Chapter Text
Of all the places in the world, a polo match has to be the worst, most pretentious setting to kick off a romance. Who the fuck wants to start their forever with a guy that sits (quite literally) on his high horse and has never seen the inside of a public bathroom?
When said romance happens to involve a future king, however, that suddenly becomes the least of piling concerns — Atsumu Miya knows this best.
—
Crown Prince Kiyoomi Sakusa, grandson of King Eiji, son of Crown Princess Nanako and Prince Hiyori, next in line for the throne of one of the largest nations in the world.
Also known as, “The Ice Prince.”
At the ripe age of eight years old, Kiyoomi earned the infamous title due to his blunt, standoffish nature and blatant dislike of crowds — a rather inconvenient trait when your future is built upon attending galas and banquets and countless political assemblies. Still, Little Kiyoomi took his duties as a prince and future king quite seriously, and childish games or week-long flus were hindrances to his ability to properly care for his people.
Unfortunately, as a royal, unfriendliness was a direct pipeline to media ridicule, and not even his youth could spare him from the malicious grip of failing journalists, all thirsty for their big break.
He remembers the day that started it all, because honestly? It wasn’t even his fault.
The Sakusa Annual Christmas Banquet was a world-renowned affair, with every who’s-who in politics and entertainment in attendance. Initially intended as a large charity event to bring holiday cheer and generosity to the nation, it grew to be one of the most prominent gatherings of the century. Each guest put the Met Gala to shame, and receiving an invitation basically solidified your status in high-society forever.
For Kiyoomi, it’s the worst night of the year. He can easily recall the irritation that clawed at his skin as the sound of the crowd became louder with each step towards the ballroom doors. The walk from his room to the party might as well have been a death march, and if it weren’t for his mother’s hand clutching onto his he would have been reading his newest book in the secret library on the third floor. Nevertheless, his princely duties awaited him, and with one last deep breath he followed his family into the fray for the Royal Welcome.
Looking back, that had been the easiest part.
The second the Royal Welcome ends (could grandpa’s speech have been any longer?), he’s tucked into a corner behind the stage, music muffled enough from behind the speakers that he can gather himself for a moment.
The peace doesn’t last, however, because two more children are barreling into his corner at top speed, all snotty giggles and heaving breaths. Omi’s approaching his limit, but they don’t seem to notice as the taller of the two turns towards the Prince.
“I’m Prince Oikawa, and this is my best friend Iwaizumi. We’re playing tag!”
As in Prince Oikawa of the country next door — the smiling, bubbly young prince that never fails to woo a crowd even at his young age. Newspapers write stories on his most recent play dates, talk-shows spend entire segments poring over his charming personality and dashing good looks, and his name goes viral at least once a month (especially after that one stint voicing the main character in a Pixar movie). He’s everything Kiyoomi isn’t, and their stark differences are plain as day now that they’re face to face.
“C’mon Snottykawa, I’m sure you can leave His Highness alone and bother Prince Ushijima instead.”
“Ushiwaka doesn’t know how to play tag! He probably won’t even run after us, the loser.”
Kiyoomi knows he’s in trouble the second Oikawa smiles in his direction. Contrary to his Golden-boy reputation, this smile screams scheming and competition and danger.
“How about you, Prince Sakusa? Wanna play?”
“No, thank you, I’d prefer to stay here.”
“Oikawa, let’s go.”
“Come onnnn, just one round!”
“No, really, thank you but I’m going to stay—”
“Sakusaaa!”
“Oikawa,” there’s warning in Iwaizumi’s voice now, and the sirens in Kiyoomi’s head are wailing as Oikawa slowly backs him into the wall.
Stop, stop, no! Back up, stop!—
“TAG, YOU’RE IT!”
That’s all the warning Kiyoomi gets before a hand is slamming against his arm, and next thing he knows his hands are pushing Oikawa’s chest with a shove that takes almost his entire body’s strength.
Oikawa’s ass to the ground before Kiyoomi even realizes, and the three boys are frozen in silence from the shock of it all. Time seems to stop, and not even the music can be heard above the pounding of their hearts in their ears.
And then, Tooru Oikawa begins to cry.
Not just a regular “shit that hurt” kind of cry, oh no, it’s the top-of-the-lungs, stupidly entitled, “I’ve never been wronged like this before my lawyer will hear about this!” kind of cry. And of course, the entire ballroom hears it.
The room is immediately in disarray as the Oikawa family rushes to find their precious son. Bodies hustle towards the noise and numerous strangers crowd around just to see the offender that dare lay hands on The Prince Oikawa. Iwaizumi does his best to calm Tooru through the piercing wails, but the whispers of their small audience are growing louder, and the cameras keep flashing — one shutter after another after another after another.
There, in his little corner of what was meant to be peace and quiet, stands Kiyoomi Sakusa frozen at the center of it all. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t taken a breath since Oikawa hit the floor, and he’s starting to get dizzy as the swirls of whispers and flashes move in closer.
“I- I-” Oikawa’s hiccuping through his tears, and the ballroom seems to shift around his next words.
“I just wanted to play tag you- you stupid Ice Prince!”
The spell is broken with a sharp inhale, and Kiyoomi’s panic rises as his back hits the wall. He’s cornered, and the best of the best in society are staring at him like he’s some caged animal that’s finally escaped it’s confines, free to wreak havoc on the weak.
There’s nowhere to go.
More flashes, more whispers, and worst of all, no one to come to his defense.
His face contorts into something between a scowl and a sob, and then he’s running for his goddamn life.
So here he is, thirteen years later, with the unshakeable “Ice Prince” reputation thanks to one Tooru Oikawa.
He tried everything to get rid of the name, even forcing himself to attend events with his parents until the stress of it all made him sick. For an entire year, Prince Kiyoomi was seen smiling, waving, and bowing at every single royal affair, and the catastrophe of the previous Christmas was nearly washed away in the tides of the media. Almost.
