. I'm just relieved."

You have to chuckle at that.

"I don't think you had much to worry about in the first place," you murmur, studying the way the light catches in his dark hair. "You already knew I liked you."

"I know. But I thought you might have changed your mind."

You shake your head. "I didn't."

"I'm glad," he replies, still smiling. A moment of silence passes, and then almost hesitantly, he says, "There's actually one more thing I wanted to do tonight."

Your lips quirk up.

"Don't tell me you want to build a pillow–"

"Can I kiss you?"

Your eyes widen, and it's only now that you notice the furious red blush on his cheeks.

You smile.

"Yes."

His lips are on yours a moment later, and it’s clumsy and shy and earnest in the best way possible. You bring one hand up to cradle his face while the other tangles in his soft curls, and as Sakusa relaxes in your hold, he opens his mouth ever so slightly to run his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a pleased sigh that elicits something of a growl from him, and not a second later, he’s tilting his head to deepen the kiss, teeth accidentally grazing yours before he settles into a routine of sucking on your lower lip and exploring your mouth with the tip of his tongue. It’s a little sloppy, a little desperate with how long he’s wanted this, but it just makes your heart beat faster.

When you make to pull away, Sakusa lets out the softest, most uncharacteristic little whine you’ve ever heard, but you barely have time to process it before he’s leaning into you again to recapture your lips. You giggle against his mouth and feel him smile back, and when your hands trail down to rub soothing circles on his chest, he lets out a groan that makes your heart feel full.

Eventually you draw back again, and although Sakusa doesn’t stop you this time, he doesn’t let you get too far. His arms cradle you to his body as your breaths mingle, both of you panting and red in the face. And then he rests his forehead against yours, and looks into your eyes with so much wonderment and adoration that your cheeks burn all over again.

But you don’t look away.

"Thanks for coming into my life," he murmurs oh-so-softly, like the words are precious, like they belong only to the two of you. You smile.

"It was my pleasure."

"You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that."

"Since the day we met?"

"Ha. Terrible guess."

"Oh? You mean to tell me you weren't head-over-heels the moment I sneezed on you in the hallway?"

He laughs, then presses his lips to yours again – sweet, gentle, and lingering just a little too long to be called a peck. Not that you mind.

"Thanks for coming into my life too," you say when he pulls away. "And thanks for staying."

"You know I’m not going anywhere."

"I know. And I love that."

He drops another kiss on your forehead.

"It's been a crazy day," he says, "but I'm happy."

You breathe in the scent of him, and even in the cold of the evening, there's a warm feeling bubbling through your chest and into your heart.

"I'm happy, too."

It's a sunny morning in mid-June when Sakusa gets your call. He props his phone against a measuring cup while stirring a pot of miso soup on the stove.

It’s the last day of seeing your face through a screen, he thinks with a smile.

"How's my lovely boyfriend doing on this fine morn?" you say, and even through a speaker, the sound of your voice takes away all his fatigue.

"Slaving away in the kitchen while anxiously awaiting your return."

"Kiyoomi!"

He chuckles.

"Kidding. Slaved away at the grocery store today, tomorrow is the kitchen."

You gasp, the look on your face positively scandalized.

"You don't need to do all that! I thought you didn't get home last night till 2AM?"

"I'm fine, don't worry."

"Look, having instant ramen for dinner isn't gonna spoil my return to Tokyo. You know what will? Coming home to my boyfriend collapsed on the floor of his apartment."

  "(Y/N)."

"Kiyoomi."

The two of you narrow your eyes at each other through the phone, but he eventually cracks.

"…I'll take a nap after this. Promise."

"Thank you."

He hums thoughtfully, debating whether or not he should say what he wants to.

"…Kind of a bummer that you don't get back till tomorrow, though," he finally admits. You look at him with a sad smile.

"I know, I'm sorry. But we can still celebrate a day late, can't we?"

"Mm-hm," he murmurs, and even though it won't be the same, he's so excited to hold you in his arms again that he can hardly complain.

"Ah, think I got to go now! See you soon, Kiyoomi."

"Okay. See you soon."

You hang up the FaceTime call without another word, and just like that, the apartment feels a little bit emptier.

Sakusa eats his breakfast on the couch, watching a rerun of last night's game between the Rockets and Adlers with minimal interest. When he's finished, he washes and dries the dishes, then does another sweep of the apartment as if he's on autopilot. The vacuum you bought together with your AEON supermarket rewards points makes him smile, just a tad, but it's not enough to distract him. Not today, at least.

When every inch of the place is sparkling, he falls into his bed with a sigh. Despite his tired and aching body, he tosses and turns for a good half-hour, finally settling into a light sleep that's immediately interrupted by a knock on the door.

He grumbles.

Groaning, he tosses the blanket off, shuffles out of his room and down the hall, and it's only when he's opened the door that his heart stutters to a stop.

"Well hey there, neighbour," you say with a warm smile.

And before he can even process what he's doing, he's got you wrapped up in his arms so tight you think he'll never let go.

"Did I surprise you?" you ask with a chuckle.

"I missed you," he breathes into your hair.

"I missed you too. So much."

The moment you pull back, his lips are on yours immediately. Between kisses, you whisper:

"Happy one-year anniversary, love."

And he has to agree – it really is.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone, Antifreeze here! I know I say it all the time, but now that this work has officially come to a close, I just wanted to reaffirm how grateful I am for your readership and support. I'm hoping to write a few sequel one-shots (first one should be up later tonight!!), as well as a full-length multi-chaptered sequel starting this May (fingers-crossed!). I've officially added this fic as part of a 'series' (still figuring out the ins and outs of AO3, forgive me), and I wanted to give a heads-up to anyone that may want to subscribe.

That's it from me for now, but please take care of yourselves, everyone! There are times in my own life when I feel so overwhelmed and beaten down, but everything that's been happening in Ukraine has really helped me put things into perspective. Please cherish yourselves and the lives you have, and tell the people you love that you love them. You are precious and you matter. ❤