Work Text:
Sakusa wakes to the sound of his morning alarm. He crosses to the other side of the room to turn it off, then opens the blinds to let in the light. Sunny but not blinding, as predicted by the weather forecast.
He brushes his teeth, washes his face, makes his bed, and carefully stretches, taking his time with his wrists. All routine as usual.
He heads into the kitchen and starts the rice cooker, and lets miso soup simmer on the stove. He plates the pickled side dishes, and is just finishing on the grilled salmon when the doorbell rings.
He opens the door to Atsumu’s bright face. Not routine, but expected.
“Morning, Omi! You ready?” He seems to find the answer to his own question as he takes in Sakusa’s decidedly un-ready appearance, and blinks at him. He himself looks freshly-showered, probably back from his morning run, with his bag packed and ready to go.
“Come in, Miya. Have you eaten?”
Atsumu lets himself in at Sakusa’s words, slipping into guest slippers and cleansing his hands with the hand sanitizer on the shoe cabinet. He heads to the bathroom to wash his hands, while Sakusa returns to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.
“Nah, I packed some onigiri for the road!” As though he could sense Sakusa’s skepticism from his silence, he adds, “Well, fine, ‘Samu packed them for me. But I’m good!”
However, his eyes light up when Sakusa sets down breakfast at the dining table, belying his words. He eyes roam over the steaming rice, miso soup, pickles and grilled salmon.
“Eat. It’s a long drive.” Sakusa punctuates his words by setting down a pot of green tea between the two place mats. “I decided to forego the tamagoyaki in case either of us gets carsick.”
“This is great, Omi!” Atsumu replies, snapping away on his phone.
Sakusa frowns as he sits down across from Atsumu. “It’s not like it’s the first time,” he mutters.
“It’s food, Omi-kun. And you made it!” He chirps, “Itadakimasu~”
Sakusa echoes him, and they eat in comfortable silence.
After they eat, Atsumu offers to clean up and shoos Sakusa off to get ready. Sakusa’s about to protest when he sees Atsumu navigate his kitchen with practiced ease, and he heads to his room without a word.
They take Sakusa’s car, though Atsumu drives. Sakusa lets himself enjoy the smooth ride and the passing scenery, basking in Atsumu’s chatter as he shields himself from the sun streaming through the windshield.
He must doze off at some point in the comfortable atmosphere, because he wakes up just as Atsumu pulls into the parking lot at Katsuo-ji Temple.
Katsuo-ji is known as the “temple of triumph,” where many go to pray for victory in their studies, business, and competitions. They themselves are here a few days before the first match of the new season. Visitors customarily purchase kachi-daruma dolls, making a goal while drawing in its right eye, and keeping it at home as a constant reminder to strive for the goal. When the goal has been achieved, the left eye is drawn in and the daruma is returned to the temple. Atsumu says they’ll keep the daruma in their locker room.
At this time of year, on a weekday morning, the grounds are nearly empty, much to Sakusa’s pleasure. They enter through the main gate, which leads into a bridge that traverses a large lake. At the other end of the bridge is a second gate, bearing Katsuo-ji in Kanji. Behind it is a tall, thick growth of trees leading up the mountains, and pagodas peek out from between the treetops. On either side of the bridge mist rose from the deep waters, creating a sense of serenity.
They cross the bridge, drinking in the sights, and follow the long path up towards the main temple. Along the way, Atsumu points out all the cute daruma he sees around them, placed anywhere from the natural undergrowth to man-made stone structures.
They pass a few smaller shrines and tahoto on their way to the main temple. When they stop at a gazebo to waft incense on themselves, Sakusa looks up from the bronze censer only to bang the side of his head against the wooden plank overhead. He yelps, rubbing his head, while Atsumu bursts into laughter.
“Omi-kun! Hahaha–– You’re too tall!” Through crinkled eyes, he reaches up to lightly touch the spot on Sakusa’s head, seemingly subconsciously, before letting his hand fall away.
Sakusa pouts. “You’re only slightly shorter than I am,” he felt compelled to point out, even though it does nothing to help his case. Atsumu continues to laugh.
“I bet you wish you weren’t so tall now! Did you hear the noise that it made? Bonk–– Ah, my stomach.” As he laughs, his body leans towards Sakusa’s side, and his shaking shoulders brush against Sakusa’s chest. Sakusa feels his heart seize for a moment, before he lets himself relax into it, and lets out his own chuckle.
“Come on, let’s keep moving.”
When they reach the main temple, it almost looks small against the backdrop of the mountain, though it takes nothing away from its beauty. At the stall across from the temple, they buy a red daruma slightly larger than the size of a fist –– purportedly the main object of their trip.
