Chapter Text
A condensed list of things in Miya Atsumu’s life that piss him off:
1. His twin brother, Osamu, quitting volleyball. Yes, he’s ‘gotten over it’; no, he has never forgiven him for it. They could be the twin terror in the professional volleyball scene, but, of course, Osamu had to go ruin it for rice balls.
2. Five AM practice. The court will still be there in three hours. Do they really have to do them dirty like that?
3. Akaashi fucking drooling over Bokuto whenever he swings by the MSBY Black Jackals practice. Yeah, Bokuto’s hot, but Akaashi has absolutely no right to be mooning over some idiot who doesn’t even realize he’s being mooned over. It’s pathetic, really.
4. Sakusa Kiyoomi and his stupid, unfairly symmetrical face and stupidly perfect spikes and stupidly pouty lips that never withhold a quip to call out Atsumu on his bullshit.
5. But what pisses off Atsumu the most, out of everything else, is that Atsumu is doing the same exact thing as Akaashi.
Atsumu wipes at his forehead with a towel. Off to the side, Hinata is going off on a tangent to Sakusa, about the rigorous ab exercises he does every morning, night, and every time after he takes a shit. Apparently frequent and habitual ab exercises allow him to build core strength that lets him bump any spike or serve.
Sakusa is listening, sort of, in between slow sips from his water bottle. His curls hang damp in his eyes, and beads of perspiration collect on his neck, the skin peeking out of his t-shirt. Under the bright lights of the gymnasium, halfway through the MSBY Black Jackal’s daily practice, Sakusa’s skin glistens.
Seriously. He is glowing.
“Tsum Tsum, you feeling okay?” Bokuto’s voice jolts Atsumu back to the present, and he almost jumps, like, twenty feet in the air.
“Jesus, Bo-kun. You’re always coming up from nowhere and screaming right in my ear.” Atsumu takes a step away, but Bokuto’s presence is as thick as his optimistic personality. He glances past Bokuto’s looming figure and sees Akaashi, eyes flickering behind his glasses that kind of make him look like a sexy librarian.
And, of course, where are those eyes flickering, too?
Be more obvious, Kaashi-kun, Atsumu muses.
“Do you need me to get you some more water?” Bokuto squints. Oblivious as usual, Bokuto’s brows furrow over his wide eyes. Atsumu likes that about Bokuto. Bokuto can be an energetic, over-the-top man-child half the time, but he is a sincere man, a solid teammate, and an all-around good person. He’s not as intense as Hinata can be, nor does he have that streak of twisted personality that Atsumu has. “You look kinda feverish.”
“We just played three scrimmage matches in a row; ‘course I look sweaty as hell, moron.”
“Atsumu-kun must’ve been thinking something dirty,” Inunaki teases.
“Shut up, Wan-san.”
“See? He’s not denying it.”
“There’s nothing dirty going on in my head, alright?”
“That’s because there’s nothing in your head.”
“Wan-san!”
Inunaki laughs, clapping Atsumu on the back before wrinkling his nose and patting the dampness of Atsumu’s sweat off his palm with a spare towel. Atsumu wipes his face once more, hoping it’ll hide the fact that his face is, indeed, red as hell. Atsumu’s not sure when this happened; he always thought going pro meant he’d be working with classy professionals, that he’d have to dial down the blunt comments and flirtatious remarks. Turns out that for every snarky remark came three more that he has to receive, and Atsumu finds himself shouldering a majority of the roasts.
Coach Foster blows the whistle and yells, “Get your asses back on court!” As Atsumu tosses the towel to the side, his skin prickles at the drawl suddenly beside him.
“You’d better not be getting sick,” Sakusa says, flat and unflinching.
If Atsumu were an honest man, he’d admit that he’s only a little feverish because Sakusa is hotter than the hottest temperature his body and mind can handle. But Atsumu is not honest, nor is he daring, nor is he stupid enough to do anything than try his damn hardest to hide it. He’s also annoyed at himself, for letting his dilemma show so easily, and he does what he does best: he deflects. “Maybe you should try worrying about yourself, huh, Omi-kun?”
Sakusa wrinkles his nose at the nickname. He fought it for an entire two weeks before relenting, knowing that Atsumu was more likely to eat shit than give up on a petty battle like that. As Sakusa stares blankly at him, as if picking him apart cell by cell, and Atsumu clenches his fists, digging his nails into his palms, to avoid squirming under that gaze.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sakusa finally says.
“So prickly.”
“And stop fucking around with your tosses.” Atsumu bites his lip. Stupid Sakusa. It’s unfair how he can just be that attractive and be that casual about it. “They were too high at the end of last game.”
“You hit ‘em anyway, didn’t ya?”
“You piss me off.” Sakusa walks away without glancing back, and Atsumu finally has a chance to catch his breath.
There was once a time when Atsumu thought that maybe, just maybe, the callous words slipping from Sakusa tongue were supposed to be an invitation to charged verbal sparring. Like the kind of bickering couples with a lot of chemistry have. Surely Sakusa’s willingness to talk to Atsumu was a good thing, right?
Yeah. He thought wrong. It turns out that Sakusa is literally just a blunt jerk who doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Sure, Atsumu is a blunt jerk and can’t keep his mouth shut, either, but it’s different when it arrives matter-of-factly like Sakusa’s remarks do. Not trying to rile up people like Atsumu’s taunting. Just calling it like he sees it. Like he means it.
In another world, maybe they could’ve had that kind of enemies-to-lovers deal. The kind of bullshit that Atsumu hates to admit he wants. Because there’s something inherently sexy about bantering and angry make out sessions, apparently. Too bad it only exists in movies.
Atsumu sighs. He’s not even a romantic guy. In fact, he doesn’t even know if he likes Sakusa. Or if Sakusa’s even remotely interested in dating men. But technicalities don’t really matter in this case, since even if Sakusa were interested in dating men, there’s no way he’d be interested in dating (or whatever) with Atsumu.
“Bo-kun,” Atsumu says as he bounces a ball against his hands a few time. They’re taking it easy, now, with some spike drills, with Atsumu experimenting where he places the ball for Bokuto. He thinks Bokuto can jump at least three centimeters higher. Bokuto isn’t so sure. “Why does Kaashi-kun always hang around during morning practice?”
“Huh?” Bokuto stretches out his shoulder as he speaks. The heavy thump of Hinata practicing his tosses with the other spikers—Sakusa included—echo from the other side of the court.
“He’s here more often than not,” Atsumu comments. “And sometimes even in evening practice, too.” Though evening practices are more rare for him, Atsumu’s noticed it. It’s hard not to notice a slim, smart-looking man with a face prettier than whatever big boy band has hit Twitter.
“Akaashi?”
“You know of another Kaashi around here?”
“He works late,” Bokuto explains. “So he doesn’t get to come out much after work.”
“So he wakes up early to come here?”
“Honestly, I think it kind of comforts him. He likes volleyball gyms and games. We played on the same team!” Bokuto’s eyes brighten. Atsumu groans internally. Oh, he’s well aware that they played at Fukurodani together. Not only does Bokuto blab to anyone and everyone about the ‘good old Fukurodani days,’ but whenever they go drinking, it’s the first fun fact Bokuto likes to share. Did you know Akaashi and I perfected the one-person time-difference attack within one practice of knowing each other?
“But don’t you think it’s exhausting for him?”
Bokuto grabs a spare volleyball and positions himself ten feet away. Atsumu plants his stance, arms slightly raised, as Bokuto tosses it up high enough that Atsumu has plenty of time to adjust his position as he needs. Their conversation is paused momentarily as Bokuto sprints against the net, left side, and hurls his body in the air, back arching back, right arm raised.
Atsumu zips the ball in a perfect quick set, and Bokuto slams it down.
“Nice,” Atsumu says.
“I don’t think it’s exhausting. Akaashi says he should wake up early, anyway.”
Atsumu glances at Akaashi’s haggard expression as he sips on a ridiculously large cup of coffee. “Really.”
“Really.”
“He doesn’t look too happy about it,” Atsumu mumbles.
“What?”
“I said, aren’t you gonna spike another? Not just stand there and look pretty.”
Bokuto laughs and they repeat the motion, pausing every so often to discuss whether or not Atsumu could toss it a millisecond faster or Bokuto could jump a millimeter high. Atsumu’s head clears just enough to stop noticing that Sakusa’s shorts cling to his ass, but not enough to stop noticing that Akaashi is literally always staring at Bokuto.
A flare of irritation. What’s even more ridiculous is how Bokuto is so heels over head in love with Akaashi without even realizing it.
I should get them together.
The thought lands neatly in Atsumu’s mind, perfectly slotted between his condensed process of trying to set a ball. After another satisfying kill followed by Bokuto’s hollering of celebration, Atsumu nudges at it a bit more.
I should get them together by making Akaashi jealous.
He could totally do that. He could hit on Bokuto, maybe even share a couple drunk smooches on social media platforms.
But, truth is, Akaashi kind of scares Atsumu. He has an aura that no one would dare fuck with, not even him. Atsumu isn’t sure when he started being intimidated by Akaashi. He’s known the former setter since their high school days, when he singlehandedly managed to reign in Bokuto on court and took Fukurodani to the center court as a second-year. Inarizaki narrowly beat Fukurodani in the following Spring Tournament, in a two-point gap the last set that would’ve easily been crushed if Bokuto had been there.