When nine year old Kiyoomi has to watch his parents’ jet crash and burn on live television half a world away, he gives up on the act entirely.
The healing process is long and tumultuous, but he picks himself up enough to make it through school and attend to his duties by his grandfather’s side. The one good thing that comes from it all is his unwavering friendship with Motoya Komori, first cousin label be damned. His aunt and uncle may have opted out of royal titles for their children, but they were still treated and respected as Sakusas, and Sakusas never allowed their family to suffer alone. Blood or not, Motoya was the only other person his age who was willing to stick around past the candid snark and occasional moodiness, and the sole reason Kiyoomi hadn’t yet turned to whiskey or cocaine like the rest of the family members (though that is a secret kept locked up tighter than the royal jewels).
Thus, Kiyoomi wholly trusts his cousin when he says wants to introduce him to some friends at the annual polo match in June. Motoya insists they’ll all be “instant buddies” and that “meeting new people your age is good and healthy, Kiyo!” though the prince suspects it’s just a ploy to get him out of the house for something other than work or university
...and maybe to stop spamming his phone while he’s at practice.
(“I was gone for one hour. Why do I have fifty-six text messages and three emails from you?”
“The imbeciles argued for three hours straight, Toya. I hate parliament.”)
There’s a minuscule part of him that’s looking forward to the match. Motoya knows him enough to understand his deep dislike for shallow acquaintances — the ones only looking to take a picture with the prince for their social media, and maybe hit on him if they’re brave enough (he may be aloof, but it’s well-known that he’s been ranked Top 3 Most Handsome Royals six years in a row. He’s always a spot behind Oikawa, but only one of them’s really counting). He’s certain his cousin wouldn’t introduce him to anyone ingenuine, so he allows himself to hope for some new company, and maybe — in the event that pigs fly — a new friend.
What he gets is...well it’s something.
—
The Garden House is probably the biggest building Atsumu’s seen in his life. Komori’s at the wheel explaining the history of each statue to Osamu as they cruise up the long driveway of the estate. Even Suna, in all of his nonchalant glory, perks up at the house sight, documenting everything through the car window with multiple videos.
He can see the house (more like a fuckin’ palace, the hell?) several yards away, already swarmed by expensive cars and rich people in white riding gear. It’s only two stories, but each level is taller than his own house, on top of it being at least as wide as an American football field. The brick is a fading pink, but the ivy crawling up the walls gives it a timeless feel, enhanced by the immaculately kept grounds surrounding the massive structure. There’s a large fountain in front that creates a roundabout end to the driveway, and next thing he knows Komori’s dropping the keys with the valet and corralling them inside.
Anything that left him impressed from the exterior is immediately forgotten as they enter the Grand Hall. They’re welcomed by a twin grand staircase made entirely of marble that melts into a long mezzanine, and behind it is a glimpse of the formal welcome area. There’s floor to ceiling pillars that make Atsumu feel two feet tall, while facing the scrutiny of the hundreds of oil paintings of past Sakusas that line the walls.
Hyogo’s great, but there’s nothing like this back home. It’s the first time any of them have even been in a building of this size, and their excitement is palpable.
Osamu exhales in disbelief behind him, “‘Mori…you’ve gotta be shittin’ us.”
“It’s not my home, but I can’t lie and say I didn’t spend much of my childhood here. I know it sounds weird but…you get used to it!” he says with a hearty laugh. “Come on, we have a match to catch!”
They walk past the staircase into the formal welcome area, which spans the length of the mezzanine before tapering off into smaller hallways. All of the furniture’s been cleared to fit standing tables and champagne towers, abuzz with attendees and masterfully-nimble waiters balancing various cocktails. Open patio doors line the wall and lead to the gardens, where they can see the polo game in full swing.
“There’s more?!” Atsumu yells, startling a few close bystanders. He flicks an apologetic hand, “Sorry.”
“This place is mostly used for hosting, so it’s pretty built out. I’ll give you all a detailed tour later, but for now let’s go see if we can spot Kiyo.”
They have no choice but to follow Komori, lest they find themselves lost in the maze of hallways and secret rooms. Atsumu tries to remember all the protocol for greeting royals the whole way down, but figures he can wing it if they actually do get to meet the Prince.
“Samu, what the fuck are we doin’ here?” he whispers as they weave through the crowds.
“What do you mean? We’re here to see the polo game, are ya dense?”
“No, I mean look at these people. We pulled out our best clothes for this and we still look like we’re fresh out of a goddamn donation box. Ya know I’m not all prissy, but this shit is inane.”
“Yeah, well, try not to overthink it and don’t say anything stupid either. We’re already fresh meat for these guys and I’m not savin’ your ass if you get put in the dungeon.”
Osamu expects a snarky reply, but there’s only silence for a long moment. Then,
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“You think they really got a dungeon?”
Atsumu doesn’t have time to brace for the smack to the back of his head. “What the hell?!”
“Is your head made of wood or something? Sounded real hollow just now.”
“You’re a piece of shit, ya know that?”
“Livin’ with you for eighteen years teaches a man some things,” Osamu hooks an arm around his brother’s shoulders and pointedly ignores the blonde’s growing pout as they catch up with the others.
Komori’s pointing to a man in the middle of the field. “Can you see him? He’s number five, the one on the black horse.”
Atsumu can’t see much, but he can tell by the man’s natural lean as he pops the ball into the goal that he’s the best player out there.
Suna whistles long and low. “He’s puttin’ them all to shame, Mori.”
“He’s one of the best in the family, probably after grandpa in his prime.” Komori’s smile is wide, and Atsumu can feel the pride radiating from his body. He wants to know just what this Prince is like if he’s getting their lighthearted ‘Mori all sappy in public.
“I’ll introduce you all after, he’s really great! Just, ah, don’t mention the ‘Ice Prince’ thing in front of him.”
“What, is he gonna turn us all into ice sculptures with his eyes or somethin’?” Atsumu jokes.