Atsumu writes MSBY V.League Champions!!! on the bottom, where one is meant to write down their goal. He hands it to Sakusa for him to write on the back the steps they’ll take to achieve their goal, because apparently “your handwriting is better!” He writes Practice hard, Maintain good condition, and after a moment, Leave no regrets on court. The quality doll is hefty and dense, but now feels even more weighted with their proclamations. He hands it back to Atsumu and watches the daruma’s blank, vaguely hostile face transform into a quietly determined gaze as Atsumu draws in its right eye –– the gaze of someone set on putting in all the effort necessary to win. Sakusa decides he likes it, then. They leave the other eye empty, as is the custom for until after a goal has been achieved.
They take it into the main temple, swirling it in the smoke drifting atop the large bronze censer, before going to give their thanks and prayers. Sakusa reaches for coins in his wallet, and hands one to Atsumu, whose other hand is still holding the daruma. They toss the coins into the wooden saisen donation box, making sure they hit the slanted wooden grates before falling in. He watches Atsumu close his eyes and wrap both hands around the daruma, and does the same, his palms closing in front of him.
I wish for good health, for all of us to be in peak condition and perform to our best, for this season to be satisfactory as well. He feels Atsumu shift his weight slightly beside him. And for all else to continue… as it has been. Well. Thank you very much.
He opens his eyes, and finds Atsumu already looking at him. He looks a second longer before smiling and asking, “Good?”
Sakusa nods, and Atsumu reaches into his pack for alcohol, spraying it into Sakusa’s hands for the coins they just held.
They make their way up to the bell standing near the temple, shaded by a tall wooden gazebo. Atsumu gestures for Sakusa to ring it, so he takes the few steps up to the bell, and pulls back the thick rope hanging from the horizontal wooden beam, before letting it slam forward into the large bronze bonsho. The low, full tone rings loudly in the quiet morning, and resounds in his ribcage. The peaceful scenery seems unperturbed by the sound, but it’s said that the sound of the bonsho can be heard from the underworld. Sakusa doesn’t think much of it, but he wonders whether the sound awoke some beast from its slumber deep in the mountains.
(Or perhaps within himself.)
He rejoins Atsumu at the edge of the landing, overlooking the path they’d taken up the mountain. He revels in the soft caress of the autumn breeze and the nice weather, and lets his eyes drink in the sight. From this vantage point, they can see the rolling hills around them, the wooden structures they’d seen on the way up, and the glittering lake at the foot of the hill. The site is still void of tourists, and Sakusa hears nothing but the sound of birds chirping, the leaves rustling, and the phantom echo of the bell still ringing in his ears. It feels good here.
Perhaps in response to the sudden sound of a crow’s cry, Atsumu breaks the pensive atmosphere with a quiet, “It’s just the two of us, huh, Omi.”
Sakusa turns his face towards him. Atsumu isn’t looking at him, instead gazing straight ahead into the far distance.
It is just the two of them here; the quietness is testament enough. But he knows Atsumu’s words ran beyond that. The trip to a temple before the season starts is usually one made by the team as a whole, but with Meian busy with opening ceremony events, Bokuto spending the last few days of break in Tokyo with his partner, Thomas helping his wife settle into Japan, and Inunaki busy with the upcoming V.League feature on liberos, it felt fruitless to attempt the trip in the name of the team.
Sakusa knows Atsumu doesn’t hold much weight on the blessing of the gods, or in wishing for victory, being the type to be certain that their wins will be secured with the amalgamation of their past experience and practice. Atsumu wouldn’t have thought much of the usual trip being cancelled, as he trusted enough in their abilities to believe they will win without a prayer. Sakusa understands, because he himself believes the success of the team stems from their unceremonious efforts, racked up over time, and not because they were smiled upon by the gods for having made a trip to a temple.
However, he also knows that Atsumu understands his view on luck, how he doesn’t depend on the gods’ favor to win but to be assured in all other circumstances outside of his control. He knows that Atsumu understands his comfort in the routine, that he would’ve still made the trip himself regardless of the others’ attendance. Which must’ve been why he’d offered to accompany him, why he’d suggested a different temple from the one the team usually frequents, to make the experience seem less incomplete.
Even beyond this trip, the words ring true for things they’ve discussed in quiet, late-night conversations. When Hinata had first left to play abroad again, and Bokuto had for a time considered transferring to Tokyo, Atsumu had admitted his own insecurities to Sakusa, wondering if his decision to stay in one place reflected a lack of ambition. It wasn’t anything strong enough to change his mind, but it’d been a lingering worry.
When Sakusa shared his own reasons for staying in MSBY, citing the struggle it takes for him to adjust to a new environment, to find teammates and management who would accommodate him, and voiced his belief that he felt satisfied playing in Japan, he helped Atsumu find surety and validation in his own decision. He wanted to stay near his brother. He found that the Japanese league challenged him and pushed him to improve his skills. He was happy playing internationally just as part of the National Team. He liked MSBY.