That’s probably where that fear comes from. Although their high school glory days are long gone, Akaashi and Atsumu were reunited (if it could even be called that) because where Bokuto is, Akaashi isn’t too far away.
A chill crawled up Atsumu’s spine when he first noticed Akaashi at Bokuto’s house for the first new-member initiation party. Something about him reminds Atsumu of one of his captains in high school, Kita-san, who is rumored to have killed five men with only his left pinky.
So, no, making Akaashi jealous would not be a good idea. Atsumu doesn’t have a death wish. The only viable solution, then, would be to make Bokuto jealous, although Atsumu isn’t sure if Bokuto even has the emotional awareness to know what jealousy is. Still. It’s worth a shot. Atsumu’s been horny for drama, anyway. And maybe horny for other people. Or at least a specific person. But whatever. Those are technicalities. And, as Atsumu has concluded, technicalities don’t matter.
Atsumu’s only spoken with Akaashi with Bokuto attached at his hip. He decides that today will be the first time he will have a conversation with Akaashi alone.
Hopefully—Atsumu glances over at Akaashi, who looks like a mix between a hitman, CEO, or love interest in a Shojo manga—it will not be his last.
“So.”
Akaashi glances up. Today, he wears a peacoat and trousers that end right at his ankles. Atsumu notices that the loafers on his feet are impeccably polished.
“Good morning, Miya-san,” Akaashi says, formal as ever. He gives a curt nod. “You played well today.”
Atsumu’s skin crawls. “Please don’t call—”
“Right. Atsumu-kun. Sorry, I forgot.”
“It’s been over a year since we started seeing each other more, Kaashi-kun.” Atsumu smiles lazily at him, hoping his charm will work. Unfortunately, Akaashi stares at him with that same unflinching expression Sakusa has every time Atsumu tries to flirt. “Don’t you think it’s time you start talking to me like we’re actually friends?”
Akaashi glances at the door to the locker room. Bokuto takes ridiculously long showers, mostly because he and Hinata are too busy dicking around in the locker room to be efficient with their time. It’s a fact that Atsumu was banking on to be able to snag a quick conversation with Akaashi.
“With all due respect, Atsumu-kun,” Akaashi says, “and I truly mean this in the most unoffensive way possible, but I don’t think you and I are friends.”
Ouch.
“Playing hard to get, huh?”
Akaashi sighs. He sounds less like a youthful twenty-something and more like an overworked father of five. “I’m not playing anything.”
“Then why don’t ya try to get to know me?”
A voice cuts in. “There is no world in which someone as smart as Akaashi-kun would ever willingly get to know someone as crass as you.”
Atsumu whips his head to the side. Sakusa, the bastard, ambles out of the bathroom. Atsumu had conveniently forgotten that Sakusa was the first one in and out of the bathroom showers after every practice. “You don’t gotta be so cranky, Omi-kun.”
Sakusa rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop walking, and he gives a nod to Akaashi in acknowledgement as he walks past. Atsumu knows his eyes are lingering on the damp curls at the nape of his neck but he can’t fucking help it.
When Atsumu finally, finally tears his gaze away from Sakusa (a second or a minute?), he turns his attention back to Akaashi only to be met with a surprise:
Akaashi Keiji. Smirking.
“What?” Atsumu’s voice cracks in the middle of the word. His cheeks flare in embarrassment.
“Nothing.” Akaashi doesn’t grin, yet he still manages to communicate to Atsumu that he’s amused. How the hell does he do that?
“Yeah, I don’t know if I believe ‘Nothing’ when you’re being all smug as hell.” Atsumu crosses his arms. “What is it, Kaashi-kun? Tell me what’s so funny it’s gotcha smirking like an idiot.”
“You’re the idiot here.” Akaashi pauses. “Atsumu-kun.”
“Akaashi.”
“Atsumu.”
Atsumu huffs. They stand like that for a few tense breaths.
“I wasn’t joking about you finally getting to know me, Kaashi-kun,” Atsumu continues. “Let’s hang out sometime.”
Akaashi’s eyes narrow. He does this thing where he calculates things. Atsumu can tell; Kita-san was like that, too, and it unnerves Atsumu, who acts almost strictly on impulse and forced restraint. “Why do you want me to get to know you, exactly?”
“Why does there gotta be a reason?”
“Because you’re Miya Atsumu. You always have an ulterior motive.”
“I’m doin’ it out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Let me rephrase, Atsumu-san.” Akaashi shifts the straps of his backpack on his shoulders. His face has settled back into its flat expression, blue eyes piercing at him. Damn, if he weren’t already completely enamored by Bokuto, and if Atsumu weren’t busy thirsting over Sakusa, Atsumu could totally see himself pining after him. “What is your ulterior motive?”
“Does there always have to be an ulterior motive to ask someone out on a date?”
Any semblance of coolness evaporates as Akaashi’s mouth hangs open a bit, as if any words he’d been planning on saying up and died right on his tongue, halfway out his mouth. “Excuse me?”
“Let’s go on a date, Kaashi-kun. I’ll treat you.”
Akaashi frowns. He tilts his head, like the entire situation is a problem on a math exam and not just Atsumu trying to get Akaashi to hang out with him. “No,” he says, less harsh in tone than Sakusa might be, but equally as blunt.
“What?” Okay, so maybe Atsumu hadn’t expected Akaashi to agree right away, but he hadn’t expected the almost immediate and resounding No, either. He isn’t sure if he should be offended. Should he be offended? “No?”
“I just watched you drool over Sakusa as he passed by,” Akaashi says. “And then you just so happen to claim you want to ask me out on a date. Something doesn’t add up here.”
“Stop tryna do math, Kaashi-kun. It’s too early for that.”
“I think you need to straighten out your priorities, Atsumu-kun.” The deadpan tone would usually be enough to set of Atsumu, if he weren’t already so mortified about checking out Sakusa.
“There’s nothing straight about my priorities.” Or yours, Atsumu muses, but if he’s right aboute the stubborn streak that Akaashi possesses—or the bratty streak that he’s just gotten a quick glimpse of—he knows pushing his luck too far will only send him into deep shit. Like, gets him put on Akaashi Keiji’s hit list of People To Kill And Make It Look Like An Accident-level shit.
“So what are you trying to do? Make Sakusa jealous? Is that your plan?”
“That’s not my plan.”
“Then what is it?”
“So you are interested?”
“I’m trying to understand.” Akaashi crosses his arm and tilts his head at the slightest angle. Atsumu begins to squirm.
“I bet you understand drooling over attractive volleyball players very well.”
It surprises Atsumu, sometimes, how he’s able to hold his own despite feeling like he’s gonna shit himself from fear. Akaashi inspires that fear.
“Excuse me?”
“Somethin’ tells me ya don’t need clarification to catch my my drift, is all.”
“What is going on in your brain?” Akaashi eyes are narrowed. “I can’t figure it out.”
“Get in line,” Atsumu mutters under his breath. He sticks his hands in his sweatpants, noticing for the first time that, if he even wants a chance to be even remotely associated with Akaashi, he’ll have to step up his wardrobe game. Akaashi looks like a professional businessman. Atsumu looks like a college student who barely made it to his 9AM lecture on time. “And if it is?”
“If what is?”
“If my plan is to make Sakusa jealous?”
“Then I think you need to reassess your priorities.” Akaashi shrugs. “Just ask him out on a date.”
“I can’t just do that.”
“Why not? You just asked me.”
“It’s different.” Atsumu groans as Bokuto’s “Hey, hey, hey!” erupts out of the bathroom. His hair defies gravity, as usual, and he wears his signature Black Jackals tracksuit. If Bokuto wants to date Akaashi, he’ll need to upgrade his wardrobe, too.
“Hello, Bokuto-san. You had a great practice, as per usual.”
“Did you see the awesome four I hit? Didja? Atsumu sets it almost as good as you did back in high school. Although, I think he sends it a little higher…”
Atsumu digs into his pocket to pull out his phone, choosing to ignore the buzzing when he sees that Osamu is calling. He glances up in the midst of Bokuto’s incessant rambling, to which Akaashi responds minimally. But that doesn’t matter, because Akaashi’s attention never diverts. And, like the so-called perfect tosses Akaashi once gave Bokuto in high school, it never wavers, either.
He melts. That’s the best word to describe it, Atsumu decides. Akaashi melts before Bokuto, but the difference in his gaze is small, almost imperceptible. A certain softness that cuts through the hard, impenetrable facade that Akaashi arms himself in, and Atsumu pauses a moment to admire that.
Atsumu has always worn his heart on his sleeve. Akaashi, it seems, is the exact opposite, and Atsumu has successfully caught onto the one pathetic chink in Akaashi’s otherwise flawless armor: Bokuto.
“Anyway! Tsum Tsum! What were you and Akaashi talking about?”
Atsumu panics and sends an SOS flare to Akaashi. He’s never had telepathy with anyone either than Osamu, but judging by the microscopic raise of Akaashi’s left eyebrow, he has the sense that Akaashi can read people almost as well as Osamu could read his mind.
Please don’t tell this dumbass that I am about three seconds away from exploding over a little crush I have on a fellow team member.
“I was just in the middle of asking Akaashi-kun out on a date,” Atsumu tests.
Akaashi visibly tenses. “You were,” he says flatly.
A terse moment.
