Chapter Text
“I can’t believe Suna’s stupid enough to risk his job just to help ya out.” Atsumu rolls his eyes at his brother’s remark.
Suna is the only friend Atsumu has in a one-hundred-mile radius. He’s the only other person Atsumu knows in Tokyo, and it's crazy enough that they ended up in the same area seven years after high school.
“Hey, listen, Suna’s gonna be getting’ a big promotion for bringing someone like me on board. Besides ‘Samu, it’s hospitality, that shit runs in my veins.” Atsumu puts his phone on speaker and starts to button up his shirt, from what Suna has told him this is going to be a pretty nice restaurant he’s working at. He had even gone through the effort of ironing his shirt. “At least he was kind enough to help me out. You own an entire restaurant chain and couldn’t even offer yer own twin a job.”
Atsumu hears a sigh from the other end of the line. His brother tired of his relentless ego.
“It’s not my fault you got one book published and thought you’d be set for life. Also, yer in love with Tokyo too much to leave it anyway.” It’s true that he's obsessed with Tokyo, there’s something comforting about the noise around him being louder than he ever could be. “Never once did I get ya obsession with the place, it’s too busy for me, the noise never stops. Suna’s the same though, always tryin’ to go where the most action is." Osamu pauses momentarily, "Speaking of, I haven’t spoken to Sunarin for a while, tell me how he’s doin’.”
Admittedly, Atsumu didn’t keep in touch with him very much either. In high school the twins and Suna were inseparable, they had a special bond from from having to work long hours together and doing far too many closing shifts that went on till late in the evening. The three of them spent their summers locked away in a restaurant trying to save up some money – Osamu with his dream of opening a restaurant, Atsumu to pay for school, and Suna usually just wanted to buy some new clothes. Spending that much time with that few people works miracles, and they had a special patience with each other that they had with no one else.
It was weird after high school though, it felt like instantly they went from spending days at school and nights at work together to all being scattered across the country.
Atsumu had met him once for coffee when he moved to Tokyo not too long ago and thankfully, they had slipped into the same pattern they used to always be in. Whilst Suna was plenty concerned for Atsumu and promised to help him get a job, Atsumu was equally concerned about his long-time friend. He had noticed how much skinnier Suna was looking, he looked the smallest he had ever been.
Another reason why Atsumu was at first reluctant to return to hospitality, those places will run you into the ground. Going through all of that alone is hard.
Atsumu runs a small clump of gel through his hair and notices how desperately he needs to get his roots done as the dark brown is starting to show through on his head. After a few more moments examining himself, him and Osamu part ways.
His laptop catches his eye. It’s open with a blank word document staring at him. He slams it shut and heads out the door.
…
The walk is no more than twenty minutes, but the increasingly angry winds of October, the agonising stroll past barren trees, and the dark cloud that seems to be chasing Atsumu serve as a bitter reminder of how he had to sell his car in order to even move to Tokyo.
After a fierce battle trying to walk against the wind, he finally reaches what he can only assume where he will be working for the next however long. There’s a small patio that he guesses must hold tables in the summer, which is outlined by a small hedge - that seems to be only just clinging onto life – with wilted leaves and many of its branches bare and exposed. He looks up and tries to decipher the sign above in a bold, thick, silver font.
“Challengers” Atsumu mutters to himself, “That’s the worst name for a restaurant I’ve ever heard.” He sighs and pushes open the front door.
Despite appearing small and run down from the outside, the interior is fairly spacious. There is a circular bar in the middle, and he sees a tall, slim brunette man carry over a beer keg with ease. Atsumu can only see one side of the bar, as there is a wall of shelves in the middle stocked with spirits — many of them high-end, but he also spots some odd drinks, such as an array of fruit-flavoured liquors, as if someone is preparing to make the world’s most venomous fruit salad. Most of the restaurant is filled with wooden tables, both round and square, with a white tablecloth thrown over. He spots one wall that has a row of leather booths, which would be nice, but whatever moron decorated this place decided that black chairs wouldn’t cut it and instead went with a green snake-print leather covering all the seats.
Atsumu has to look away from this eye sore and catches some familiar dark curtain bangs and smiles.
“Suna!” He begins to walk over, and Suna looks up from his phone. “Unsurprising yer sitting here on that phone of yours.”
Suna has allowed his hair to grow out since high school, and it’s long enough now that the bulk of it can be tied up into a ponytail at the back of his head.
