Archive of Our Own

I

He’s swaying from side to side on his feet, lined up in the first row facing one of the instructors in charge of their group this year. It’s a surreal moment, the situation he’s in becomes ten times more real.

A hard jab at his side snaps him out of whatever trance he’s in, and he whips his head to the right to glare daggers at the offender. Who is none other than Osamu, who’s trying to hold back a laugh. If Atsumu wasn’t under the scrutinizing stares of the instructors here, he’d reach over and yank him into a headlock and mess with him.

Lots of kids from other schools were present today, many of whom were sizing each other up not so discreetly.

It’s all of their chance to show what they’ve got, what they’re made of.

Atsumu won’t fall behind.

“Sakusa-kun, don’t dismiss my sets before you’ve even hit one.” He tsks.

One of the other students at the training camp this year, Sakusa, was a formidable opponent on court. Atsumu can just barely recall their match in Interhigh, most of his recollection being that they lost. It was a hard match, each team had new first years on the court, but eventually, Itachiyama came out on top.

But the image of the frizzy, curly-haired boy’s cold gaze resting on him as he ignored his outstretched hand was not so easily forgettable. And he had just rejected his skills as a setter.

Sakusa clicks his tongue. “I don’t need to hit one to critique them. Your technique has potential, but your sets are weird, and badly timed.”

Atsumu glowers, not pleased at all by the response. His ego is wounded, though he will never say it out loud. Sakusa is no setter, and Atsumu knows his skills are very up to par, if not one of the best here at this camp. He struggles to school his face to an easy grin, biting back any ill-intended words. He knows Sakusa saw the lapse in his expression, but he continues anyway. “Just wait and see, ya might be surprised.” And before the messy-haired boy can shy away, he gives him a firm, mostly hard slap on the shoulder.

Perhaps it was to piss him off, Atsumu isn’t above pettiness. He feels smug when he hears offended noises as he walks away.

“Everyone, gather around! Teams for a practice game are going to be assigned for the day.”

He throws a smirk behind him, to the dismay of Sakusa, before jogging up to the growing group of students.

For today’s game, each team is assigned positions that they normally play; Atsumu is made to be the setter of one team, Osamu is the outside hitter, so on and so forth. It’s a way to ease them into the grueling work ahead before they have to shake up their playing with different positions.

But Osamu is put on a different team than Atsumu. Atsumu is put on somebody named Ushijima’s team, and the tall green-haired boy is as stoic as one could be as he gives him a nod of acknowledgment.

Atsumu is no stranger to Ushijima; anybody who pays attention to high school volleyball knows who he is. He’s a favorite, a kid with an extreme amount of potential. He’s got height, but the power to back it up in his spikes. And only a second year, if you can believe that.

Atsumu gives his brother a smirk across the net. Can’t wait to beat you.

When their match finally does begin with the referee’s whistle, the sounds of shoes on floors and the smack of volleyballs being bumped into the air commenced. Truly a place where Atsumu felt most comfortable.

He throws smug looks at Osamu whenever his team scores against them, much to his annoyance.

He has something to prove, but while his attention is on teasing his brother, his eyes stray over to Sakusa every once in a while. Sakusa, however, is staring at somebody behind him. He peers over his shoulder, only to see that it’s Ushijima.

He narrows his eyes.

“Miya!” A teammate of his calls for his name, and Atsumu’s eyes are back on the court. The ball is careening towards him in a way that would make for a terrible set, he knows this, the others know this.

But he gets in position, his breathing slowing as he feels himself slip into his zone.

The ball is tossed, he hears himself call a name, and a slam follows not soon after. He falls to the floor, a price for the awkward position he was just in. But as he catches his breath, he’s smiling wide.

He looks up and to the other side of the net to see an awed expression, or at least as awed as it could probably be.

Yeah, he muses. Watch me.

II

There is a certain feeling one gets when the fruits of your labor finally begin to appear; it’s a thrill, knowing that all you’ve done has been finally recognized.