Bokuto blinks. “Oh.” His head whips back and forth between the two, and it really could not be more awkward. “Should I leave you alone—”
“That won’t be necessary, Bokuto-san. I was just in the process of giving Atsumu my number so we can talk about it later.” Akaashi’s words escape through clenched teeth.
Bokuto, however, wears the same confused expression he gets every time a team stuffs him multiple times in a row in a game.
Atsumu lets his charismatic asshole persona take over. “The pleasure’s all mine, Kaashi-kun. I’ll punch in my number for you.”
Akaashi visibly cringes as he reluctantly passes off his phone, and Atsumu types in his number. He neglects to add that he’s had Akaashi’s number programmed into his phone for the past nine months. He’s Bokuto’s first emergency contact, so of course Atsumu would have it.
“You can text me your number,” Atsumu says before flashing the two of them a grin. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Bye. Atsumu-san.” Akaashi’s words are monotonous and seething. “Have a great day.”
“Uh, bye bye! See you later.” Bokuto clears his throat as he waves, and Atsumu turns to exit the building to let the lovebirds have at it.
It’s only after he’s walked out of the shiny doors of the gym that he realizes Akaashi never actually said yes.
Sneaky bastard.
Akaashi Keiji
What the hell were you thinking.
Miya Atsumu
aw, c’mon now. u did great
Akaashi Keiji
What are you trying to do, Atsumu-kun?
Miya Atsumu
san or kun? make up ur mind
Akaashi Keiji
I have plenty of other words to call you.
Miya Atsumu
aw how romantic
Akaashi Keiji
All of them are four letters.
Miya Atsumu
haha
yer funny, kaashi
show me more of ur humor
over lunch :)
Akaashi Keiji
I never agreed to anything.
Miya Atsumu
yeah but also i didn’t hear a no!
Akaashi Keiji
Atsumu-kun.
Miya Atsumu
kaashi (✿ ♥‿♥)
Akaashi Keiji
Please don’t make that face.
For the last time.
What do you want.
Miya Atsumu
is this one better ( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)
Akaashi Keiji
No.
Miya Atsumu
come onnnnn let’s just have some fun
Akaashi Keiji
There is no such thing as fun with you.
Only headache.
Miya Atsumu
o be still my heart
anyway
i’m testing to see something
and ur always around jackals practice
so u are a perfect candidate
Akaashi Keiji
Does this something have anything to do with Sakusa-kun?
Miya Atsumu
shut ur trap
Akaashi Keiji
So, yes.
Miya Atsumu
and maybe someone else
Akaashi Keiji
?
Who?
Miya Atsumu
take a wild guess, kaashi
Akaashi Keiji
I’m not good at guessing.
Miya Atsumu
if u wanna find out
let’s go on our first date!
lunch date 1pm see u there!
Akaashi Keiji
No.
Miya Atsumu
i’ll get samu to give us free onigiri
Akaashi Keiji
…
Fine.
But it’s not a date.
I want to know what you’re up to.
Miya Atsumu
something tells me you already know
Akaashi Keiji
It’s too early for this bullshit. Goodbye.
Miya Atsumu
(｡♥‿♥｡)
“What is this all about?”
Atsumu twists in his seat at the counter top at Onigiri Miya. It’s busy, as expected for lunch time, but a majority of patrons are bustling in and out of the shop for orders to go.
He smiles up at Akaashi, who has a scowl painted across his face, glasses slightly crooked and a lone piece of tape stuck to the zipper of his jacket. Atsumu reaches forward and peels it off before flicking it to the side. “Nice to see you, too.”
Akaashi hesitates, but only for a moment, before sliding into he empty seat beside Atsumu. “I only came because I was promised onigiri for free.”
“On the house. Right, Samu?”
Atsumu’s voice ratchets up in volume and his brother throws him a dirty look over his shoulder. It sucks that Osamu didn’t continue volleyball, yeah, but having the original Onigiri Miya shop in Osaaka is an acceptable option B. Osamu, as usual, ignores his brother, busying himself with mixing a new batch of fragrant rice as his coworkers churn out onigiri like machines.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” Akaashi voices. For a split second, Atsumu forgot he was there.
“Well, you’re in for a treat. Today he’s giving us a first taste of next season’s special.”
“Wow.”
“It’s inspired by—” Atsumu grunts as Osamu plants a Onigiri Miya cap over Atsumu’s head—he’s always had a big one, and the cap is way too tight to be comfortable—and yanks it down so low that it covers Atsumu’s eyes.
“Stop going around blabbing to your friends about our trade secrets, dumbass.”
“He wasn’t doing that,” Akaashi assures him, and Osamu raises two thick eyebrows, surprised that Akaashi would stick up for his twin. Atsumu is surprised, too, until Akaashi elaborates, “We’re not friends.”
Osamu barks a laugh and slides two steaming cups of tea across the counter. “You’re onigiri is coming. Sorry about the wait—we’re backed up from a catering order.”
Akaashi checks his phone for the time and nods. “Please, take your time. I have a free schedule, for once.”
As Osamu returns his work, Atsumu frowns. “You’re so much nicer to my brother than me.”
“No offense, Atsumu-kun,” Akaashi says in a tone that indicates, to Atsumu, that he is trying to be as offensive as possible, “but your brother isn’t nearly as devious as you are. So I don’t have to be not-nice to him.”
Atsumu snorts. “That’s ‘cause you don’t know the real demon inside of him.”
“That demon doesn’t show up unless it’s on the volleyball court—with you.”
“Can we stop talking only about my brother? This lunch is about us, Kaashi.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes. His hair seems more disheveled than it was earlier this morning, and there’s a faint smell of coffee that lingers in the air around him. Atsumu guesses that he must have spilled some on himself, though his clothes don’t seem to betray him with any stains. “There is no us,” Akaashi says, simply. “In fact, you seem to want to redefine your ‘us’ with someone else, and use me to achieve that?”
“Maybe I’m just deeply in love with you.”
“Sure you are.”
“I’m not using you.”
“You asked me to date you, and I’m assuming this is to make Sakusa jealous.”
Atsumu’s cheeks flame at it being said out loud. “I already told you. I’m not making him jealous.”
“Yeah? Then what are you doing?”
“I’m…exploring.” Atsumu taps his fingers on the countertop, antsy as hell, wanting nothing more than to toss back a couple of beers so he can spill out all the disgusting feelings he has, to someone, anyone. “And I got this theory, Kaashi-kun, that you are in the same boat as me.”
Akaashi shook his head. “There you go again. Saying stuff that doesn’t even make sense.”
“Kaashi-kun, why do you show up to practice every morning?”
He hesitates. Atsumu makes a game of seeing how many times Akaashi purses or bites his lips before speaking as he thinks. So far, the count is up to six. “It comforts me,” he finally answers. “I grew up playing volleyball, and being in the gym—”
“You sure it’s the gym that comforts you?”
“What are you implying?”
“Don’t you work with literary?” Atsumu asks, only vaguely aware of what Akaashi does for a living. If it’s not related to volleyball, and it’s not his brother, Atsumu tends to tun out with mundane lives of people around him, Akaashi included. He’s sure he’s heard Bokuto mentioning something about writing, or reading, or maybe book printing.
“Unless manga counts as literary,” Akaashi says in a flat voice, “then no.”
“Well, you still know a thing or two about subtext. Something tells me you don’t need me to answer what I’m implying, ‘cause you already know.” Atsumu shoots him a cheeky grin. Akaashi’s lip biting resumes, his perfectly shaped brows pulled down low over his forehead. It really is such a shame that he’s so hopelessly devoted to Bokuto. If Atsumu could kiss Akaashi once and live to tell the tale, he definitely would. As something to brag about; a fun fact to share at parties. Atsumu values his life slightly more than he values being interesting. “You really don’t want me saying it out loud, do you?”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Akaashi mutters. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“But you’re here now. So speak your mind.”
Akaashi collapses into a silence as Osamu returns with two plates of onigiri, glistening with sesame oil and smelling like the last meal Atsumu could ever hope to eat. “Earlier than expected. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Akaashi says.
“Thanks, ya dweeb.”
Osamu swats away Atsumu’s plate and pushes it closer to Akaashi. Atsumu whines in protest, and Osamu sticks his tongue out at him. “Yer not allowed to enjoy. Akaashi-san can get all of them and you can starve, for all I care.”
Atsumu pouts as Osamu ambles off, glad that in the time since Osamu’s matured—leaving Atsumu feeling like he’s falling incredibly behind—he’s still as snarky as he’s been since they were kids. He turns his attention back to Akaashi, who carefully studies the onigiri like they’re sculptures in a museum and not literal triangular-shaped balls of rice with some seasoning and stuffing.
“Your brother makes delicious onigiri,” Akaashi says, all of a sudden. There’s a sly edge to his voice, almost like a challenge, and the hairs on Atsumu’s forearms stand up.
“He does. It’s the best in Japan.”
“Do you cook, Atsumu-kun?”
“I don’t have time for that.” Atsumu reaches over and snatches an onigiri, mouth beginning to water before he even gets a chance to take a bite. “I am a pro athlete, ya` know.”
“If you’re so busy being a professional athlete, how do you expect to balance going on dates?” Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “You can’t just expect for time to show up your schedule, do you?”