Komori laughs, then abruptly settles for meekly scratching the back of his head, “Well, no but- well…the name might’ve stuck for a reason…”
Silence.
“Uh...lookin’ forward to it...”
The game passes by relatively quickly. Sakusa leads his team to victory with masterful swings, awarding him hefty pats on the back and exuberant cheers from the rest of his team. He’s every part the dashing prince as he swiftly dismounts his horse to line up for post-game handshakes, guiding it with gentle pats towards the edge of the field.
Atsumu catches him give the horse a light kiss on the nose before leading it back to the stables. He hasn’t smiled once since they’ve seen him on the field, so it feels almost intrusive to see the Prince be this soft.
Not so icy after all, huh?
“Atsumu!” he’s torn from the moment by Komori, who’s waving him over to the rest of the group. “Come on, I want you to meet my parents!”
By the time he catches up, Suna’s already greeting the couple with a warm “If it isn’t my favorite Komoris!” and a hefty reunion hug.
“We’ve missed you Rintarou! It’s good to see you. You need to come back soon, the house is quiet without you both!”
“Ah, you know how it is. Classes, volleyball. Plus keeping up with Komori outside of practice is like a second job.”
“Toya, be good to Rin. We don’t pay him to hang out with you for no reason.”
Komori rolls his eyes, “Ha ha, very funny Dad. Honestly, I can’t even get this guy off of his phone long enough to come hang out with me.”
“It’s actually cause I’m giving them play by play updates of your day. They know everything.” More laughter travels around the circle.
Atsumu and Osamu hang back, not sure how to approach the family but somewhat comforted by the familiar atmosphere.
“I haven’t seen Suna like this with anyone other than Ma and Dad,” Osamu whispers.
“I know. It’s almost creepy to see him all...jolly ‘n shit. Also, Mori’s mom’s a milf.”
“Dude!”
“Am I wrong?”
“...No.”
“Atsumu, Osamu!” They startle at Komori’s voice, half expecting to be caught by disapproving stares (or a death sentence).
“Yes!” they answer in unison.
“This is my mom, Maki, and my dad, Hirotaka.” They greet the couple with firm handshakes and subtle bows.
“Oh, please, no need for all that! If you’re all Motoya’s friends, then you’re family to us.” Maki smiles, and the resemblance between Komori and his mother strikes ease in the twins’ hearts. “So, how do you both know Suna and Toya? Do you play for the volleyball team, too?”
“They’re my childhood friends,” Suna supplies.
“Yeah, we all used to play on the same youth team and ended up followin’ each other all the way to university,” Osamu adds. “I played until the end of high school, but now I’m working on starting my own business. Tsumu here played the first two years, but he’s out with an injury for this season.”
Atsumu smiles, “Playing with these guys was a pleasure! But yeah, I’ve got an ankle injury, so I’m keepin’ to my sports science degree in the meantime. Ya miss your favorite setter out there?”
“No, we finally have peace in our lives is what,” Komori laughs and nudges Atsumu.
“Ah, so you’re all from Hyogo too, then?” Hirotaka asks. “I’ve always loved visiting there.”
“One of our favorite restaurants is in Hyogo!” exclaims Maki. “My sister, may she rest in peace, dragged us out there when she could just to eat their onigiri.”
Osamu smiles back, “The one in downtown next to the plant shop?”
“Yes, yes, the exact one! You know it?”
“It’s actually what inspired me to start my own onigiri business. They’ve let me in the kitchen a couple times to practice, I fell in love with cooking then.”
“Oh, Maki, your very own onigiri supply!” Hirotaka says with a full belly laugh. “Really, though, you have to make some for us sometime.”
“Oh, yes, definitely!” Maki turns to her son, “Motoya? If these boys aren’t at our house within the next month I’m inviting them myself, understood?”
“Yes, mom.”
Osamu grins, genuine and wide, and Atsumu can’t help but feel proud at the sight. It’s all his brother’s ever wanted, and to have some of the royal family endorse him is the cherry on top. He smiles to himself, warm with pride.
“Well, we have to finish our round of greetings,” Maki addresses the group, “but it was wonderful to see you all. We better meet again soon! Toya, don’t forget to say hello to your cousin, he was looking for you earlier.”
“Will do, I’m gonna introduce him to these guys.” He bids them goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun, love you.”
“Love you!” his mother tosses behind her shoulder, and the pair walk off with short waves.
Atsumu opens his mouth and is immediately cut off by Komori.
“Say one thing about my mom right now and I’m feeding you to the horses.”
His mouth promptly shuts.
“Okay, I think I can find Kiyo before- oh! Speak of the devil!”
They all turn to follow Komori’s gaze and freeze.
Well, shit.
If this were a movie, Atsumu’s pretty sure the next ten seconds of his life would be in slow motion.
The second they turn around their eyes land on a tall man in white riding gear. His legs are long and graceful, with riding pants tight in all the right places. The polo shirt hugs at his waist and barely contains his broad shoulders, emphasizing his lean, athletic build. Thick arms are straining against the sleeves, flexing as he goes to pull off his helmet and—
Atsumu’s mind goes blank. There’s no doubt about it, he’s staring at a god.
The prince shakes out his black curls, which fall obediently back into their perfect styling. His face is all sharp angles and strong bone, softened by unblemished olive skin that glows in the afternoon sun. Even the drops of sweat on his neck glisten as they catch the light, and Atsumu nearly passes out at the dart of tongue that sweeps across his full, pink lips.
He barely registers Komori giving an introduction, and by the time he recovers from the shock the prince is already moving to shake his hand.
All of a sudden he’s on autopilot, and every piece of royal protocol he’s memorized in the last week bursts into flames as his mouth blurts:
“You grip like a fuckin’ gorilla! You princes must be strong as hell!”
Disbelief, then murder pass across the prince’s face. Atsumu’s heart drops to his ass, and with one brave glance around the circle he’s pretty sure three others are following suit.
“Excuse me?!”
That’s all it takes for the longest, most painful two minutes of Atsumu’s life to begin.
