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It hasn’t been very long since Atsumu and Sakusa have moved in together and, despite having lived in the same household with about four of the other guys for three years, Atsumu is still adjusting to them.
Somewhere along the way, Atsumu had fallen in love with Sakusa. He can’t tell exactly when, but it must have been sometime through their first year. The many drunken nights as floormates and staying up until four in the morning trying to cram for a midterm the next week (although it was mostly just Sakusa studying and Atsumu shuffling through his Spotify playlist every two minutes into a song, going off about needing to “find something that’ll keep him awake”) ensured that Atsumu spent most of his time with the black-haired boy.
He had thought it’d be a different case for Sakusa, though. Atsumu hardly ate breakfast, always opted out of attending his early morning classes for another two hours of sleep, and would wake up groggily, mind muddled, with a hand slapping over his phone in an attempt to turn his eight alarms off (he still has that habit of oversleeping. Thank the lord that he decided to not further his education after getting his bachelor’s in kinesiology.) He would wake up just in time to meet Sakusa in the cafeteria for a late lunch, and then they would spend the rest of their free time together. On most Friday nights, Sakusa refrained from going out to the club like most of the other first-years, but if Atsumu was going to be at a dorm party, Sakusa would be there, too, even though he only stayed for an hour. Either way, Atsumu usually followed him out so they could UberEats something greasy like Domino’s pizza or some donair. Sakusa would never finish his food, so Atsumu finished it for him.
Surely, Atsumu had thought, Sakusa must have had better companions.
Back then, Atsumu didn’t fully realize he had fell hard until their second year; didn't understand the ache in his heart until he saw Sakusa smile down at a pretty girl with glass skin and jet-black hair, her baby-blue painted fingertips resting in the palm of his hand. He knew he never stood a chance—not in their first year, and not in their second. Not even in their third, when Sakusa would constantly bring her over. All the boys had taken a liking to her, especially Hinata. Atsumu knew she was a nice girl; sweet and genuine in ways that rivalled Bokuto’s, but Atsumu could never connect well with her. He didn’t want to throw in a wild accusation at the time, but he was pretty sure she knew of his little crush.
His little crush that had blossomed so quickly it grew thorns that served no purpose but to dig into his lungs.
It was halfway through their third year when they broke up (finally, Atsumu had thought). It wasn’t some nasty, dramatic break-up with excessive theatrics. Sakusa just fell out of love, he guessed. Likewise, for her, she had stopped coming around as often a couple of months before they had cut their ties. Atsumu saw the door open a sliver; his chance is right there, he should take this opportunity, but the door shut just as quickly after a night of thinking about how Sakusa could never be interested in someone like Atsumu. They were polar opposites and, yadda yadda, opposites attract, but that didn’t seem like the case with a man like Sakusa.
Even now, as Atsumu blinks up blearily at the ceiling after giving the sleep in his eyes a gentle rub away, he doesn’t know how they had ended up together. They were in their fourth year, just a few months away from graduation, when Atsumu had come home drunk, threw up in his and Sakusa’s shared bathroom, and fallen asleep with his cheek on the seat of the toilet. He hadn’t known how long he was out for, but Sakusa woke him up with a hand rubbing down his back and the flush of the toilet after pulling Atsumu back to rest against the wall. Thinking back on it now, the immediate reaction he had imagined from Sakusa was a grimace of disgust, a smack on his head with something like a towel so that he didn’t have to touch Atsumu with his bare hand after sweating his way through the club and vomiting up wasted vodka for nearly half an hour, but that wasn't what happened. Sakusa had brought him a glass of water and toasted some bread for him at, what he imagined to be, almost three in the morning, then put him to sleep with fingers combing back his blonde bangs, away from his forehead.
Atsumu had grabbed his wrist before he could leave, mumbled something he didn't remember the next day (“You told me you loved me,” Sakusa said to him a month into their relationship, to which Atsumu responded with a furious blush and a pillow thrown at the other’s direction) and knocked out like a light. They got together just after the walk, gowns drowning their form and paper in hand with a pretty gold ribbon tied around it. Sakusa had found him through the crowd, grabbed his hand, and kissed him so fully and right Atsumu hadn’t known how to respond.
“You’re crying,” Sakusa had told him.
Atsumu turned his body, face looking off to the side as he wipes at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Why did you….?”
“I like you.”