That’s the feeling Atsumu gets when he is told by his high school volleyball coach that he is invited to the All-Japan Youth Volleyball Camp for a second year. The words all but smack him in the face, until they sink in as he turns to shove it into his brother's face. I’ve been asked yet again , he wants to tell him. They know I’m great .

But before he can get a single word out, the coach utters one last sentence.

“That is all for this year. Do your best, Miya.” And that’s it.

Those are not the words he is expecting to hear come out of his mouth, and the weight they hold over Atsumu is anything but pleasant.

It proves to him that he’s better at volleyball, sure — but that sense of triumph pales in comparison to the knowledge that Osamu isn’t moving forward with him. The blank look on his brother’s face does nothing to comfort him as he stares him down, practically fuming.

“Don’t think ya can just ignore—”

“I know it’s your second year going, don’t let your head get any bigger than it already is.” A newer teammate of theirs, Suna hums beside him.

There’s not a word about it from his brother when they’re cleaning up after practice, Osamu simply rolls his eyes at Atsumu when he attempts to question him about it — or when they’re walking down the sidewalk, he’s given a simple “Not now,” in response. Not even when they eat dinner and go to bed.

It’s eating Atsumu alive, the frustration and itchy feeling that he can’t recognize at this moment. He stares at the roof of their bunk bed, where Osamu is resting above.

He practically chokes on his spit when he sees Osamu’s shadowy figure lean over the edge in the dark. Atsumu’s eyes are adjusted at this point, the dim light coming through the window blinds.

“I’m still here,” Osamu says.

Atsumu doesn’t say anything back.

The following weeks are full of Atsumu staying late to practice drills, barking at Osamu to join him. They’re both exhausted from their regular practice, but he’s insistent on it anyways.

“I don’t wanna get rusty before I go,” Is Atsumu’s curt response.

He knows that Osamu knows that’s not the reason why, but he doesn’t press him.

He’s fully aware that Osamu is watching from the side as he’s drinking from his water bottle. The sound of the ball slamming against a wall over and over again is therapeutic to him, along with the feel of his palm hitting it. 

He hears Osamu sigh in defeat, tired just trying to figure out the issue. “Fine then, be like that. I’m heading out in a few minutes, if ya want to walk home with me feel free to get packed up yerself.”

Osamu is quick with his clean-up, grabbing stray volleyballs that have been resting on the gym floor and tossing them into the cart near the net. He looks over his shoulder to see that Atsumu is still standing in front of a wall, not moving.

“Oi,” He calls out. “Ya comin’ or not?”

“I’m stayin’.” Atsumu snaps back.

Osamu shakes his head and throws one last ball in. Atsumu clenches his jaw. He would just walk home in the dark, too prideful to go home just yet.

But Atsumu watches him leave. Feeling abandoned yet again, a piercing feeling deep in his gut. And something inside tells Atsumu that this won’t be the last time.

Another year, another training camp for the All Japan Youth. This year’s group is anything but lackluster.

Atsumu is pleasantly surprised at the attendees here this time around. He sees players from all around there, familiar faces, but new ones too.

His eyes catch a certain spiker from the distance and takes note of that for later.

It’s during the matches that he meets one of the newcomers, a first-year from the Miyagi Prefecture. The boy is a setter like Atsumu, scarily accurate and precise with his sets. But he’s a simpleton, a goody-two-shoes, which he finds out very quickly by the way he spikes Atsumu’s own sets. He doesn’t refrain from making it known, either.

They’re all sitting out before a match, Atsumu standing with his hands on his hips, Kageyama on the floor stretching. This first year was not in fact prickly like he first anticipated. He can admit that he was wrong on that aspect.

But there’s no risk to his game; Kageyama plays with his whole self, yes. But he only sticks to what he knows. He doesn’t do the impossible. He’s serious, among other things. Atsumu watched his match with Shiratorizawa on a screen, and he's seen his sets in action.

Anybody who can’t keep up with Atsumu’s sets? They suck. They aren’t putting in one hundred and ten percent into it. But anybody who isn’t risking anything does too.

“Stop picking fights with the first years.”