“How do you manage to show up to MSBY practice every single morning, despite looking like you crawled into a grave and fell asleep there the night before?” Atsumu, never one to turn down a challenge, speaks between bites. He uses a napkin to catch stray grains of rice that catch at the corners of his mouth, not caring if he looks like a disgusting slob as he eats. Osamu was always the one who has good table manners, and it looks like Akaashi is the same. As long as it gets in Atsumu’s stomach, he’s not one to care much for manners.
“I’m being serious, you know,” Akaashi says. He pauses to swallow a bite of steaming rice. “Oh. This is wonderful.” Atsumu nods in agreement. “You should just tell Sakusa how you feel.”
Atsumu shakes his head so hard that a stray grain of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth goes flying off. Akaashi wrinkles his nose in disgust but doesn’t say anything. “We already discussed this, Kaashi. It’s not happening.”
“I think you’d be surprised.”
“‘Cause ya know everything, is that so?”
“If being able to read people is everything.” Akaashi wipes his fingers on the napkin and brushes at the rice that sticks to his delicate lips. “I actually believe Sakusa-san is more than willing to at least entertain the thought of dating you, or kissing you, or whatever it is that you have in mind with him.”
Atsumu’s cheeks flare at the thought of kissing Sakusa Kiyoomi. “What makes ya think that?”
“It’s just a feeling.”
“Kind of like my feeling about how you’re totally in love with Bo-kun?”
Akaashi pauses. For a second, Atsumu wonders if he’s about to get assassinated right here, right now.
But Akaashi does not flip out. He wipes his fingers on a napkin and sighs, posture still completely posed, and says, in a matter-of-fact statement of defeat, “You are correct.”
Okay, so he’s admitting it. Although there’d be no use denying it when everyone knows that the two idiots are in love with each other and neither of them are able to see that the feelings are requited. “I know you don’t believe that he’s in love with you, too,” Atsumu holds up a finger to stop Akaashi when he opens his mouth in protest, “but I can prove that he is. And I can prove that yer both wasting your time pining after each other when you could be having your passionate twenty-somethings love affair.”
“How do you manage to make everything sound scandalous?” Akaashi mutters. “It’s really a talent.”
“Date me.”
“I already said no.”
“Please?”
“The presence of a ‘please’ doesn’t make your request any more appealing.”
“Date me, but not for real—I like ya, Kaashi, but I don’t think we’d be a good fit for each other—and I’ll bet five onigiris from Onigiri Miya that Bo-kun will come confessing to you in less than a month.”
“You can’t just bribe me with food,” Akaashi says, but his gaze averts from behind his glasses.
“On the contrary…” Atsumu gestures to the plate in front of them and waves his onigiri in Akaashi’s face. He scowls and slaps it away.
Atsumu thinks Akaashi’s face microscopically softens with pity. Atsumu doesn’t really believe in pity—it’s a waste of time, honestly—and he isn’t someone that often gets a lot of pity. People get irritated to him far more often than they feel bad for him, and Atsumu prefers it that way, but if pity gets him Akaashi’s agreement, he’ll take advantage of it.
“I’m desperate, Kaashi. I need yer help.”
“So you’re trying to convince Sakusa to date you…by pretending to date someone else.”
“Just—can ya just do me this one favor?”
A war wages inside of Akaashi. Atsumu has to hold in his laughter at his emotionally constipated expression. Akaashi Keiji is a good man, and Atsumu feels a bit bad playing him like this. Osamu glances over at the pair, an accusation squeezed in between his narrowed gaze, but Atsumu waves him off with the flip of his middle finger.
“I’ll bet you five onigiris that Sakusa-san will say something in less than a month,” Akaashi finally rebuts.
Atsumu’s heart flips. He imagines being swept off his feet in the same sort of passionate love affair he prescribed to Bokuto and Akaashi. Although, Sakusa is likely not the type to sweep anyone of their feet, let alone Atsumu. Manhandle would be a better term. Verbal manhandling would be the most accurate. “You got your a deal, Kaashi-kun.”
Miya Atsumu
so how does this work
Akaashi Keiji
How does what work?
Miya Atsumu
fake dating
Akaashi Keiji
What.
You’re the one who wanted to do it.
You figure it out.
Miya Atsumu
you're a feisty one, kaashi. i’ll give ya that
Akaashi Keiji
Miya, you are really testing my patience.
Miya Atsumu
uh oh
if you use that tone on me
you might make me fall in love with you
Akaashi Keiji
I’m blocking you.
Miya Atsumu
WAIT
ok
come to the gym after work
tomorrow
i'm going to make an announcement
Akaashi Keiji
Tomorrow?
Miya Atsumu
ya shoyo and i need to dip right after practice today
Akaashi Keiji
For what?
Miya Atsumu
don’t ask questions if you’re not ready for the answers
Akaashi Keiji
Atsumu what are you doing to Hinata
Miya Atsumu
why does everyone keep asking me that??!?!?!!??!?
Akaashi Keiji
Seriously?
Miya Atsumu
seriously!!!!!
Akaashi Keiji
Because Hinata = good.
You = bad.
Miya Atsumu
omg stop flirting with me kaashi
u know i love a good math problem
(´▽`ʃƪ)♡
Akaashi Keiji
LEAVE ME ALONE I’M AT WORK.
Miya Atsumu
teehee.
Atsumu hadn’t really thought it through. Well, he doesn’t think a lot of things through, and this is probably something he should’ve considered well before the current moment. He is cooling down on the court, the floor sticky underneath him, stretching out his hamstrings.
“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your eyes to yourself?” Sakusa’s cutting tone bites through the humid air.
“I can’t stop staring,” Hinata says. He flips over onto his back and pulls one knee towards his chest. His head is tilted backwards so he can watch as Sakusa stretches out his wrists, one at a time. “It’s like, the longer I look at it, the weirder it gets.”
“Get used to it.”
“I’ve known you forever, and I’m still not used to it.” Atsumu cannot resist chiming in. He figures this is why Sakusa strongly dislikes him.
Hinata nods. “I don’t think I’ll get used to it either.”
“I don’t think I’ll get used to either of you,” Sakusa mutters.
“If Meian catches you being all snarky,” Adriah warns, “you’ll be forced to hold hands with them. ‘We need to act like a team,’ that kind of garbage.”
Sakusa physically recoils.
“That happened to me when I was in high school,” Hinata adds. “Except I didn’t have to hold hands. Daichi-san kicked me and Kageyama out of the gym…”
Atsumu wonders if Sakusa would physically recoil from him. He refrains from any and all physical contact with Sakusa for a few reasons. The primary reason is because Sakusa seems to have some sort of repulsion from touching and being touched; Atsumu noticed it for the first time when they played against one another in the Interhigh finals while in high school. Every time Itachiyama scored, their team members would give each other slaps on the back, high fives, fist bumps, even a couple of hugs—but not to Sakusa. Sakusa only got thumbs up and verbal affirmations, despite easily scoring the most number of points out of all the attackers on his team.
Atsumu may be an asshole, but he can respect boundaries, usually. He’s more likely to cross lines when it comes to flirtatious or snarky remarks than physical boundaries. But he thinks about the what if possibility of Sakusa accepting (or rejecting) even just a handshake. Or a handhold.
And, because Sakusa is currently bending his wrists back at extreme angles, Atsumu wonders if his fingers are as flexible as his other joints. If he let them go limp, would his fingers hang there like noodles? Does he have some sort of rubbery joint disease? Has he gotten it checked out by the doctors?
“Atsumu-kun.”
A firm yet gentle voice breaks through Atsumu’s rabbit-hole of thoughts, and he turns his head to find Akaashi staring down at him. He doesn’t look happy—well, Akaashi doesn’t look happy, ever. In fact, in the time that he’s known him, Atsumu has seen Akaashi smile, it has overwhelmingly and singularly been when he’s with Akaashi.
“Kaashi! You made it.”
“Akaashi-san!”
“Hi, Akaashi.”
“We missed you at practice today!”
As his teammates greet Akaashi with far more enthusiasm than Atsumu gets when he enters the building, Atsumu scrambles to his feet. He gets a dirty look from Sakusa, who does that every time anyone ends post-practice stretches early (mostly Atsumu, Bokuto, and Hinata). “Hey. Didja have time to grab a snack after work?”
“No. I had a late lunch today.” Akaashi pushes up his glasses higher up on his nose, and his eyes wander around the gym.
Atsumu suppresses a smirk, because he knows exactly who he’s looking for. He’s beginning to see now that Akaashi does not wear his heart on his sleeve. The only place he allows it to show, with the tiniest sliver of vulnerability, is in his eyes. “That’s great! I’ll cook ya somethin’ good when we get back to my place.”
The gymnasium elapses into a deafening silence. Atsumu’s cheeks warm, but he attributes it to the fact that Meian made him end with suicide sprints because he’d been late this morning.
“That would be nice,” Akaashi says a he shifts his bag over a shoulder.
“Since when do you cook, Miya?” Inunaki grins in an I’m totally calling you out on your shit way.
“I haven’t seen you cook anything but instant noodles and sandwiches,” Oliver adds.
“Sandwiches don’t even require cooking. Just assembling.”
“Tsumu-san made me onigiri once!” Hinata chimes in, always the one who never teases—at least not on purpose. Atsumu’s always had a soft spot for him, fascinated by his performance on the court.
“You sure that wasn’t his brother?”
Inunaki looks pointedly at Hinata. “It probably was.”
Hinata thinks about it. His large eyes scrunch as he considers the possibility. “Oh. You might be right.”