Suna chuckles to himself and puts his phone in his pocket. “We’re not open yet Atsumu, you’re here early so I can show you around.” Suna raises his arms and stretches trying to savour the last moments he will have sat down and stands up. “You’re starting tonight because we had a server call out.” Atsumu nods.
He’s getting thrown straight in, but this is how he likes it. No time to get bogged down with training, he just wants to go out and make the money he so desperately needs. Training also doesn’t seem to be a standard for most hospitality jobs, many would consider it a luxury.
“Good. I can prove to ‘Samu that I’ve still got it.” Atsumu declares, “He says hi by the way.”
Suna’s eyes narrow and he nods thoughtfully for a moments time, “It has been a while since we’ve spoken.” The two men stand in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds then Suna pushes his hair out of his eyes. “You need to meet everyone, and we’ll start with the bartenders – you do not want to be facing the kitchen just yet.” Suna shivers.
Atsumu could query what Suna said, but he’s worked with enough chefs to know that he wants to prolong that first interaction as long as possible. Suna grabs the empty glass that he had on the table in front of him and begins to walk over to the bar.
“There’s the occasional perk here,” Suna begins, “Free soft drinks, probably the only reason why I’m still here.”
That does not make Atsumu feel optimistic.
Heading up to the bar, the brunette he saw earlier comes into view. He’s fairly tall, and he’s got that classic bartender look. The “I’m-here-to-flirt-and-make-money-and-nothing-else” look. He’s wearing the same black button up as Suna which has the Challengers logo on the top left corner; two wings with the restaurant name written in between. The bartender looks up from cutting up some fruit and gives them a flashy smile.
“Suna!” He yells with a cheery voice. “Is this your little friend you were telling me about.” Suna rolls his eyes but begrudgingly smiles.
“Atsumu Miya, nice to meet you.”
“Toru Oikawa.” Wow, Atsumu thinks, his voice is really toeing the line between sweet and agitating. He can tell he was made for this job. “You ever worked in hospitality before Miya?” he questions.
“You can just call me Atsumu.” Oikawa furrows his brows ever so slightly and he realised that Suna hasn’t even mentioned Osamu. Have they really drifted that much?
Atsumu goes on to explain, “I have a twin. It got confusin’ going by Miya when we we’re younger. And to answer yer question, I have worked in hospitality. A lot” Too much. “Matter of fact, Suna worked with me and Osamu at our first job.”
“Oh wow, you and Suna go way back then.” Oikawa observes, as if he was mentally noting down and organising every detail he got fed.
“Unfortunately, so,” Suna says coolly, but the corner of his mouth perks up in a slight smile, remembering all the good memories they have together. “Is the usual team working tonight?”
“Yep, Bokuto should be here soon, and I don’t know what time S-”
“I think we should go meet the kitchen staff.” Suna cuts off Oikawa and he gives a thoughtful pout in response. Atsumu figures this is just another person that Suna doesn’t get along with, he always ended up having what Osamu called ‘work-rival’ no matter where he worked.
“Good luck, I saw Kenma arrive not too long ago.” Oikawa notes.
Suna gives yet another sigh. Is this another work-rival? Atsumu thinks, he never usually has more than one. He wonders what’s wrong with the guy Oikawa was about to mention.
Suna leads Atsumu to a set of swinging doors hidden between two of the green snake pattern booths (honestly who designed these eye sores?) and sees three people with white aprons on, again with the Challengers log on the top left.
The first one is standing in front of a surface and seems absorbed in whatever he is writing. He pulls off a sticker with the date and time scribbled on with sleek lettering and places it on the tub in front of him. He has one of the most perfect postures Atsumu has ever seen and has cool light blonde, almost white, hair covered by a thin black hair net. He has hazel eyes and soft features, but with a strong demeanour that says, ‘I’m in charge around here.’
“This is head chef, Kita Shinsuke.” Suna announces.
Atsumu’s eyes next wander over to one of the line cooks who has a mean looking face, but all his features begin to soften when he smiles to look at Atsumu and Suna. He has short spikey hair, with dark thin eyebrows to match, and even darker eyes. He uncrosses his arms and waves, showing an intricate tattoo; an array of twisting vines and leaves up his arm that cover his hand as well. It’s beautiful, with so many flowers blossoming it makes Atsumu forget about winter approaching. It gives a slight reassurance to Atsumu that he is hopefully kinder than he looks and goes against the personalities he has known chefs to have. However, the stereotypes remain unchallenged when he spots of ink poking out of his collar and wrapping around his neck. This tattoo greatly contrasts the one on his arm and it consists of sharp lines and harsh edges. Atsumu almost felt like doing a comically dramatic gulp.