Atsumu is leaning his back against the wall, tapping away furiously on the keypad of his phone in response to a rude one-worded text from Osamu. He takes a moment to look up from the screen.

“Huh?”

The person in front of him is Sakusa. Mask above his nose, eyes full of disdain as he's noticed they often hold.

“You’re discouraging that first year from Karasuno.” He says.

Atsumu laughs quietly. “It wasn’t meant to be that way. Who’s to say he shouldn’t be a spiker instead?”

There’s a pause as if Sakusa is trying to think of what to say back to him. Atsumu settles back into clicking away, taking it as a win.

“A setter’s words are important to other setters if you’re younger. I’vhardballt.”

He raises an eyebrow. Go on, he thinks.

“I want to face him later. See what exactly made Ushijima lose to him. I expect you to let him be so I can do that.”

And before he can even get a final word in, Sakusa gives him one last look, and he’s gone.

Atsumu stands there, text forgotten. He’s never seen such intensity in the boy’s expression.

He’s assigned libero this match, and Atsumu’s head buzzes in restlessness. He can play other positions, he’s confident in his abilities, but if he could get an actual hard ball to dig? He’d finally be into it.

His focus is on the other side, watching the ball being passed back and forth until Hoshiumi sets the ball, and it’s to Sakusa.

He watches the world in slow motion as the ball moves towards his palm as if gravity itself was pulling it in — Atsumu might be imagining it, but they lock eyes before the ball comes hurtling towards the corner of the court.

He feels his body moving, and he’s there to dig the ball, an accomplishment he’s well aware of as it was a close call. His skin tingles where the impact was. But he barely cares, the added satisfaction of Sakusa’s scowl is something he’ll think about for at least a week.

He smiles. Sakusa is a talented hitter indeed.

lll

His third year is one that Atsumu finds himself uncomfortable with. He’s been thrust up to the top, from his comfortable middle. With the unwavering and dependable guidance of his senpais now gone, he’s left at the front — Osamu beside him yet far away, Suna and Ginjima on his other. His skin is tingly with nerves. He fights the urge to jump up from his spot and pace.

It’s number assignment day.

He glances over to his right where his brother is, noting in annoyance how Osamu looks as if he couldn’t care less about this whole ordeal.

“When your name is called, please walk up to me to receive your jerseys.” His coach instructs them, and there’s a small chorus of “Yes sir,” in the group.

“Miya Atsumu.” 

His mind halts for all but a second until he’s moving to stand and walk to the coach. The uniform is shoved into his hands, and he’s back on his way to the others. He’s quiet, and he understands the emotions he saw on Kita’s face last year. Atsumu is a crier through and through, and he feels his eyes sting.

He’s been recognized. 

The crowds cheer from their seats. The lights on the court are bright as Atsumu and his team arrives to do stretches, and he’s proud. He’s here once again, and they’re going to win.

Nationals were forever a test of volleyball teams and their strength, their work, and skills.

And this year, he has many goals. He hasn’t forgotten his promise to defeat the orange-haired first year this time, and he hasn’t forgotten past defeats he wants to set right.

But across the court stands Itachiyama Institute, and with them at the head leading them was none other than Sakusa. Their eyes meet from opposite ends, an unspoken challenge in each of their gazes.

Something about him ignites a need to poke and egg the boy on, and he smirks before turning around to give a pep talk to his team.

His fist is in the center of their circle, feeling confident and determined. They’ve made it here, with no regrets or doubts. Their motto, we don’t need the memories, is one Atsumu has lived his entire high school career. He’s putting his all into this, and he expects everyone else too. The present matters most. 

He walks towards the net once they are released, as captains are to shake hands before the match. He brightens when he sees Sakusa walk up to him, full of glee.

“Long time no see, Captain .” He’s surprised that he was chosen this year, he’s such a prickly guy that he’d never imagine him leading a team of any sort. But thinking about it, maybe it makes sense after all.

“You sound as arrogant as ever.” Sakusa is blunt, his expression schooled. But his lip twitches and Atsumu’s eyes fall to them. “We’re not going to lose.”