“I’ve never seen you spend a moment adding to a kitchen,” Sakusa says in his sardonic, non-malevolent tone of his. He speaks like he’s in court, reciting an affidavit in the most impartial and unbiased way possible. “Only subtracting.”
“Do any of you losers know when to shut up?” Atsumu groans.
“As long as you’re trying to look cool,” Inunaki says, “no.”
“Atsumu-kun is learning how to cook.” Akaashi surprises him by the easy admission of a white lie, one that makes him seem more noble than he actually is and, somehow, just by speaking those words out loud, Atsumu takes it as truth.
Yup. I’m definitely learning how to cook. I’ve been meaning to all along. It’s a skill that’s been lacking and now I’m trying my best to get better.
Akaashi has a certain kind of power, Atsumu decides. The kind of power that turns everything that comes out of his mouth into a fact.
“Are you teaching him?” Hinata brightens. “Or is your brother?”
Akaashi glances over at Atsumu. “I am.”
“Wow! That sounds so fun! Maybe I can—”
“Akaashi!” Bokuto jumps out of nowhere, having gone to chat with Coach Samson about his serving skills. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
Atsumu has a smug moment of pride when this piques his teammates interest, since they’d noticed, too, that these two idiots have been practically dating for the entire time they’ve known each other.
“Bokuto-san. I—” In a rare occasion, Akaashi trips on his words, and he clears his throat to brush the fumble off to the side. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Ugh. Akaashi is supposed to be fake-dating Atsumu. Not making literal fucking heart eyes at Bokuto.
He has to fix that before the damage is irreparable—no one will believe that they’re fake dating if Akaashi keeps looking at Bokuto like that. Like he’s the first person he wants to wake up to and the last face he wants to see before falling asleep. Like Akaashi wants to kiss Bokuto while simultaneously memorializing Bokuto’s face in museums.
Atsumu wants to, desperately, look at someone like that. And more selfishly, Atsumu wants to be looked at like that—like he’s the only one in the world that matters.
“Kaashi came here to visit me today,” Atsumu interrupts. He slings an arm around Akaashi’s neck, who stumbles beneath the weight. Akaashi isn’t a small man by any means—Atsumu would guess he’s around six feet tall, give or take a centimeter, but he’s slender and lacks the thick musculature that Atsumu has, plus theres the extra couple of inches Atsumu has on him. He doesn’t have to see Akaashi’s face to know that he’s scowling.
Bokuto’s eyebrow furrow just the slightest bit. He doesn’t look upset. Just confused. As does the entirety of the MSBY Black Jackals team.
“We’re gonna—”
“He came to what now?” Inunaki crosses his arms.
“He came to—”
“Are you being held against your will, Akaashi-san?” Adriah gets up close to Akaashi’s face, who stiffens from the sudden proximity. “Here, you don’t need to say it out loud. Blink once, if yes. Blink twice, if no.”
“Can you lay off?” Atsumu shoves Adriah away and releases Akaashi, who rubs at his neck. “I’m not holding him against his will or anything.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You guys never believe me!”
“I am not being held against my will,” Akaashi confirms. Atsumu thinks he hears him mutter the word yet at the end, but he isn’t completely sure.
“Does this have to do with…” Bokuto’s voice falters. He clears his throat. “Yesterday?”
Ah, yes. Yesterday would be an excellent reference to make, since Atsumu had already mentioned he was asking Akaashi out on a date. “Yup, yup. Now’s a good time to announce to y’all that Kaashi-kun and I are dating.”
The silence in the Black Jackals’ gymnasium rings. Even Hinata, the most gullible member, stares in shock. Akaashi shifts on his heels and begins to fiddle with his fingers.
Atsumu risks a glance at Sakusa, and finds him shooting lasers at him. The hairs on his arms and neck stand up on its end as Sakusa’s eyes narrow, mouth in a grim line, as he inevitably analyses the probability that a respectable, honest man like Akaashi—who happens to be incredibly in love with Bokuto—would ever date a brat like Atsumu.
If Sakusa doesn’t believe Atsumu could date a man like Akaashi, then he’s sure that Sakusa also would never date a man like Atsumu.
The realization crushes him more than he thought it would.
“Oh,” Bokuto says in a very, very small voice.
The tense moment is shattered by Adriah, who says, “So Akaashi is being held against his will.”
This inspires an eruption of laughter, but Atsumu shakes it off with a roll of his eyes. He thinks maybe he can drive the point home by slipping his hand into Akaashi’s, but they haven’t quite discussed what sort of boundaries they’re willing to push. Atsumu also hasn’t held hands with anyone since his high school boyfriend (which lasted a mere two months).
Akaashi’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, unfazed by the lively banter surrounding them. “I’m sorry, I need to take this call. Atsumu-kun, I’ll meet you outside after you’re done.”
“See ya, babe.”
Akaashi gives him a flat look. Babe definitely overdid it, but no one seems to notice.
Atsumu sees Bokuto staring after Akaashi’s retreating figure while he picks up the phone, polite and respectable, as always. He feels a little bad—Atsumu knows the sting of having unrequited feelings. But the temporary pain is only temporary, and he gives it one, two weeks tops before Bokuto finally blurts out that he doesn’t want Akaashi to be dating anyone but him.
“Miya, what was that?”
“Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”
“Since when do you and Akaashi-san get along?”
“I didn’t realize you were gay. Congrats.”
“I’m not gay.” Atsumu chooses to respond to the one question that he can answer truthfully. He’s gotten himself into shit before, by elaborating on lies by lying even more, and he’s learned to reign it in a bit. “Didn’t any of you know that I had a boyfriend in high school?”
“Why would any of us care about your high school dating life,” Sakusa says, sans question mark at the end, sans teasing lilt to his voice. Just Sakusa being Sakusa, uninterested in the latest drama to spring out from their team.
“Wait, but when did you and Akaashi-san start dating? Did you always have a crush on him?”
Atsumu waves off the questions and rolls out his shoulder as he heads to the locker room to shower. His teammates stay behind, no doubt to gossip with one another, and Atsumu fully expects that they’ll continue to pester him later.
Once in the privacy of the locker room, Atsumu pulls off his shirt and tosses it into his locker, nose crinkling at the unsavory sensation of the wet cloth peeling away from his body. He pauses to check his phone.
Akaashi Keiji
Ugh.
As Atsumu begins to type a cheeky response, he jumps in surprise upon the realization that he is not alone in the room.
“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Sakusa says in a flat voice, “but we have our first official match of the season in two weeks.”
The metal of the locker creaks as Sakusa opens the door to rummage through for his signature shampoo (it smells like lavender) and body wash (it smells like cucumber). “Thank you for your concern, Omi Omi,” Atsumu says. “But if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been in tip-top shape lately. I’ll be fine.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
Atsumu pauses. Sakusa doesn’t look at him while he begins to strip, and Atsumu has to try very, very hard not to look anywhere but Sakusa’s face.
His face is iron, even more than Akaashi’s. Where Akaashi’s weakness is Bokuto and always has been, Sakusa's cousin has said it himself: Sakusa Kiyoomi has virtually no weak points. That may have applied to Sakusa as a volleyball player, but it also describes him as a person, too. Atsumu, on the other hand, feels like he is all weakness, especially when Sakusa glances at him from the corner of his eye, lingering for half a second longer than usual, before he shakes his head and faces his locker again.
Atsumu almost dies when Sakusa takes off his shorts, and he averts his gaze until Sakusa securely fits a towel low around his hips. It's embarrassing. Like he's a horny and awkward fifteen-year-old again who has never seen another naked person.
“Is this about me and Kaashi?” Atsumu tests, eyes still up towards the ceiling.
“You’ll distract the whole team.”
“So, yes.”
“It’s unnecessary to bring drama into practice.”
Atsumu crosses his arm and leans against the cool metal of the locker between them, his skin prickling at the fact that this is the closest he has ever stood near Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s not unusual for Atsumu and his teammates to prance around the locker room butt naked. But it’s unusual for any of them to even dare to approach Sakusa without proper clothing and cleanliness.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Omi-kun.”
Atsumu’s breath fails to come out of his mouth as Sakusa fully turns to face him. Atsumu is used to being one of the tallest people in the room, but Sakusa manages to shrink him down with the height he has on him and the crippling gaze of his. He refuses to break eye contact.
For a few tense seconds, it almost seems like something will actually happen. Or maybe that’s just Atsumu’s wishful thinking.
Don’t you wanna kiss me, Omi Omi?
But Sakusa doesn’t take the bait, or he doesn’t even notice the bait. Or maybe he just ignores it. Instead, Sakusa slams his locker door shut.
“You're ridiculous.”
Sakusa walks out, leaving Atsumu in a daze of confusion that rocks him so hard that he forgets to take a shower.
Miya Osamu
So you’re dating fukurodani setter now?
Miya Atsumu
who told you
Miya Osamu
Evidently not you
Miya Atsumu
i bet it was shoyo
Miya Osamu
“Gee samu, sorry for not telling you earlier”
Miya Atsumu
fck off i’ve been busy
Miya Osamu
Busy scheming?