“Iwaizumi Hajime.”
The last man Atsumu spots must be the Kenma guy they were talking about before. When Atsumu looks at him he is midway through tying up long hair into a messy bun. He has a striking tone of blonde hair, much like Atsumu’s, with the same dark roots which are only slightly longer. He stares at Atsumu out of the corner of his flat, dull eyes. Yet, there is something behind them, Atsumu can tell there is a mischievous look to those eyes. Honestly, that look reminds him of Suna (although he'd never tell him that). Kenma seems like a pretty peaceful guy, only about five and a half feet tall, and he looks even shorter with his poor posture – which provides a stark contrast compared to Kita. It makes him wonder what about this guy could make Suna hate him this much.
“And last, but certainly not least, Kenma.” Atsumu starts to dread interactions with this guy; if he is known as Suna’s friend then he is probably an enemy to Kenma now.
“Miya Atsumu,” he says, “but please just call me Atsumu. It’s a pleasure to meet y’all.”
He feels painfully aware of his dialect. Whilst some find it charming it always seems to be hit and miss in customer service positions.
Kita puts down his pen, and then offers him a gentle smile, “It’s lovely to meet you Atsumu.” Even though he has a calm tone to his voice, it for some reason sends shivers down Atsumu’s spine, which Kenma manages to pick up on as he quickly assesses him.
“Good idea to get worried.” his bored voice echoes through the kitchen. “He may seem calm, but you better not fuck up.”
Atsumu, feeling awkward, lets out a nervous chuckle.
“That wasn’t a joke.” Kenma shuts him up.
“Come on Kenma,” Suna starts, “Don’t be mean to the guy, he’s barely been here five minutes.”
“Anyone you bring in here is automatically on my hit list.” Atsumu almost starts laughing again, Kenma and Suna both speak with the same forced indifference yet seem to have this intense rivalry with each other. Although to Atsumu, hatred seems like a better word for it. “And you know who else is going to think the same, don’t you?”
“You don’t even know the half of it.” Suna flashes one of his smiles.
Why does everyone feel intent on speaking in riddles around here?
Atsumu has a pit in his stomach as he assumes this is the same person Suna didn’t want to talk about earlier. A lot of people don’t like Atsumu, but usually they only make that judgement after he has opened his mouth. For once, he has been uncharacteristically quiet. He curses Sunarin for putting him in this position, but Atsumu still recognises how much he needs the money.
The pays alright, and I just need to get another book out here and then-
“I can tell what you’re thinking,” Suna says to Atsumu, “I think this is the fastest you’ve ever planned how to quit a job.”
Atsumu turns bright red.
“Ignore them,” Iwaizumi comments, “They’re always like this, they love each other really.”
The look Kenma and Suna send towards each other says otherwise.
Iwaizumi continues, “But Kenma does have a point, don’t fuck up.” Atsumu is really getting mixed signals from this guy.
“Er, thanks?”
“No problem! You have a bit of time left before we open, you should look over the menu and grab some water.” He says as he flicks back into a light-hearted tone.
Atsumu is pulled away by Suna before he can give a proper response.
“Nice to meet you!” he yells whilst being dragged out of the kitchen.
Once they are safely out of earshot from Kenma, he turns towards Suna.
“Dude, that is not cool,” Atsumu whispers to him. Suna only grins in response.
“Kenma and his buddy on the bar are always ganging up on me,” Suna tilts his head slightly, “I needed someone on my side. Make it even.”
“How d’ya even know I’m gonna be on yer side?” Atsumu says angrily, “It could end up being three against one!”
“Trust me. It won’t.” Atsumu is really not liking this ominous tone everyone seems to be adopting around him. “Oh look, they’ve arrived.”
Atsumu turns around and looks over to the bar along with Suna. There are two more men there, one is a tall, broad guy, with white and black spikey hair. He spots Atsumu and waves excitedly with one had whist the other is spraying the bar with disinfectant. The other has dark curls, and Atsumu spots two moles right above his-
Is that?
No way. Atsumu thinks, Suna really could’ve mentioned this before.