There’s Komori, the peacekeeper: “Kiyoomi, wait, he didn’t mean it, his personality’s just like that and—”
“Mori—”
Osamu, the ass: “For once in your life could you learn to shut the f—”
“Samu if I’m about to die then I’m tellin’ them all about the time you stole from the royal museum in sixth grade—”
Suna, the little shit: “Oh I cannot wait for you to be in a grimy little dungeon cell where you belong—”
“Eat shit and die, Rintarou.”
Many, many similar phrases pour out of their mouths as they try to keep Atsumu out of jail and far away from an early death (except Suna, who’s mourning the chance to film it all thanks to his 1% phone battery). Sakusa’s silence seems to catalyze the whole affair; Komori is bouncing between panic and fear, while Osamu goes from scolding Atsumu with every curse word in the book to furiously apologizing for the idiocy of his twin brother.
Not once have the prince’s eyes left his face, and as he mentally prepares for his premature death, the only thing Atsumu regrets is not clearing out his browser history before leaving this morning.
He nearly shits himself when Sakusa’s voice interrupts their spiraling:
“Enough. It was nice to meet—” his face scrunches for a second, and they hold their breath as he rephrases, “Well, it— we…we met. I think we can leave it at that. Good day.”
With a curt nod and turn of his heel, Prince Sakusa makes a beeline for the patio doors, far, far away from the catastrophe that is their little group.
Silence in the aftermath. Then the boys immediately turn on the culprit.
“Atsumu you— are those tears in your eyes?!”
“GIVE ME A FUCKIN’ BREAK!”
“I can’t believe you told His Royal Highness that he had a gorilla grip.”
“Rin…please…”
Back and forth, they take turns pouring salt in the wound for another hour until Atsumu admits defeat and downs a glass of champagne to numb the embarrassment. Komori leaves them arguing to placate Kiyoomi inside, sending Tsumu off with a reassuring pat before jogging after his cousin.
Now this — this is low. He thought the day he broke his ankle was the worst moment of his life, feeling every single one of his dreams crash around him on that orange court. He didn’t leave his apartment for a week, and even then it took another month for him to feel decently human again. This time, there’s no coming back. He mourns the opportunity to even dream a new dream now that he’s facing a future in a dark, damp dungeon cell instead.
He sighs, exhausted by the mortification. “I’m gonna go take a piss. If I don’t make it back alive, tell mom not to open my laptop.”
“Yer a hazard to society,” Osamu returns, but Atsumu waves him off and makes his way inside.
Truly, he thinks, was I born a fuckin’ idiot?
He takes his time finding the bathroom, barely dodging other bodies through his misery-induced haze. Once inside, he drags the process even longer, dreading having to face the scene of his crime. At least he never has to see the prince again, he justifies to himself, and can live as a distant memory in the man’s mind.
God, he needs to get the fuck out of here.
He wrenches the door open, ready to find Komori and bid his goodbyes, when he finds himself face to face with none other than the source of his misery.
“Absolutely not.” Sakusa immediately turns around to make his escape.
“Your Highness! Wait!” Atsumu takes off after him. If this is his only chance, he might as well apologize and face his grim fate. “Please, wait, I’m sorry!”
The Prince speeds up his stride. Atsumu’s only two inches shorter, but he has to jog to catch up with the swift steps.
“Seriously, wait! Your Highness! Sir! Sakusa! ”
The man stops in his tracks, nearly colliding with Atsumu in the process.
“Jeez! Warn a guy first.”
“Please make this quick, I would honestly prefer not to engage with the man who likened me to a gorilla to my face.”
Atsumu goes to rub the back of his head, “Yeah, I’m sorry, really. I just kinda panicked in the moment. This whole scene is kinda new to me and it was hot out and we had just met Komori’s parents and then all of a sudden you were there and glowin’ and I—” he stops himself, eyes going wide with mortification.
“…Glowing?” Sakusa raises an eyebrow, and Atsumu curses the two inches between them as he tries to recover with the prince staring down at him.
“Not like that!” His hands go up in panic, flurrying in the space between their bodies, “Well, kinda like that, but like, in the most respectful way. It honestly must run in the family ‘cause Mori’s mom—”
“No. Not doing this. Goodbye, Miya.” The Prince rolls his eyes as he turns to leave again, but this time Atsumu’s on his heels.
“Okay, okay, I admit, this is not my best day. But my apology is genuine, I swear. I never meant to make you uncomfortable, and I apologize if I did. I was just…caught off guard.”
“Are you going to hit on my grandfather next? I don’t think men with shitty dye jobs are quite his taste.”
Atsumu’s eyebrows shoot up, and he can’t help the surprised laughter that slips out. “That’s cold, Your Highness! I’m surprised, I didn’t even know royalty were allowed to curse out loud.”
“I try not to, but I occasionally lose my composure with idiots.”
“Rub it in, why don’t ya?”
“If I remember correctly, you are the one who insulted me first.”
“It wasn’t even meant to be an insult! Ya got a good grip, is all. It just...came out wrong.”
Sakusa stares at him a moment, face stuck somewhere between awe and condemnation. “Were you dropped on your head as a child?”
“I think my Dad mentioned once or twice. Why, you into crooked noses?” He smiles cheekily at the prince, but the man doesn’t take the bait. Against his better judgement, he continues, “Aw, c’mon, lighten up Your Highness. I haven’t even seen ya smile all day! Oh, are you a robot? Do you laugh? Do you yell? Do you even cry?”
“I did cry the night my parents died.”
Atsumu falters, “Oh, well, that’s deeper than I planned on going today.”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Miya.”
“Sorry, sorry, just tryin’ to give us somethin’ to work with here—” he pauses, feeling a tug on his slacks.
“Excuse me,” they look down to find a curly-headed girl of about seven or eight with tears in her eyes, playing with the hem of her dress. “I- I think I lost my mom. I went to find the toilet and she said to wait, but I got distracted by the horses outside and now I’ve lost her. I don’t want to get stuck here, um, please help me.” When she looks up, her eyes are shiny with unshed tears.