Miya Atsumu
i’m not scheming
Miya Osamu
Liar
Miya Atsumu
leave me alone
be gay do crime, as the youths say
Miya Osamu
🙄
Don’t be an idiot, tsumu
Miya Atsumu
mind ur own business
don’t be jealous just cuz i have a hot bf
Miya Osamu
🖕
Suna Rintarou
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)👍🏻 ❓
Miya Atsumu
‼️(○^Ε＾○)
Hinata Shoyo
you should go on a double date with me and kageyama sometime!!!!!!!!!!!!
Miya Atsumu
♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡
Akaashi Keiji
Why is everyone on your team sending me this?
Akaashi Keiji has shared a link: How to Deal with Blackmail (with Pictures)
Miya Atsumu
i’m gonna kill all of them
Akaashi Keiji
😂
Miya Atsumu
oh my god did you just use an emoji
i’m screenshotting this and saving it forever
Akaashi Keiji
I text like a normal person, Atsumu.
Miya Atsumu
nah your formality shows even in messages
speaking of messages
has bokun talked to you yet
Akaashi Keiji
No.
Miya Atsumu
hm. interesting
Akaashi Keiji
Why
Miya Atsumu
time to orchestrate my master plan
Akaashi Keiji
You do not orchestrate.
You instigate.
Miya Atsumu
you will thank me later
Akaashi Keiji
No, you will give me 5 onigiris later.
Miya Atsumu
challenge accepted
Inunaki Shion
So how much did you pay Akaashi to date you
Miya Atsumu
f u inu
For Atsumu, nothing really changes. Aside from the influx of messages and questions from the nosiest assholes he knows (see also: his teammates), Atsumu does what he always does: he wakes up. He goes to practice. He does a series of interviews with Buzzfeed Japan. He shitposts on social media—recently he’s infiltrated the Twitter “stan” circle that follows V. League religiously—and has phone calls with his manager about an upcoming sponsorship with Nike. On Thursday, Atsumu visits Osamu at his shop, and Friday, he takes the train back home to have dinner at his parents’ house.
But mostly, things stay the same, as Atsumu stretches out across the couch after a lazy Sunday, multitasking by aimlessly switching channels on TV while simultaneously scrolling through social media. He sees a post Sakusa shared on Instagram of one of the canals that run through Osaka, illuminated by the city lights. It isn’t Tokyo, the caption reads, but I think I’m beginning to appreciate this area.
Atsumu likes the photo and begins to type in a comment before deciding not to. He keeps scrolling to catch a glimpse of what his friends did over the weekend and has to conscientiously squash down the urge to snap a picture of Akaashi in his apartment.
Akaashi Keiji. In his apartment. Without Bokuto around.
Weird.
Atsumu had wanted to stir the pot by posting pictures with him and Akaashi on social media, but Akaashi remains adamant on a few things, this included. The first is that he has requested no kissing, and minimal public displays of affection. Which is fair, and honestly, Atsumu has no desire to kiss someone who will wind up kissing Bokuto, anyway.
The second is that he wants to keep their ‘affair’—or whatever it’s called—private. Not that it's entirely private, of course, since the entire MSBY Black Jackals and affiliated friends know, which gives Atsumu free reign over sending casual pictures of their ‘dates’ to the MSBY group chat (so far, most of their dates involve food, since it’s the only way Atsumu can convince Akaashi to step away from work).
(And because Atsumu cannot cook, he is forking over significantly more money for takeout and delivery.)
(Which makes him almost relieved that he’s single, because having a significant other—even if it’s a fake relationship—is really fucking expensive.)
Akaashi does still agree to ‘spend time’ with Atsumu, if ‘spending time’ means responding to emails and sifting through sample pages, because apparently life as a manga editor does not offer work-life balance.
“C’mon, Kaashi. You’ve been staring at yer screen for the past two hours.” Atsumu picks his head off the couch, where he’s sprawled out and scrolling through the channels. Akaashi sits at the dining room table, half a bowl of curry left beside him, probably cold now.
“So have you.”
“Yeah, but at least I’m moving them away from my phone every once in a while.”
“You’ve been switching between your phone and the TV. Neither is good for you.”
“Aren’t your eyes strained? you’re gonna burn out your retinas.”
“Too late,” Akaashi mutters, and he holds up a finger when Atsumu tries to say more. Atsumu waits patiently as his fingers continue clacking on the keyboard.
“You’re right.” Atsumu rolls onto his stomach and faces Akaashi. “It is too late, Kaashi-kun. It’s almost ten.”
“I have to—”
“When didja realize you were in love with Bo-kun?”
Atsumu blurts it out before even considering the fact that he and Akaashi are not friends. The question silences any and all further commentary Akaashi might have had as he looks up from his computer, fingers still hovering midair. Atsumu raises his eyebrows, expecting him to brush it off, but Akaashi simply folds his hands and sets them on the table. He bites his lip as he all but frowns, strongly considering it, and Atsumu certainly hadn’t been expecting the mood to change like that all of a sudden.
“I think I’ve always known,” Akaashi answers simply. It’s a bit of a cop out answer, but coming from Akaashi, it is perhaps the most sincere answer he could have provided.
“But when—”
“There was this time after graduating that Bokuto-san and I met up.” Akaashi takes a deep breath, a gentle, wistful expression creeping across his usually stoic features. “It was right after Inarizaki beat us in the Spring Tournament when we were third years. I was upset about it. Bokuto-san came all the way to Tokyo for the day and bought me lunch and dinner cheer me up.”
Atsumu wants to say, That sounds romantic—why aren’t you dating already? But he restrains himself. Part of him is enraptured by the gentleness of Akaashi’s words. He always thought love was full of grand gestures, but the conviction with which Akaashi speaks is softer than that. As if love found its way nestled into the quiet moments of breathing.
“I’d always admired him for the presence he has in a game. And I definitely had a crush on him in high school, although half the time it felt like I was just managing him and his mood swings.” Akaashi smiles fondly. “But when we sat in the park eating taiyaki talking about what I was doing after graduating, that’s when I realized that my feelings towards him weren’t just because of who he was on the court.”
Atsumu nods. He feels small, in the way someone might get when they realize there is so, so much more to learn about the world. He wonders if he’ll ever have that one day, if he’ll be able to look at someone and not conflate it to his passion for volleyball. Atsumu’s mild crush on Sakusa (okay, maybe not so mild) pales in comparison to Akaashi’s feelings for Bokuto.
“That’s cute, Kaashi,” Atsumu says, and he means it. Akaashi’s eyes widen in surprise at the sincerity. “What? I can be nice.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Hey!”
Akaashi purses his lips. Then, a simple, “Thank you,” comes out, and now it’s Atsumu’s turn to be surprised. In a strange twist of events, Atsumu realizes that, perhaps, he’s on his way to becoming friends with Akaashi Keiji. Assuming he doesn’t fuck up Akaashi’s chances with the love of his life. But no pressure.
Akaashi turns up at morning practices as usual. He informs Atsumu privately that he and Bokuto still text, but Bokuto hasn’t been nearly as needy as he usually is. When confronted by members of the Black Jackals and even Akaashi himself about his depressed mood, Bokuto vehemently denies it.
“It’s ‘cause he’s in love with you,” Atsumu emphasizes over a shared cup of coffee after one of his morning practices.
“No. It’s because he’s respectful.” Akaashi scrunches his nose, as he’s prone to do. Atsumu has begun to pick up on those little things. “Unlike some people.”
“What other explanation would there be?”
“It’s Bokuto-san. He gets mood swings all the time.”
“You’re an idiot, Akaashi.”
“Atsumu.”
“You’re smart, but you’re an idiot.”
And thus, nothing happens the way Atsumu had anticipated. Bokuto does not challenge Atsumu publicly nor does he confess to Akaashi. Akaashi does not confront Bokuto’s evasiveness, chalking it up to respecting boundaries.
After hearing an earful from Meian about maintaining a smooth sailing team dynamic by carefully selecting timing, Atsumu catches Bokuto anxiously glancing at Akaashi every five seconds.
Which would be fine if they had not just started practicing serve-receives.
Which ends with Bokuto receiving a spike serve with his forehead.
“It’s been a while since ‘emo-mode Bokuto’ showed up, huh?” The following Wednesday, Hinata comments on Bokuto’s slumped over posture as he receives a lecture from Coach Foster. A dripping icepack covers his head. Akaashi is not here to distract, but Bokuto’s mind is still not present. “You think he’ll be okay for our match next week?”
“He’d better be.” Meian crosses his arms. Despite being a nationally renown middle blocker, Atsumu has always had the sense that Meian is something of a glorified babysitter.
“I haven’t seen him this bad since we were in high school training camp together.”
“And whose fault is that?” Sakusa says. He throws an accusatory glare for good measure at Atsumu.
“Seriously, Miya, you couldn’t have waited until the season was over to distract him?” Oliver squeezes the crown of Atsumu’s head, and Atsumu yelps, trying to swat him away. It’s about as effective as attempting to move an oak tree. “You need to think these things through.”
“Wadaya mean? I’m just living my life with my sexy new boyfriend.”
In an offhanded comment under his breath—though totally still audible by everyone around him—Adriah remarks, “I bet they’re faking it to make Bokuto jealous.”
Atsumu tenses, but no one seems to notice.
No one, that is, except Sakusa.
“Wait a second—”
“Omi-kun, could you try hitting some of my tosses? Since Bokuto’s unavailable.”
Sakusa makes a face that indicates he definitely does mind, but Atsumu shoos him to a separate court.
“What was that?” Sakusa demands.
“Don’t ask about things ya don’t wanna know ‘bout.”