For the longest time, Atsumu thought that Sakusa had been the first one to confess, but turned out it had been him after he learned about that fateful fourth-year vomit night.
Atsumu rolls onto his chest and doesn't know what time it is. The space beside him in bed is cold when he throws his arm over the pillow, cheek pressed against his own. Where did Sakusa go?
He sits up with a yawn, palms of his hands splayed to the sky in a grand stretch before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. The hardwood is cold under his feet, and the late morning chill from the crack in the bedroom window raises tiny, little goosebumps over his back and down the sides of his torso.
He sees Sakusa sitting there, pointed elbows resting on the island counter, with his laptop propped open. He’s nursing a cup of black coffee, then drops a hand to ghost his fingertips over the trackpad. His black turtleneck looks really comfy.
Ah, coffee. That’s what he’s here for. He’s stifling a yawn as he walks into the kitchen, not forgetting to press a kiss into the crook of Sakusa’s neck with his arms curling around the man’s torso in a bearhug. “Mornin’, Omi-Omi. I missed ya.” He feels Sakusa jerk upright, a hand flying up to pull out one of his AirPods. He must have not heard Atsumu come up behind him with the noise cancellation or whatever bullshit they added to the Pros.
Atsumu presses another gentle kiss to the skin there and inhales deeply because he can’t get enough of that subtle scent from Sakusa’s signature cologne.
“Atsumu.”
He lifts his head with a couple of blinks, confused at the edged tone in Sakusa’s voice, and is met with the multiple faces of Sakusa’s peers.
He’s in a zoom meeting.
“Oh, fuck.”
He detaches his arms immediately to pull his body (very naked upper body) out of the camera’s view. Sakusa gives him a pointed stare as he pushes the AirPod back into place, and Atsumu fidgets in his spot.
Okay, well, Atsumu should have assumed that Sakusa’s in class. He had completely forgotten in his state of sleepiness, but the recognition that he had just been caught on camera in his boyfriend’s zoom meeting with almost thirty other students and his professor was a good wake-up punch to his gut. His face flushes as he spins on his heel to brew his coffee with much more vigour than usual.
But why didn’t Sakusa turn his camera off? Is he not allowed to? Not even for a few seconds? He didn’t push him away either. More importantly, how the fuck is he so level-headed after that? Had it been the other way around, Atsumu might have actually slammed his laptop shut with so much panic it’d be a miracle if it still worked afterward. He pouts angrily as he drops a few sugar cubes into his coffee, along with his creamer.
It’s when Sakusa comes up behind him with arms snaking past his waist does Atsumu jolt out of his thoughts. He says nothing, but he presses a kiss to Atsumu’s temple. Atsumu stirs his coffee with his little tea spoon. “Are ya mad?”
“No,” replies Sakusa, fingertips scraping along the hairs under Atsumu’s bellybutton.
Atsumu removes his hands from the cup, turning in the other’s arms to stare at him in the face. “‘m sorry. Forgot ya had morning classes on Wednesdays.”
Sakusa’s eyebrows raise to his forehead. “It’s Friday.” He glances to the side, then brings his gaze back to Atsumu’s golden orbs. “And one in the afternoon.”
“Same thing.”
“I suppose my entire graduate class knows who my boyfriend is now.”
Pink like sakura blossoms spreads across his cheeks at the reminder, and Atsumu has to bury his face into the crook of Sakusa’s neck in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “‘m sorry,” he repeats.
Sakusa runs his fingers through the strands at the back of Atsumu’s head and plays with the soft hairs at his nape. “It’s okay. Should we make lunch?”
“Breakfast?”
Sakusa squints his eyes at him. “For you, maybe.” Then he leans in to kiss Atsumu on the lips, not minding that he hasn’t showered or brushed his teeth yet. He’ll do that after this. His arms curl loosely around Sakusa’s neck, hands drooping limply behind him, and kisses back sweetly.
Perhaps it’s true that Atsumu couldn’t have had Sakusa in his first year of university, or his second or third. He wouldn’t know what would have happened if he confessed when he knew. Sakusa might not even be here in his arms, standing in the middle of the kitchen of their shared apartment because they’re boyfriends, but none of that matters because no matter how much brainpower and energy Atsumu puts into concluding the millions of possible outcomes in what other decisions he could have made in his prior youth, nothing is better than this.
And this is all that matters.