Sakusa immediately crouches down to her level.
“Hello, I’m Kiyoomi, and this is my friend Atsumu. He gets lost all the time because he was dropped on his head as a baby, so I’m very good at helping people find their way. What’s your name?”
Atsumu wants to kick the smile right off that perfectly sculpted face, but he keeps his composure for the kid’s sake.
“I’m Aya Kojiro. And I’m very sorry for your head, sir,” she says genuinely to Atsumu.
“It’s alright kid, it’s what I keep him around for. This guy here never gets lost because he’s a robot with a GPS installed, but unfortunately that means he has no sense of humor and never, ever smiles.” Atsumu gleams down at the girl, catching Sakusa’s scowl in his peripherals. Ever the gracious Prince, he schools his features before Aya can see.
“Right. Well, Aya, do you know your mother’s name?”
“Sometimes my dad calls her ‘Baby’ I think.”
The corners of Sakusa’s mouth twitch, and Atsumu doesn’t miss the fondness that passes over his eyes for an instant. Baby. Noted.
“Okay,” the Prince continues, “anything else?”
Her face scrunches in thought. “Mm, I think grandpa’s called her ‘Carmen’ before.”
“Carmen Kojiro. Okay, we can work with that. I think I recognize the name.” he stands up and offers a hand to Aya. “If I may, Princess.”
For a second Atsumu sees the prince they always talk about in the movies; from Sakusa’s white polo uniform and dark boots to his perfectly styled curls (even after the helmet?), the man in front of him is every part the handsome, chivalrous Prince. He’s kinda seeing the appeal of the run-away-into-the-sunset-after-one-kiss thing.
“Damn,” he breathes out a laugh. Sakusa spares him a confused glance before returning to the child.
He freezes, caught again. Yeah, definitely dropped on my head.
Atsumu’s pretty sure the man in front of him’s no Prince Charming, if his reputation and their meeting this morning are anything to go by. Still, he finds he can’t look away as Sakusa grabs the girl’s hand to lead her outside.
“Come on, Miya. I’ll help you find your Mommy too.”
Yeah. Definitely not Prince Charming.
Once mother and daughter are reunited, Atsumu bids his goodbye and makes his way back to Osamu and Suna, trudging through the garden until he can see them under one of the private tents with Komori. Osamu spots him first, looking both relieved and annoyed as he says, “Where the hell have you been? You fall in the toilet or somethin’? I called you three times.”
Atsumu laughs, smirking as his hands slide into his pockets. “You’d never guess. I ran into His Royal Highness and helped a lost kid find her mommy.”
“What? And yer back alive?”
“Thanks, Samu,” he rolls his eyes. “Yes, I apologized and we talked a little before the kid enlisted our help. Sorry ta disappoint, Rin, but you got a little more time with me before I’m subjected to a dungeon.”
“It’s fine. Your existence is entertainin’ enough.” Atsumu scowls.
“Wait, Atsumu,” Komori speaks up, “he had a conversation with you?”
“Eh, it was less of a conversation and more so just us swappin’ insults for five minutes, but yeah, sure, we had a conversation,” he shrugs.
“This is great!” They all startle at Komori’s outburst.
“How is this great? I’m pretty sure His Highness wants us blacklisted from the country,” Osamu says, punching his brother’s shoulder.
“Asshole.”
“It’s just,” Komori continues, ignoring their arguing, “not many people can manage to keep Kiyo engaged for more than ten seconds of small talk before he’s disinterested. If you managed to hold his attention for that long, maybe there’s a chance we can try again.”
They’re surprised at the thought, but no one’s going to deny a chance to get to know the Crown Prince.
“Well, that is if Atsumu can keep his foot out of his mouth,” Komori adds, “and maybe not drool on him while he’s at it.”
The rest of the group bursts out laughing as Atsumu reaches for another glass of champagne.
“He has an official Instagram page if you want it,” Mori holds out his phone with the page open.
“Don’t want it,” he murmurs into his glass, though his hand reaches out to grab it anyway.
Atsumu checks the page every day for two weeks.
—
They meet again at the end of July. The Komori family decides to have a joint dinner celebration for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and Motoya’s twenty-first birthday at their home, inviting all of their friends and family of choice.
It’s surprising to be invited to another event after the catastrophe of the polo game, especially with it being held in the Komori’s own home, but they gladly accept the second chance (especially because Maki, who personally insisted, is an incredibly hard woman to refuse). Suna, having been the only one to visit before, takes the driver seat, entrusting passenger duties to Osamu. Atsumu’s sulking in the back, still wounded from the whole Gorilla Debacle.
“I can’t believe you’re making me face him again,” he says, arms crossed and body slumped against the seat.
“Stop yer pouting,” Osamu scolds, “today is not about you, it’s about Mori, and just because you can’t face your own idiot mistakes doesn’t mean you can ruin tonight.”
“Plus, who knows if the Prince is even gonna be there? He might be busy helping run the country or whatever,” Suna tries.
“Nah, you saw the way Mori talks about him, they’re basically brothers. He wouldn’t miss this.”
Atsumu chews at his thumb, lost in thought. How the hell is he going to stomach seeing the man who just barely spared his dignity? The five minutes they got together were somewhat thrilling, but he had already resigned himself to the idea that he would never speak to His Highness again.
“Then be a man about it and make a better impression this time. Ya fucked up real bad last time, sure, but why put energy into worrying when this is literally your second chance?” Atsumu sits up straighter at the genuine tone.
“Were you not ‘Atsumu Miya, Heartthrob of Hyogo’ for, like, our entire lives? You’re literally known for being the most desired one of us all. Just don’t be a dick this time and maybe you’ll have better luck,” Suna says, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. The honest support is a little jarring, but he accepts it all the same.
He allows himself a small smile. “Alright Mom and Dad, I got it, thank you. I’ll shape up, forreal.”