“This is our win this time around, I won’t be havin’ a repeat of Interhigh.”

“We’ll see,” Is all he’s graced with.

And so their match begins.

There’s a bitter taste in Atsumu’s mouth as he stands with his eyes shut tight.

They’ve lost. They’re done for the season. It’s his last game here, with his team, with his brother. Shit.

They line up to shake hands, and he sees the looks of disappointment on everyone’s faces, the tears falling from first-years eyes, and of course — the piercing gaze of Sakusa.

He reluctantly reaches his hand forward, almost letting his pride get the best of him. Atsumu is surprised when he takes it, his grip steady and unwavering. They don’t look away from each other, and the space between them crackles with energy. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“I’ll get past those nasty spikes and receives of yers one day, just ya wait.” He swears.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Miya.”

He scoffs, squeezing his hand once before letting go and moving down the line.

When he meets his brother at the end, he tries to ignore the strange look he’s given.

“What was that?” He asks.

“What was what?” Atsumu replies breezily.

“Yer acting all pleased, it’s creepy.”

And that was it. He jabs his side with his elbow, irritated.

As they settle down, Atsumu does think one final thought about the match today. Seeing his teammates gather their things, the teams packing up for home or their next match, the looming knowledge that he won’t play with Osamu like this again —

He didn’t need memories, but he would’ve liked to make more.

lV

“Turn here,” Osamu directs, pointing off to a road on the right. Atsumu rolls his eyes and moves the wheel accordingly. He isn’t a fan of being told around by him, but it’s a small price to pay for time with each other.

After high school, they’ve both been busy with their own lives. Of course, they never missed a call, always met once a month for dinner made by Osamu, and a movie while they sat on the couch together. But it’s always welcome to see each other more than what their schedules allow them — besides, a road trip to Tokyo is a nice change from rigorous conditioning with his team.

He’s had non-stop thoughts about volleyball, but also the people surrounding him. He’s watched many videos of Collegiate Volleyball player Sakusa Kiyoomi too many times to count, keeping a close eye on what he was up to, anything. Some part of him was intrigued, another was trying to figure him out.

His team, the MSBY Black Jackals were like a second family to Atsumu. When he’d first tried out he met Bokuto for a second time. Not under competition or split apart by a net, and it was refreshing. He was talkative and rambunctious, and it was fun to be younger compared to the older members. They were inseparable. Companionship is something Atsumu craved, with his brother and him now on their paths.

Then came an old face he hasn’t seen in ages. He practically disappeared off the map, even though Atsumu kept tabs on him too. Hinata Shoyo had returned a year or two after Atsumu had joined the team, much to his surprise. When he saw the orange air in the gym, he had never been away from him either. They worked very well together, a very funny guy Hinata was. STill bright and cheerful as he was in high school.

But like any family, you need a break. So when Osamu called him a few weeks ago about needing Atsumu’s driver’s license to drive him to Tokyo, he quickly agreed.

Osamu talks about his business plans whenever they’re together, he’s heard of his idea to open a branch in Tokyo one day. It’s an ambitious goal, one that might take years to accomplish in the first place. But the face Osamu gets when he speaks on his passions is enough for Atsumu to keep offering his steady support.

After all, Osamu has always shown up to his games. He’s let him cry to him on the phone when he’d been put on the bench his first year on the team.

He’s regretting agreeing right now, however, as he’s currently barking at him to pull over.

“Oi, can ya shut up for one second? I’m tryin’ to drive!” He grumbles.

Osamu smacks his shoulder. “Not when I told ya that ya almost missed the spot entirely!”

Atsumu hisses, pulling over where he was told to. “Yer lucky I’m helpin’ out of the kindness in my heart!” Osamu waves a hand dismissively at him, unbuckling his seatbelt with the other.  He’s halfway out of the car when he tells him to stay in the car or go find something to do.

“Wait, where are ya going?” Atsumu doesn’t recall leaving him in the car as their plans. They’ve been driving for a few hours, so he’s exhausted. But Osamu never takes a break when it comes to his business. Atsumu can relate with volleyball, but the guy acts like he has no spare time.