“Don’t tell me you’re doing this as a joke.”
“Just hit a toss, will you?”
“No.”
“Why—”
“Look at him. You can’t seriously think messing around with his emotions was a good idea.” Sakusa gestures at Bokuto’s direction. He has a blank expression on his face as he hangs his head down, and Atsumu does feel a pang of apology course through his chest. “It’s so easy to call your bluff, by the way. You’re lucky Bokuto’s too much of an honest person to fall for it.”
“It’s not a bluff—”
“I swear to god, Miya.” Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose, which means that this is serious, because Sakusa Kiyoomi never touches his face; there are too many germs; he could inadvertently give himself an eye infection.
“I’m just tryna help out a friend!”
“You’re meddling. Not helping.”
“Bo-kun just needs the extra push—”
“This is pushing?”
“What was I supposed to do?” Atsumu demands. “Besides, Kaashi agreed to it!”
Atsumu neglects to add the crucial detail that Akaashi only agreed to it because Akaashi felt bad about the whole Sakusa thing. Sakusa squints at Atsumu like he always does, and Atsumu is about two seconds away from spiking a ball at him just to divert his attention.
“If you wanted to help him so bad,” Sakusa says, “wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell Akaashi he’s just ignoring the obvious signs that Bokuto-san is in love with him?”
“Well—”
“You don’t think things through.”
“It’s only been a week—”
“Do you really think Bokuto-san is the the type of person to respond like that? He’s not even jealous. He’s sad.”
“I’m working on it, alright? Lay off me.” Atsumu sighs. He tosses the ball up and spikes it at Sakusa, who bumps it easily despite the sudden movement. The first few times they attempted to match up with one another, Atsumu kept messing up because he let himself get distracted by the brilliant curve of Sakusa’s back as he jumps, and the fine lines in the curve of his calves. But now, it’s muscle memory.
“I knew it was fake,” Sakusa mumbles after he sends the ball neatly into the back corner of the court. “I just don’t get why.”
“And if it wasn’t?” Atsumu drawls. “Would you be able to accept if it turned out Kaashi-kun was into me after all?”
Sakusa stares. His eyes—an inky, metallic black—bore into Atsumu’s skull.
“No.” He speaks with the same tone he uses to admonish his teammates for attempting to drag him into their shenanigans. Before Atsumu can issue a flirtatious remark requesting an elaboration, Sakusa continues, “So what’re you gonna do about it?”
“About what?”
“About them, moron. If this continues, Bokuto-san is gonna be benched next week. That won’t be good for us. Fix it.”
“I’ll just ask Bo-kun if he’s got a problem with Kaashi and me being together. And he’ll tell me that he’s not, and then I’ll end things with Kaashi, and Bo-kun can finally have his happily ever after.”
Sakusa pauses his commentary to hit another clean spike. “That’s it?”
“Uh…” It sounded like a good theory, and one that Atsumu felt pretty good about. He’d been hoping that Bokuto would use it as an opportunity to come out and confess his feelings to Atsumu, to which he could assure him that he wouldn’t be insulted if Akaashi chose Bokuto over him. But the way Sakusa’s looking at him makes him rethink it. “Yes?”
“You’re an idiot,” Sakusa mumbles. He shakes his head, curls swinging back and forth. “Were you planning on telling him you and Akaashi are fake dating?”
“...No?”
Based on Sakusa’s expression, that must have been the wrong answer.
“I mean, if it’s not relevant to bring up—”
“I think Bokuto is the kind of guy who wouldn’t date his friend’s ex.”
“How would you know that?”
Sakusa shrugs. Despite his general coldness to the team, Atsumu realizes that Sakusa knows a lot more than he lets on. “It’s Bokuto.”
“Fine, Mr. Know-It-All. What’s your suggestion, then?”
Sakusa considers it. His typically pouty mouth is drawn into a taut, thin line, and Atsumu can’t tell if he’s disappointed or annoyed. “You’re going to have to tell him it’s all fake,” Sakusa answers.
“I can’t do that.”
“You’ve done stupider things before.”
“But that’s embarrassing for Kaashi-kun.” Atsumu frowns.
“Then give him another reason that you decided to lie about it.” Sakusa flings a volleyball up in an arch, and Atsumu sets it easily for him to spike. “Or you can give him an alternative reason that you decided to fake-date Akaashi-kun that doesn’t involve you being a jerk.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know. You’re trying to attract media attention. You want to get some other person pursuing you to leave you alone.You want to make someone else jealous.” Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Use your brain for once, Miya.”
Atsumu bounces a volleyball against the ground, each tmp tmp tmp keeping up with the heavy rhythm building in his chest as he processes Sakusa’s words. Because if he’s heard right, Sakusa has just presented him with a very, very interesting opportunity. And the last thing Atsumu wants is to let opportunity slip through his fingertips.
“Wadaya say then, Omi-kun?” Atsumu gives him a shit-eating grin. “Wanna be my fake boyfriend so I can dump my other fake boyfriend?”
Miya Atsumu
so
i’ll set you and bokun up
watch me work my magic
that’s why they call me the love doctor, after all
Akaashi Keiji
No one calls you that.
Miya Atsumu
rude
but really i got this
just trust me kaashi
Akaashi Keiji
I don’t trust you.
Miya Atsumu
i can smell the onigiri now (✿￣‿￣✿)
Akaashi Keiji
…
His plan requires two final steps.
The first step comes in his second announcement.
“Listen up, you jerks.”
The team, gathered in the locker room post-practice, don’t pay him any notice.
“I said, listen up, you jerks!”
“Why do you demand so much attention, Miya?” Meian sighs, but it’s enough to finally get his teammates to at least look at him and pause all side conversations. “Don’t you get tired of hearing yourself speak?”
Atsumu flips him off before placings his hand on his hips in a power pose, straightening his back and puffing up his chest—something that would probably look intimidating if he weren’t only wearing a pair of boxer briefs with foxes printed on them. “I got an announcement to make.”
“Can you please put on some clothes first?”
“Shut it. I got an announcement to make.”
“What is it, Tsumu-san?” Hinata, bless his soul, is bright-eyed and interested in what Atsumu has to say.
Atsumu inhales deeply. He glances up for the briefest moment to make eye contact with Sakusa—who promptly sticks his head in his locker to search for something to busy himself with other than Atsumu’s ridiculous shenanigans. “When I said Kaashi-kun and I were datin’ I was lying.”
The room goes silent.
Even Bokuto is silent, as he has been the past two weeks.
“I—”
“Hold on, let’s back up for a second.” Inunaki frowns and glances over at Oliver, who looks just as confused. “Why would you lie about that?”
“Because I wanted the attention of someone else who wouldn’t give me the time of day.” Atsumu takes a deep breath. “I’m dating Omi-kun now.”
If possible, the silence sinks in deeper than before. They’d already agreed upon this before—Sakusa, because he has a functioning brain and he’s concerned about the well-being of the team; Atsumu, because he’s an idiot—yet it doesn’t evaporate the nerves that have bloomed under Atsumu’s skin.
“You’re…dating Sakusa?” Meian blinks.
“Yup, yup. I did it because I’m a petty bitch, and I wanted the attention of Sakusa Kiyoomi. I thought maybe he’d hafta speak up because he got all jealous or something, so imagine my reaction when it actually worked!”
“So all the times you hung out with Akaashi-san,” Hinata starts.
“A lie. I mean, we hung out sometimes, ya know? But my heart was set on Omi Omi from the get-go. Right, Omi-kun?”
Atsumu shoots Sakusa his trademark smile—the one that he throws to adoring fans he desperately wishes would just shut up every now and then. Although there’s nothin but ease translated to him, the inside of Atsumu’s chest just goes, please don’t say anything please don’t recoil please don’t ruin my lie. Because what scares Atsumu the most is the fact that this isn’t a lie, that he did want Sakusa’s attention, that he is a petty bitch.
Sakusa glares back with about the same amount of enthusiasm as he feels when the MSBY Black Jackals pile onto a bus for an extended training camp. “Yes,” he finally says, and if it were anyone but Sakusa, it would be a complete and utter lie. But it’s Sakusa, the man who cannot help but tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, even if it comes at the expense of crumbling pleasant interpersonal relationships with other people.
Another thick silence.
Then an outburst.
One minute Atsumu is holding his breath, wondering what the fuck is going on; the next minute, Atsumu is being shouted at in the face by two different men nearly half a foot taller than him, not to mention the intimidating presence of Meian and Inunaki, who are currently doing their damn nearest to occupy every corner of Atsumu’s five senses. Atsumu feels overwhelmed—which is saying something, considering the amount of chaos he thrives in.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Atsumu crosses his arms, still naked except his underwear. He thinks, in the dustiest corner of his mind, that he’s probably starting to sweat from all the eyes on him. “One at a time, please.
“What kind of this immature scheming is this? Are you in high school?” Inunaki teases, moving over to ruffle Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu swats his hand away, tries to put on a scowling expression, but he finds that his smile is so wide that he can’t contain it.
Atsumu can’t help it. He’s a self-centered brat. He wants to be the center of attention, whether its on the court or off the court, whether he’s running errands or catching up with an old friend. Sakusa, however, is the opposite—he shrinks into his locker, rummaging through to find his clothes, camouflaging himself in the ordinary so that the MSBY Black Jackals don’t begin to invade his personal space with unsolicited questions and commentary.
He shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does, staring at the ridges of Sakusa’s rear delts all the way down to the precise dip of his waist. But he does.
And it’s a problem.
“Omi-san confessed to you?”
“How the hell did you manage to rope Akaashi-kun into that?”
“I can’t believe you actually pulled it off, you sneaky bastard.”
Hinata asks the real questions, bright and starry-eyed, always seeing the best in every person and every situation. “How’d it happen?”
Atsumu pretends to consider it for a moment. Meanwhile, Sakusa’s inky black eyes are digging into his skull and he has to conscientiously make an effort to stop himself from squirming under Sakusa’s incessant stares.
“How do any of these things happen?” Atsumu says in a cheeky response. He reaches out for Sakusa who, surprisingly, lets him see an arm around his shoulders. Sakusa still isn’t wearing a shirt, and Atsumu’s fingertips burn from the section where his skin meets Sakusa’s, smooth and soft.
Atsumu gets over the lingering effect of excitement when he glances over and sees that Bokuto is staring at him, dumbfounded. Bokuto is completely naked—not even underwear on—sitting on a bench, and yet the most vulnerable part of him is the part that Atsumu sees: the part that is relieved (thankful, even) that the man he is in love with is not actually involved with one of his teammates and friends.
You hear, that, Bo-kun? Atsumu thinks to himself.
Sakusa does not shake the weight of Atsumu’s arm off of him, and perhaps he really is that good of an actor, but Atsumu cannot shake that feeling of the surface of his skin. He enjoys it while he can, because in the next couple of weeks, he knows that this paradise will end. In fact, he’s so busy enjoying it that he does not realize that Sakusa does not move away.
Miya Atsumu
sorry to break hearts
but we’re broken up now, kaashi
Akaashi Keiji
Huh?
Miya Atsumu
don’t worry bout it
just keep your eye on your phone
The second step comes right after the first, as Atsumu chases Bokuto out of the locker room.
“Bo-kun! Wait a second!”
Bokuto turns around. He looks significantly less depressed than he did earlier, complete with relaxed shoulders and and an easygoing expression that pulls Atsumu closer and closer to genuine optimism. Atsumu doesn’t know if he’ll get there, one day, but being friends with Bokuto makes him want to try. “I wanted to talk to ya for a second.”
“Congrats on your relationship with Sakusa, Tsum Tsum!” Bokuto responds brightly. His golden eyes betray no sense of discomfort or disgust. Atsumu stuffs his hands in his sweatpants pockets.
“You doing okay, Bo-kun?”
Bokuto blinks and tilts his head, caught off guard by the sudden expression of concern. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Y’know. Because…” Atsumu kicks at the ground. Inunaki’s commentary rings his mind from earlier. What are you, in high school? “I know you like Kaashi-kun a lot.”
“W-what?” Bokuto sputters. “Of course I like Akaashi, but it’s not like—”
“Cut the crap, Bo-kun.” Atsumu crosses his arms and Bokuto nervously glances away. He has gone from overwhelming optimism to overwhelming insecurity. “I’ve known a while you have feelings for him. The whole team does.”
Bokuto gets very, very quiet, and Atsumu holds his breath. When he finally speaks, he mutters, “The whole team?”
Atsumu nods. “The whole team.”
“I was that obvious?”
“You were both obvious.”
Honestly, it surprises Atsumu that no one has confronted Bokuto about it. It’s the matter-of-fact statement that no one questions—Bokuto is head over heels in love with Akaashi, and it is reciprocated. It’s like the laws of physics: a fact, not a suggestion, not an opinion. It’s the truth.
“So I’m sorry if I made you get worried about me and ‘Kaashi. I knew you like him, but I still went out of my way to pretend to date him so I could make Omi-kun jealous.”
Half a truth.
“And I didn’t want you to feel like we were actually dating or anything, cuz then it would make it weird between us…”
Half a lie.
“Especially since I know how much you and Kaashi-kun mean to each other…”
Still a lie.
“And basically I wanted to tell you that I know it’s probably been hard, to see us together, and I wish I could’ve told you from the start.”
Atsumu holds his breath. He is banking on the fact that Bokuto tends to take things at face value, but the result is that Bokuto will often miss out on obvious signs. Like the signs Akaashi has been sending him for the better part of the past seven years. Atsumu is hoping that Bokuto is so dense, so simple, so honest, that everything Atsumu says is complete garbage except for the words he says next.
Bokuto tilts his head, not sad, necessarily, but dumbfounded and a bit lost in what’s going on. Atsumu elaborates further, careful to select his words with the same precision he sets his tosses. “Part of the reason why I though it was time I admitted to Omi-kun everything, is ‘cause I saw how sad you were. Choosing Kaashi-kun for fake dating to see if Omi-kun would get jealous made sense, ‘cause there’s no way Omi Omi would believe I were dating anyone on the team. Y’know?”
“I wasn’t sad!” Bokuto exclaims. A flush creeps up his cheeks, and stump has a sudden pang of endearment. Bokuto can be a brat, sometimes, and out of control and difficult to manage, but he’s a good guy, and he deserves to be happy.
“Bo-kun, I saw you got smacked in the face with a volleyball. It’s not often something like that happens ‘cause yer not paying attention.” Bokuto opens his mouth in protest, but Atsumu cuts him off. “All I’m sayin’ is, I think ya should tell Kaashi-kun how ya really feel.”
Bokuto gets very, very quiet. So quiet, in fact, that Atsumu is worried he may have just messed up big time, and Akaashi’s gonna come after him.
“I can’t just—”
“As someone who spent a week supposedly dating Kaashi-kun,” Atsumu drawls, “the whole time he only had eyes for you.”
Bokuto slumps over a bit. There is a red welt that has begun to form on his forehead. “How do you know?” Bokuto says. He sounds like a wistful kid, and Atsumu wants to kick himself for not confronting him before about all this. He wonders if Bokuto would have been as receptive to this conversation if Akaashi hadn’t been supposedly off the market. Or if he just stirred up a bunch of shit for absolutely no reason.
“Go talk to him, Bo-kun,” Atsumu says as he begins to make his way out o the building. “Ya both deserve to be happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go meet up with my brand new boyfriend.”
Atsumu leaves the gymnasium, feeling accomplished, feeling good about what will happen. His good feelings is confirmed when, five minutes later, his phone beeps.
Akaashi Keiji
Why did Bokuto-san ask to speak to me privately?
Miya Atsumu
we’re broken up kaashi
you can’t just dm me anymore
Akaashi Keiji
I’m blocking your number.
Miya Atsumu
umeboshi
Akaashi Keiji
What?
Miya Atsumu
it’s my favorite onigiri
Akaashi Keiji
You seem very confident.
Miya Atsumu
✨fake it till you make it✨
As predicted, Bokuto and Akaashi walk in holding hands the next morning.
Atsumu gives them a wave. His eyes meet Akaashi’s past his gleaming glasses, and Atsumu smirks. “Let’s grab onigiri next week,” Atsumu says, and Akaashi would probably be glaring at him if he weren’t so busy beaming.
The new couple walks in easy step beside one another, not so different from before. In fact, the only distance Atsumu can tangibly see is the small part where their are physically connected, hands tangled up with each other.
Atsumu wonders if, one day, he’ll have that, too.
“Good job.” Sakusa’s muffled voice comes out of nowhere and Atsumu jumps. “You pulled his head out of his funk.”
“Yeah, I think Kaashi-kun did that.”
“No, you did.” Atsumu can feel a blush coming on, and as he’s about to spew some non-self-important bullshit, Sakusa continues, “You got him in such a mess in the first place. So it’s not even really a win.”
“But I finally got him and Akaashi together!”
Sakusa rolls his eyes. Today, he doesn’t have a mask on, and Atsumu has to force himself to stare at Akaashi and Bokuto’s figures in the distance to avoid getting caught up by Sakusa’s pouty, stupid mouth. And his pouty, stupid face. And his pouty, stupid commentary.
Atsumu nearly dies when Sakusa holds out a hand without so much as glancing in his direction. “Hurry up.”
Is he seeing things right? Is Sakusa offering to hold his hand?
Or maybe it’s a handshake, but that wouldn’t make sense.
“Stop staring.” Sakusa’s voice breaks through his thoughts again, and Atsumu shakes himself out of it.
“Wow, you’re really into me that much, Omi Omi?” Atsumu teases. Sakusa makes a vague face of disgust (that isn’t so different from his usual expression), but before he can retract his offer to hold hands, Atsumu grabs it and intertwines his fingers with his.
“It’s only until the end of the season,” Sakusa says. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
Sakusa gently pulls him in tow, towards the rest of their team, and Atsumu’s skin threatens to spontaneously combust right then and there. He’s always had strong fingers, thick and study and tough enough send tosses hurtling towards his spiker’s at speeds the human eye can’t reach. But the feel of Sakusa’s delicate hands makes him question if he even had strength to begin with.
Atsumu takes a deep breath and, joined at the hands with none other than Sakusa Kiyoomi, his fake-boyfriend and fellow teammate, he takes a step forward—one more step in the direction of knowing that he is completely, utterly in over his head.
Four months later, as the season comes to an end, Atsumu’s days become numbered as he tries to figure out how to break up with Sakusa.
He is so preoccupied by this that he doesn’t realize Sakusa doesn’t break up with him, either.