A silent conversation passes between Suna and Osamu. Atsumu watches them glance at each other from their seats, then suddenly Suna’s eyes are trained on the road while his brother’s are studying his phone like it holds the secrets of the universe.
He doesn’t have the chance to dwell on it, however, because his attention is immediately stolen by a large iron gate at the end of the road.
“Komori is one lucky bastard,” Atsumu says, voicing their thoughts.
They’re let in after a moment and begin their ascent up the driveway. It’s shorter than the Garden House’s, but this time lined by lampposts and bushes decorated in soft white outdoor lights. The house itself is a large three-story limestone building, with windows spaced out across every floor. Part of the second story juts out, leaving room for a large terrace. Light music is drifting from the house as bodies pass behind the windows, and they can hear faint conversation as they approach.
“I’ve never seen it with this many people before, it’s kinda nice at night,” Suna says as they pull up to the valet.
Atsumu takes a deep breath to steel himself before sliding out of the car, greeted by Osamu’s hand clamping down on his shoulder.
“We’ll have fun tonight, Tsumu. Take it easy.”
“Yeah,” he returns a small smile, “now let’s go find Komori and get him fucked up in front of all these rich people.”
“Already ahead of ya,” Suna wiggles a large bottle of tequila with a red bow on it in front of them, then turns to head inside. They follow, already feeling lighter.
The entrance is similar to the Garden House, with twin staircases against each wall of the entryway leading up to the second floor. They scoot around the crowd, catching glimpses of baby Komori and other family portraits on the wall as they make their way to the back of the house.
“Mori said to meet him in the kitchen first, apparently Maki has somethin’ for us,” Suna turns to make sure they’re following. “That woman is a godsend.”
“Seriously, I never thought royalty’d be this inviting when I was reading about them in school,” Atsumu jokes. “I wonder if Komori needs a new sibling.”
Osamu laughs, “Yeah like the Sakusas would ever let yer ass into the family willingly.”
“Oy, ‘Heartthrob of Hyogo’ here, watch your tone.”
“Heartthrob of Hyogo? I’d like to hear that story sometime.” They turn to see Hirotaka waiting just outside of the kitchen with two glasses of champagne in his hands, smile open and inviting. “Welcome to our home!”
They exchange enthusiastic greetings with the rest of the Komori clan, all tight hugs and words of congratulations. Suna doesn’t hesitate to whip out the tequila, thoroughly intending on embarrassing Motoya until Maki speaks up.
“Hiro, let’s take a shot?” her eyes are filled with mischief, and Atsumu’s starting to understand where her son gets his personality from.
Hirotaka immediately goes to shut the kitchen doors, turning around with a laugh, “I’ll put you all to shame. Motoya, get the glasses!”
The whole kitchen erupts in cheers. The twins find themselves enjoying the liveliness of the family, insisting that Maki has to meet their mom as soon as possible.
“She may be half our size, but she can drink us under the table any day,” Osamu says, eyes alight with the thought. “Honestly, you’d be the best of friends.”
“Thank ya for welcoming us like this, by the way,” Atsumu adds, “we’re truly grateful, you guys are like the coolest parents we’ve ever met.” He’s smiling in earnest, happy to find himself more relaxed than before.
“I told you,” Komori interjects, pouring the tequila into the shot glasses, “once she takes a liking to you, you’re never leaving her clutches. Here, take one.”
Glasses are passed around, and the group raise them high.
“Alright, to the birthday boy and the cutest couple of the year: the Komoris!” Suna yells.
“To the Komoris!” they echo, knocking back their shots. Scrunched up faces and light coughs follow, but it’s more fun than they could’ve expected with the older couple leading their antics.
“Tastes like college,” Hirotaka grimaces, immediately grabbed by Maki.
“I feel like dancing now, you better come dance with me.”
“Anything for my Princess,” he leans down to plant a kiss on her lips, and the boys cheer at the sight.
“Have fun tonight! We’ll be around if you all need anything!” Maki says, pushing her husband out the door.
“Thank you!” four voices chorus back, and then they’re left to themselves.
Komori leans forward, splaying his hands across the large island where their empty shots lay. “Alright, game plan.”
“Oh, your scheming voice, I like it,” Suna smirks, pouring himself another shot.
“We are absolutely finishing this bottle tonight, and I want to get in some good quality time with my best friends before the night is over. However, I do have to do some rounds of greetings to finish, and I’m still waiting on Kiyoomi to get here.” Atsumu’s heart jumps at the name, but he wills himself not to react. “As soon as that’s settled, I have something I want to show you. It’ll be just us, so we can celebrate how we want to.”
“At yer leisure, Birthday Boy,” Osamu smiles, leaning slightly into Suna.
“Great! Okay, you guys are free to roam the party as you wish. Go get some food, definitely get more drinks, and I’ll come find you once I’m done and Kiyo’s here.” He turns on Atsumu, “Don’t insult any more family members while you’re at it. I’ve never seen a dungeon and I don’t want you to be the reason that changes.”
“Yeah, yeah, go be fancy,” he pushes Komori towards the door, and the man chucks them a peace sign before re-entering the crowd.
“You two don’t even start,” Atsumu spares the remaining pair a knowing glance. They hold back the dungeon jokes, putting a few inches of space between them. “Alright, let’s go eat some fancy shit!”
They spend about an hour mingling in high society, sneaking second and third servings of food while exploring the first floor of the house. They try to wrap their heads around the drastic difference in lifestyle, absorbing the high ceilings, expensive art pieces, and taxidermy-preserved animal heads throughout the house, while pointing out as many of Motoya’s baby pictures they can find. In every room there’s a piece of history, all touched by hundreds of years of Sakusa influence.
They’re in the library looking over old books and family heirlooms when Atsumu parts from the group to find a bathroom. He’s sober enough to notice the way they drift a little bit closer with every drink, whispering and laughing in their own little bubble. It’s gross to witness, and he’s glad that the four glasses of champagne in his bladder give him an out.