Osamu’s head pops into the car again. “I’m meeting with a realtor. There’s a spot here for rent.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Bye.” He shuts the door, leaving a frustrated Atsumu behind in his car. He flips him off through the window, but when Osamu disappears from sight, he rests his forehead against the steering wheel. He sighs. He thought they’d spend more time together.

It doesn’t hurt to do some exploring, he decides after a few minutes of sitting there. 

He has no idea where he’s going, it’s been years since he was last in Tokyo for any other reason but an away game. It almost makes the city more interesting, all the people walking on the streets that makes him wonder what they do here.

He finds a coffee shop on one street, his curiosity gets the best of him, even though he knows it’ll probably be a bit more costly than the coffee back where he lived. It was the city, after all.

The ring of the bell on the door greets him along with the smell of freshly ground coffee, and the sounds of clinking machinery. The ambiance is enjoyable, he notes.

Maybe, he’s glad he was left behind after all.

Even more so, now that he spotted somebody behind the counter. His eyes widen, and he can’t help but grin.

“Sakusa-kun?” He walks up to the register, all smiles. Such a strange place to see him, especially after a handful of years. The man was taller now, still wearing a mask, but the two moles above his eyebrows were made intentionally visible. But his hair is greasy, his expression exhausted, and he’s reminded that Sakusa is a college student.

He blinks once, twice, before registering who’s in front of him. If Atsumu didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he saw him flush under his mask. “Miya,” He mutters.

Atsumu is delighted. “Never took ya for a customer service kinda guy.” He teases.

“Go to college and then try to say that to me again,” Sakusa isn’t so amused. 

“Prickly as ever,” He tuts. “Hope yer setter is treating ya right.”

“Are you going to order?”

Atsumu feels a bit sad at the abrupt and clear sign to hurry up. He’s spent so long studying him on videos, but now that they’re face to face? It’s strange. He forgot they both haven’t seen each other since their match in third year.

He probably seems weird, talking to him like they’re old friends. He doesn’t even think they even got there back then.

“Surprise me.” He says. 

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

He rings Atsumu up, and he pays. The realization that this would be a one-time thing dawned on him, and he’s sort of disappointed. But, maybe it wasn’t too late to build a bridge between old rivals. 

When he gets his coffee, he reaches over the counter. Sakusa freezes up, and Atsumu’s heart thuds in his chest as he takes a pen from his apron’s pocket. He holds his hand out for Sakusa, motioning for him to give him his hand.

Sakusa stares at it in confusion. Atsumu rolls his eyes this time. “Givin’ ya my number.” He explains.

There’s a pause before Sakusa slowly puts his hand out for him to take, and before he can have time to change his mind, Atsumu takes it and scribbles the numbers down onto his palm. The feeling of rough, dry hand in his warms his own, which is cold and soft in comparison. 

It’s a strange feeling he’s getting, but he finishes writing and drops his hand as if it burnt him. “Thanks for the coffee,” He says awkwardly.

“Your hair isn’t as horrible now,” Sakusa says, and then turns away to take care of the dirty counters.

He feels odd when he walks out of the shop, the taste of chai lingers in his mouth after he takes a sip.

He’s definitely happy he was left behind. But what is so different about them meeting now?

He wonders what his life would’ve been like if he’d taken the college route. If he had happened to go to the same college as Sakusa. Atsumu entertains the idea for a moment before he squashes it entirely. No, he has no regrets about where he ended up.

V

“Do you think the tryouts are going to be any good this year?”

That’s what Bokuto asks him when they were asked to come in for the tryouts the next day. Bokuto had jumped at the opportunity, and Atsumu was not far after. Because if he is to set to some of them one day, he deserves to see what they’ve got.

“Please go easy on them, Atsumu,” Meian calls from the other side of the gym, doing drills with Inunaki and Barnes. Being the older ones on the team, they were by right more responsible. Maybe not so much Inunaki, but the idea was good enough.

He snorts. As if he would, if they couldn’t keep up with him, what were they doing in the V-League?