“Hey! I’m Bokuto Kōtarō, and this is Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Bokuto exclaims happily, entirely unaware that Sakusa needs no introduction.
Sakusa stares straight through Atsumu, who then turns to Suna and gives him a cold look.
“Hello Bokuto,” Atsumu squeezes a hand into his fist behind his back, purposely ignoring the man standing next to Bokuto. Neither him nor Sakusa know who is going to break the silence between them first. Atsumu raises his eyebrows at him slightly. Sakusa’s the one who started the silence, it should be him to end it.
“Hello Miya,” Sakusa squints his eyelids. He knows calling him Miya was a low blow.
He’s gotten even taller since high school, but he doesn’t still have that awkward air to him that he used to have. It’s almost as if he’s grown into himself more. He actually fills out his shirt, and Atsumu can see that he is more toned. His dark curls are more defined now, like he has finally spent the time to tame them. He still has those huge, dark, sad eyes that Atsumu remembers so well. Atsumu also notices an ear piercing on each ear lobe, which has a small black hoop in them, so subtle that it almost blends into his hair. But Atsumu still notices it. He notices another thing as well.
Sakusa is hotter than ever.
“You have great intuition Sakusa,” Suna says, and Atsumu really can’t get a hold of what he’s thinking, “You knew his name without me having to tell you.”
Bokuto whips his head round to look at Sakusa with his mouth wide open. Sakusa looks as if he is grinding his teeth and Atsumu would be laughing if he wasn’t so angry with Suna.
“I told him,” A sing-song voice says as Oikawa appears seemingly out of nowhere, and gives Atsumu yet another smile, one that feels even more menacing than Suna’s.
Atsumu, despite knowing that he is the newbie, and the one person without any of the power here, wants to see how far he can go with Sakusa now. It is, what everyone else thinks, is their first-time meeting and he wants to establish that he is the one in control here. He’s been quiet for a few minutes too long now and knows he won’t be able to hold his tongue towards Sakusa for much longer.
“Huh,” Atsumu starts and Sakusa glares at him, “Omi really doesn’t seem like the customer service type guy.”
Sakusa’s eyes were shooting daggers at him, but he can hear Suna practically snort behind him.
“Omi! That’s such a cute nickname,” Bokuto exclaims.
Atsumu: 1, Kiyoomi: 0.
“And” Bokuto continues once the laugher has subsided, “You can’t tell by how he treats us, but he is great with all the girls that come up to the bar. Such a ladies man aren’t you, Omi?”
Great with all the girls? Ladies’ man? This is going to be good, Atsumu thinks.
Oikawa rolls his eyes subtly, but not subtly enough because Atsumu seems to catch it. Whilst he appreciates Oikawa’s social and outgoing nature, he feels unsettled for how well he is able to get a read on people.
“Can’t wait to see ya in action, Omi.” Atsumu says, with the most neutral expression he can muster. For someone so full of emotion, and who is so unable to mask any feeling he experiences, a neutral response is not good. A neutral response means fuck you in Atsumu.
The two men lock eyes and Atsumu’s knees turn to jelly but tries to remain as calm as one possibly could in this situation.
…
Atsumu feels as though he has time travelled back to when he was 18. Working as a server, getting back in the flow of things. Thinking about Sakusa.
Osamu was wrong. Despite Atsumu not having worked in years he still managed to talk to his tables with ease. The only issue he had was dealing with the menu.
“What the fuck is a Tuscan chicken.” Atsumu muttered to himself. The restaurant was in a popular area for tourists, and there were quite a few dishes that were obviously catered to European and American customers.
“Chicken with a light, creamy sauce. And tomatoes.” Sakusa says behind him, sounding like a response to a google search.
“Still a know it all then?” Atsumu remarks snidely.
Sakusa looks at him once again. He was always good at making others feel stupid, it was pretty much a talent of his. He would never roll his eyes, and instead do something much subtler - he would ever so slightly narrow his eyes and look to the side. As if he was tossing out anything that anyone else had to say. It was always done subtly enough to not know what he’s thinking, but obvious enough to know he’s thinking something.
“Look Miya,” even though Sakusa only has a few inches over him it feels like meters. “This is my job, and I don’t care how long you’re staying for, but I like it here, and you better make it all go to shit for me."
“Trust me,” Atsumu considers being mature, then decides against it, “I’m gonna be out of here the first chance I get, and I won’t be sayin’ a word when I leave.”