Though this house is smaller than the last, it’s still much bigger than anything he’s used to. He starts cracking open doors in each hallway, hoping for any sign of a toilet (why do rich people need so many rooms?).
He’s on his fifth door attempt when a hand comes down hard on his shoulder. His body lets out a weird combination of a scream and a jump, nearly sending champagne all over his suit and piss down his pants.
“WHAT THE FU— YOUR HIGHNESS?!”
Atsumu’s pretty sure his heart is seconds away from giving out, Sakusa being the absolute last person he expected to encounter down an empty hallway. He goes into panic mode.
“How the hell did you approach so quietly? Can you maybe warn a guy next time before you damn near take him hostage? Shit, man, I thought I was about to be devoured by one of your dead ancestors or something.”
Sakusa's face looks as if it wants to be irritated, but the pained expression is quickly replaced by urgency.
“Miya, look, I need your help—”
“Oh? How the tables have turned! Also, we really gotta stop meetin’ in front of bathrooms like this—”
“Miya.”
“Sorry. Look, can I at least pee first? You kinda interrupted something when you came to kidnap me.”
Sakusa’s pained look is back, but he relents. “Fine. I’ll wait here. But hurry up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Atsumu secretly rushes through the process, curious as to why the Prince suddenly needs his help, especially after their last encounter. He slips back out, nearly knocking into Sakusa who’s standing guard right outside the door. “Okay…” (his heart is not beating faster), “so what are we doing?”
Sakusa seems to fight an internal conflict for a moment, then suddenly seizes Atsumu’s wrist, dragging him deeper into the hallway towards a hidden staircase.
Atsumu tugs back, “Hey, hey, hold on, if you’re about to take me to my dungeon cell then at least let me say goodbye to my brother first.”
“Please, let that go. Komori told me all about your fascination with dungeons and I can promise you that we don’t have one,” he pauses, glancing back, “—and especially not one that I would want to contaminate with your germs.”
“Always so cold, Your Highness,” he laughs. “Am I not currently contaminating the hand that’s gripping me with that weird prince strength right now?”
“The ‘grip of a gorilla’ as you so called it?”
“Was tryin’ to dance around it, but yeah.”
“Well, I’ll take this over being poisoned.”
Atsumu nearly misses a step up, heart rate rising in alert. “Wait, someone’s trying to poison you?”
Sakusa scowls, “Yeah, Komori, the little shit.” Miya relaxes a little, knowing the prince isn’t in actual danger. “Halfway here he texted me that I would be required to do birthday shots with him, and I refuse to put my life in the hands of my cousin when there’s tequila in his system.”
They arrive on the second floor, and Sakusa pulls him down another hallway.
“I want that full story sometime, but first I have to ask: where the fuck are you taking me?”
“To hide. Right…here.”
He’s relieved when Sakusa finally releases his wrist, though it’s noticeably colder without the touch. They approach the end of a hallway where Sakusa nudges open two glass doors, leading to a cozy outside space.
Atsumu assumes it’s the second floor terrace, fitted with cushioned armchairs and small iron tables. Lamps are strung across the handrailing, with a couple of strays placed on the floor, casting the two in a warm glow.
“So, what are we doin’ then? Isn’t Komori gonna find us up here?”
“Eventually, but I saw him talking to a Viscount who has a habit of telling long, detailed stories, so I figured escaping up here would buy me some time.”
“And ya needed me...why?”
“An alibi.”
The Prince sinks into one of the chairs, tilting his head back to glance at the sky. “Can you stop standing there so awkwardly please? You’re making me uncomfortable.”
Atsumu scowls, resigning himself to the other chair. It’s soft, and he finds himself relaxing against his will.
“So, why is the big, strong prince scared of a little tequila?”
“It’s not the tequila I’m scared of, it’s him. Have you ever seen Motoya drunk?”
“Multiple times at school, but never anythin’ to hide from.”
“Well, I assume that’s because it’s in public, and he’s trying to keep some level of dignity for the family name. The second there’s no possible threat of scandal or cameras, his shirt is lost and he’s screams song lyrics at an ear splitting volume. If you don’t drink, he’ll corner you and plant one on you, which I hate the most.” His face sours into a pout at the thought. It’s almost cute, Atsumu thinks.
“No way, Mori’s a kisser?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Like big, sloppy cheek kisses?”
Sakusa scowls further. “Big, sloppy, slobbery cheek kisses.”
Atsumu laughs at the mental image. “Remind me to film him tonight, I could use some blackmail on the guy. He has one too many pictures of me from freshman year that I need to get back at him for.”
“The ‘Heartthrob of Hyogo’ had too much fun?”
Atsumu whirls on him, “How the fuck did ya hear about that?”
“When I arrived, my uncle asked me if I’d said hello to ‘The Heartthrob’ yet. At first I thought he meant your brother, but then I figured only you could hold such a stupid title.”
“I can assure ya it’s not self-proclaimed, I just happened to be quite desirable.”
The prince scoffs, “Did that really work on girls?”
“Mm, yes, but not limited to just that category,” he catches Sakusa’s gaze, holding it for a breath. An unreadable expression passes over the prince's face, then he’s breaking eye contact, absently adjusting his shirt before dragging his focus back up to the sky.
“So, you go to university in Hyogo?”
Atsumu accepts the subject change, distracted by the warmth in his chest.
“Yeah, was lucky and got a volleyball scholarship with Samu and Rin. That’s where we met Mori.”
“Are you any good?”
He barks out another laugh at the shamelessness of the question. “I’d say so, though I’m out for the season. Broke my ankle back in April.”
“Oh. Did you intend to go pro?”
Atsumu shifts in his seat, unprepared to dive back into the painful memories. The wound is still raw, and he hasn’t quite let go yet. Still, Sakusa is asking with what sounds like genuine interest, and he finds it hard to resist the surprising kindness in his tone.