“This is Tsum-Tsum you’re talking about here!” Bokuto claps Atsumu on the shoulder, and he chokes.

“How bad are they gonna be? Have more faith in yer possible future colleagues, Captain.” Atsumu says.

Their captain huffs, but it’s enough of an okay to Atsumu that he continues with what he’s doing.

He can’t believe his eyes. Sakusa is standing in the same gym as him.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me who was trying out this year?” He hisses at Bokuto.

“Probably because we’re not supposed to know,” Hinata offers. “Isn’t it better that way, anyway?”

“Not when he’s here!” He looks over at him again and quickly turns his head when he finds that Sakusa spotted him. 

Bokuto waves at him, and then looks down at Atsumu. “It’s just Sakusa-kun, right? Don’t you talk about him all the—” Atsumu covers Bokuto’s mouth with a hand, shutting him up. 

“It’s just—” Strange , he thinks. Weird. Embarrassing. When Atsumu gave Sakusa his number last year, he was expecting a text, maybe even a call if he was extremely lucky. He didn’t get either.

So to see him again, with his not greasy hair that doesn’t look fried anymore, and no mask on? He’s prepared for relentless nagging on rookies, but he isn’t so prepared for this. Especially when he’s come to terms with the fact that he finds the man somewhat attractive. Appealing.

He looks back over to him among the other people here trying out for their team.

“Miya,” Coach Foster motions from his place for Atsumu to hustle over. He does just that, wasting no time.

“Yes, coach?” He throws a look at the others, gleefully aware that his presence makes them go rigid. All but Sakusa, who only stares straight back at him.

“I want you to set for a group of them, they’re trying out specifically for an outside hitter,” Foster explains, clipping a new sheet onto his clipboard. He points his pen at him. “I expect to see you bring out the best in them all,” He adds.

“Yes sir,” Atsumu chuckles and nods in agreement.

Satisfied, Foster continues. “Numbers one through 6, go with Miya.” He clicks his pen. “The rest, follow me.” He and everyone else shuffle off.

Atsumu turns his attention to the rookies in front of him, clasping his hands together. “Alright then, newbies. Here’s where we have fun. I’m the starting setter for MSBY here, so I’ll just say this right off the bat.” He drops his hands, crossing them. “I don’t slow down for anybody, so if yer going to even think about makin’ it here, ya need to give yer all. No holdin’ back.”

He sees a few of them get antsy, and a few nod in agreement. It’s the one behind them all that scoffs. 

Atsumu raises his eyebrows. “Who was that?” And who thought he wouldn’t notice?

There’s a hand that pokes above the heads, and the others move out of the way. Atsumu’s breath catches in his throat, but he stifles his surprise for a haughty smirk instead. Something to get on his nerves...he needs something, fast. “Omi-Omi, I didn’t know ya scoffed at yer seniors.”

“I just couldn’t imagine anybody not putting in their all.” He says, but Atsumu sees him cringe slightly at the nickname. 

“Let’s see if you walk the walk, then.”

And if Atsumu sends his best sets that day to Sakusa, he wouldn’t say it aloud.

He’s tired, but he still finds it within him to catch up to Sakusa after relentless teasing from Bokuto and Hinata about some choice things they saw from tryouts.

“Omi-Omi, hold on for a moment.” He holds up a hand as if to say stop.

He turns to look at Atsumu, midway getting ready to put on a mask. He cringes for a quick second before it vanishes completely. “Yes?”

Please tell me you felt the rush too, his heart says. Please say you’ll join the Jackals, it says.

“Let me give ya my number,” He sounds more breathless than he wants to, but he can’t help it after running to one of the bus stops he assumed the curly-haired man would be at.

And he does that thing Atsumu remembers from back in their third year—his lip twitches, and for the first time, he realizes it might be out of amusement, or something similar. “I do have it, remember?” 

Atsumu blinks, and he almost laughs at the memory of dirty, greasy Sakusa in a random coffee shop in Tokyo. “Oh,” He says. So he’s had it all this time still? The thought warms him, but then he remembers that means he also voluntarily never reached out.