Not saying goodbye seems to be a common theme in their dynamic.
“You’re just upset that the bartender is telling you how to serve.”
“Trust me Omi I could work bar any day of the week way better than you-”
“Sakusa” Suna interrupts “could you get me a coke please? Diet.” Sakusa fills up a glass with the soda gun and passes it to him. Suna takes one sip, “I’m not a fan of this bit anymore. Give me a diet coke. Please.” Suna passes the old drink, a normal coke, to Atsumu, which he gladly accepts.
The three men sit once again in a tense silence, none of them daring to make the first movement, until Oikawa passes Suna another glass.
“Thank you, Oikawa.”
Oikawa observe whatever strange situation he sees going on in front of him. He then, wisely, decides to walk away, Atsumu prays he could do the same.
“Service!” He hears Kita’s voice travel from the kitchen. His prayers have been answered.
“I’ll go get that.” Atsumu announces. He’ll do anything to leave this situation. He’s still fuming at Suna anyway.
“Miya.”
Atsumu stops and turns back around. What else could he possibly have to say?
“Don’t forget to give the kitchen that ticket.” Atsumu suddenly remembers the order he has holding in his hand for the freak that wants the Tuscan chicken.
“Thanks.” Don’t let him get to you.
“You also need to run these drinks.” Sakusa points towards a tray of four margaritas, all filled to the brim in martini glasses because apparently putting them in tumblers would make Atsumu’s life far too easy.
“Thanks.”
“And you need to clear table four. We’ve got another reservation soon.”
“Thank you, Omi.” He says through clenched teeth.
I need the money. That seems to be his mantra for tonight.
…
The restaurant was fairly quiet, Atsumu was let go at nine whilst Suna stayed and closed.
In disbelief of the events of tonight, he instinctively picks up his phone and calls Osamu. He hears the repetitive ring of the call until his phone lights up to tell Atsumu that the person he is calling is unable to take his call right now.
Sighing, he beings to type out a message.
Sakusa's my new coworker. Send.
Within seconds, he gets a call from Osamu.
“Yer working with who?” Osamu practically screams down the phone.
“Oh, so now yer able to call.” Atsumu grumbles. “Kiyoomi, he’s a bartender.”
“Liar.” Osamu states bluntly.
“I wish I were,” he retorts, “We’re actin’ as if we don’t even know each other as well.”
“Did Sunarin not think to give you a heads up?”
“Bet he was worried I wouldn’t work there. Or maybe he’s scheming, I can never tell with that dude. I probably wouldn’t worked there if he told me, but…”
“You need the money.” Osamu finishes for him.
“Yep. He weren’t even being nice to me.”
“’Tsumu, you shoulda let me beat him up for you when I had a chance all those years ago. Sakusa’s a dick.”
“Maybe ‘Samu. But it was a long time ago, people change y’know? Speaking of change, he’s hot. Like so hot. Even hotter than before. And he’s taller. And he’s ripped. You shoulda seen him shakin’ those cocktails ‘Samu. It was honestly kinda biblical.” This was not what Atsumu was planning to say about Sakusa.
There’s a deafening silence.
“’Tsumu…”
“I’m not thinkin’ about it. I hate the guy.”
‘Tsumu, yer a guy with a lot of emotions, and there’s not enough places for you to put them all.” Osamu pauses, “You don’t wanna be puttin’ the wrong emotions in the wrong places.”
“Samu!”
“What! You know I gotta point!”
“No, you don’t. Yer meant to be here to listen to me rant about some arsehole I work with, not to tell me not to fuck the guy!” Atsumu breathes heavily, “Not that I was gonna, I mean not that I even could, he can barely look at me. More importantly, I hate him. Honestly ‘Samu. I’m not gonna do anything.”
“Promise?” Osamu pleads, he’s not fully convinced by Atsumu.
“Promise. And just in case ya’ actually wanted to know how I’m doing, the shift went well. I wasn’t wrong earlier; this stuff stays with ya. No matter how much I wish I didn’t. They got a weird menu though, yer’s is way better.”
“Of course, mine is!” Osamu laughs and quiet settles between them.
“’Tsumu?”
“Yeah?”
“Just remember how he treated you before.”
Atsumu remembers. Nothing could ever make him forget.
From: Suna
The dream team is back together.
From: ?
What have you done.