“Yeah. Don’t think I’ve loved anything more than volleyball. I was getting ready to sign some contracts when it happened. They tell me I still have a chance once I’m recovered.” He laughs, and Sakusa catches the bitterness behind it. “But can I tell you somethin’? Just between you and me?”
“Alright.”
There’s a pause, and then Atsumu exhales, long and deep. “Don’t tell the others but, to be honest? I haven’t been able to walk the same since it happened.” He turns his focus out to the sky, seeing something Sakusa can’t.
“I don’t wanna worry the boys, cause they got all their futures planned out and I know they’d just get too focused on helping me if they knew. They’re too good to me, the assholes,” he smiles. “But I gotta figure myself out before I break it to ‘em. Make sure they’re not worried about me and all.”
Sakusa’s fingers twitch with the sudden urge to reach out.
The man in front of him is different than the one from the polo match. There’s an unfamiliar curiosity in his chest as he fights to keep his hand against the armrest, wanting to pull Atsumu from his thoughts. Just now he’s been privy to a side of him that no one else has seen — no cocky smile or crass jokes, only raw honesty.
Later, he’ll realize he wants to be trusted like this again, to walk around Atsumu’s mind with pen and paper, dissecting every insignificant detail. He wonders if anyone has actually taken the time to see Atsumu Miya. Something in him wants to be the first.
He blinks himself out of his thoughts, trying to ignore the thrumming in his chest. Atsumu’s still lost in thought across from him, seemingly searching for answers in the sky. Sakusa realizes he has yet to respond, and scrambles for something to say.
“Miya—”
“I found them!” Komori yells, bursting onto the terrace with the bottle of tequila and a stack of shot glasses in hand.
Atsumu catches Sakusa’s eye, pleading with a look. Please don’t tell them.
Sakusa nods his assent.
Osamu and Suna promptly follow Motoya outside, a blanket in each of their arms. Osamu pauses, glancing between the pair with a knowing look, but he lets it go when he sees the tightness in Atsumu’s face.
“Alright, well, this was the secret spot I was going to show you all, but it looks like someone beat me here,” Mori breaks the quiet, kicking Sakusa lightly. “But I brought a few blankets and Suna’s very kind gift, so I figured we could hang out here, just us.”
Everyone starts to help spread out the blankets, claiming their spots with folded up blazers as makeshift pillows. They can see the stars like this, shining and expansive above them from millions of miles away.
“Sometimes the stars make me feel small,” Sakusa admits, surprising the rest with his voluntary contribution.
“Ya know what I think?” Suna says, sitting up to grab the bottle. “Every time they make me feel small, it reminds me that all my problems are small too. My mistakes, my regrets — all just little pricks in time.”
“Oh, we get philosophical Rintarou tonight?” Osamu jokes. Atsumu catches the lingering look between the two and represses the urge to gag.
“I agree though,” Osamu adds, “like, me and Tsumu used to just go lay in the park when one of us had a bad day and say whatever was weighing on us. It was like we could shoot our worries into the sky and they’d just hang with the stars, far, far away.”
“Let’s try it!” Motoya jumps in, knocking back another shot.
Atsumu laughs, “What the birthday boy wants, he gets.”
They all lay back, finding comfortable positions across the blankets. “Take it away, Toya,” Atsumu prods.
“Alright,” a deep breath, “I’m scared I might never make it pro.”
“Took the words right outta my mouth,” Suna raises his glass.
Osamu takes third, “There’s a part of me that feels like my business will tank, and I’ll never get to see it flourish.”
“I’m scared I won’t get to live out my dream,” Atsumu continues.
The group holds their breath, waiting to hear what burdens lie on the prince’s chest.
“I think I don’t drink enough water.”
There's a beat of silence. Then, Komori starts snorting, a full-on can’t-catch-his-breath laugh that sets the rest of the group off in hysterics. The tension is gone, and they can’t even finish the game through their tears. It’s the last thing anyone expects from the stoic man, laughing even harder through their drunk daze.
Even Sakusa can’t help the smile that tugs at his face, happy to just relax and feel young for once.
It’s strange, Sakusa thinks, how easily he fits into their little circle. For the second time that night something unfamiliar blooms in his chest. It reminds him of a distant comfort he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.
—
A week later, Kiyoomi and Motoya are on a train headed for the family summer house for their annual visit.
After the party, Sakusa received permission to share his number with the group, three new contacts littering his text list after short background checks.
A man of order, Omi generally leaves each contact with a generic first and last name — the three menaces, however, scatter their contacts with emojis and exclamation points, coloring every notification he receives over the next seven days (he wakes up to at least twenty new messages every day. He wants to be annoyed, but he can’t help but be entertained).
Sitting across from Motoya, Sakusa unlocks his phone for the sixth time in ten minutes. He has no control over his social media, but he’s still allowed the app to browse. Motoya catches him tapping through all of his tagged photos with the volleyball team, always lingering on a certain blond.
“My god, Kiyo, just make a private account and follow him like a normal twenty-one year old.”
“A...private account?”
“Yes, then you can post whatever you want and keep up with Atsumu.”
Kiyoomi goes defensive, crossing his arms and tilting away from Motoya. “I never said anything about Atsumu.”
“Oh, come on Kiyo. You were actually conversing and laughing with him — voluntarily.” He smiles, gently dragging the prince back towards the center. “Don’t pretend I don’t know you well enough to tell when you’re interested. This is worse than when you had a crush on Ushijima.”
Sakusa groans, sinking further into the leather, “Please do not bring that up. It was a hormonal mistake that never happened.”
“You were thirteen, dude. Just laugh about it.”
“Whatever.”
Motoya snatches Kiyoomi’s phone, frantically tapping the screen, “I’ll even give the boys a heads up that I convinced you to make an account so they don’t think you’re some kind of stalker.”
“I’m not a stalker,” he huffs, betrayed as his neck blooms red.
“Not yet,” Motoya laughs.
Sakusa checks the page every day for two weeks.