“Oh, indeed,” Sakusa says.

“Is it weird how we keep meeting each other so randomly?” He asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. It gives him something idle to do that lets him ignore the incessant pounding of his heart in his throat.

Sakusa looks like he thinks about it for a moment. “I’d say it’s almost similar to fate.” His voice is quiet, but Atsumu catches it before it blows away like a leaf in the wind.

“Huh,” He says. 

They wave goodbye when the bus stops in front of them, and Atsumu watches it drive off. The ghost of a smile is all he thinks about.

“Fate,” He mutters. “Like that one story. The red-string of fate.”

Vl

Atsumu knocks on Sakusa’s door, the bag in his arms shifting as he switches hands. The bag is pretty heavy, and he’s about to just set it on the floor and give up, but the door finally swings open.

And he’s greeted with the sight of a domestic-looking Sakusa, clad in slippers and a bathrobe, his hair a disheveled mess with rosy nose and cheeks.

He’s sick, and it’s somehow adorable. God, Atsumu has it bad.

“Whoa there, Omi-Omi. Are ya sure ya ain’t contagious?” He feigns concern, taking a step back. “I can’t be gettin’ sick, the team depends on me.”

Sakusa is unamused, Atsumu can tell by the way his brow furrows down to the wrinkle. “Highly,” He deadpans. “Get inside or I’m shutting the door.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Atsumu slips in, taking his shoes off and replacing them with slippers he’s left in Sakusa’s room too many times to count. They ended up just taking permanent residence there, which was actually convenient for them both.

“I got ya some home-remedies,” He lifts the bag in accomplishment, but tuts at Sakusa when he tries to reach for them. “No way, sit down on the couch and I’ll hand ‘em over. Patience, Omi.”

“I know for a fact that’s from the corner market,” Sakusa grumbles on his way to his couch.

“Maybe yer sick because you waste yer energy on being so prickly.”

“Hand me the bag.”

Atsumu plops down onto the couch beside Sakusa. He opens the bag and pulls out pickled plums and a few vegetable juices. Sakusa’s eyes brighten at the sight of his favorite food, but as soon as he set his sights on the vegetable juice, it soured. 

“I’m not drinking those.” He says.

Atsumu splutters. “I spent good money on these, ya need healthy shit to get better or somethin’!”

It takes a few minutes of back and forth, but Atsumu eventually wins out. He compromises by offering to hold the bottle for him, which Sakusa agrees to rather quickly.

Sakusa just took a sip of the drink, so Atsumu pulls it back and away from his lips, content in caring for his friend.

“Hold on, ya got somethin’ above yer lips,” He says. Atsumu takes his thumb and swipes across the area with it. Sakusa is staring right at him with wide eyes. 

Even just being close to ya, Omi. That’s enough. Whatever weird twist of fate got us here is what I’m thankful for.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until he feels his grip slipping on the bottle. He holds onto it tightly again and clears his throat in an attempt to find any excuse to break eye contact. 

“Atsumu?” Sakusa asks.

He nearly chokes on the air. Sakusa has never used his name so out of the blue like this. “Yes?” He manages to respond.

“Can I kiss you?”

He could die right on this couch, right now. He’d die and leave all his plants to his brother, because Sakusa is too sick to take care of them, and wow, Sakusa just asked if he could kiss him.

“Yes,” It’s all he gets out before Sakusa crashes their lips together.

It’s awkward, and honestly very gross due to all the mucus dripping from Sakusa’s nose, but it’s their first, and Atsumu is reeling. But they have time to give better ones. The present is what matters most.

It’s everything to him and more.

Their hands are joined under a table, loud voices all around them in an apartment in the city. Their friends are there enjoying drinks and laughter, kids of old friends running up and down the hallway, and a thumb brushes over a gold ring sitting on a finger.

Two gold rings, each one a golden string tying them together. They don’t need marriage, they don’t need papers. They have their promises, and the memories they’ve made along the way.

And he finally allows himself to need those memories. Especially if they’re with him.