Through and through, from when Sakusa’d first joined the team to now, it’s been the two of them.
Still looking at Atsumu’s side profile, Sakusa responds, equally quietly, but without hesitation, “I’m glad it’s the two of us.”
At that, Atsumu’s head snaps towards Sakusa’s, his eyes wide and jaw slack with surprise. He huffs and looks away from Sakusa, smiling to himself. Then he hands the daruma to Sakusa and says, “Hey, Omi, I’ll be right back, okay?”
After Atsumu returns, tucking a neatly folded handkerchief away like he’d just been to the bathroom, they begin their descent. Along the way, Sakusa glances at the numerous small daruma tucked into the side of the footpath and perched atop stone lanterns, which Atsumu no longer points out after having seen so many.
Instead, he chirps up from his light humming to ask: “Hey, Omi, what would you wish for if you were here for yourself and not for the team?”
He must mistake Sakusa’s thoughtful silence for reticence, because he continues, “I’d probably say to be selected for the Olympics, since we already wished for our V.League win. Oh, and for ‘Samu’s shop to do well.”
He looks to Sakusa, who still hasn’t spoken. “C’mon, Omi, tell me! How about you tell me and I promise to send the season’s first toss to you?”
Sakusa eyes Atsumu’s mischievous smirk. The offer is tempting, so he doesn’t tell him that he would’ve answered his question anyway. “Fine. I guess for me it wouldn’t be different from the things we just wished for. For the season to go satisfactorily. For us to play our best.”
Atsumu pouts, clearly dissatisfied with his answer: “So conservative, Omi! And we already wished that for the team. Be selfish! You’re allowed to want things for yourself, you know.”
They continue on, Atsumu occasionally stopping to take pictures, while Sakusa lets his eyes wander in thought. His eyes fall on the omnipresent daruma once again. They stare back, both eyes filled in. Sakusa is suddenly acutely aware of the significance: he is walking a path surrounded by evidence of fulfilled dreams, of achieved goals, of things done to completion. It feels good here, with the quiet ambience, the serene atmosphere, the natural beauty, the promise of fulfilled wishes –– and nothing but his thoughts and Atsumu for company. The realization lends itself to an altogether more hopeful feeling in his chest, and for once he doesn’t let himself tamp it down. You’re allowed to want things for yourself, you know.
When they make their way back to the entrance, they look back once again at the sight across the bridge. Atsumu whistles.
“Man, what I’d give to come back when the leaves have turned red! Too bad we’ll be busy with games then.”
Sakusa hums. Before they step through the gate, away from the glamour of this temple, maybe he’ll allow himself one promise. “We can come back in the spring, after the season ends. There may be cherry blossoms then.”
Atsumu looks at him. Sakusa clarifies without returning his gaze, “When we bring the daruma back.”
From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu beam.
They drive to the Minoh Falls nearby. Atsumu had suggested they make a day of it, when he recommended Katsuo-ji, which was even farther out from the city than Hirakata, where MSBY is based. They leisurely make the climb up to the main attraction in about forty minutes, the trail easy for two professional athletes. They sit on a fallen log facing the waterfall, eating Osamu’s onigiri and drinking bottled barley tea that Sakusa brought. Atsumu had offered his windbreaker for Sakusa to sit on, but he’d declined.
Sakusa bites into the umeboshi filling. The sharp, sour taste bursts in his mouth, cushioned by the taste of the rice, exactly how he likes it. He watches the strong waterfall, bracketed on both sides by trees in front of them. He thinks they’d look good red, too.
He glances at Atsumu, who’s holding the onigiri with reverence and eating with his eyes closed in bliss. He always makes this expression when he’s eating –– Sakusa’d seen it just this morning, when Atsumu ate the breakfast he’d cooked for him. Sakusa tears his eyes away and focuses on the sound of the waterfall, letting it drown out his thoughts.
Atsumu goes to take pictures while Sakusa finishes his onigiri. When he returns, he stops in front of where Sakusa is sitting and produces something from his pack. It’s one of the smaller, lighter daruma they’d seen at the shops at Katsuo-ji. Its eyes were blank, and the body was black with gold accents. MSBY colours.
“Here, Omi. I got it back at Katsuo-ji, when I pretended to go to the bathroom. Well, I did go, but–– anyway. It’s for you to make your own wish. Ask for something you really want, for yourself.”
You, Sakusa thinks, as he accepts the daruma. I want you.
He feels his heart swell, and his mind replays all the details he’d noticed throughout the day, all the things that would’ve felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar years ago which now feel routine and right.
He thinks of Atsumu making this trip for him, knowing full well the importance behind the pilgrimage. He thinks of the easy way Atsumu navigates around his apartment, the easy way he fits into his life –– with alcohol sprays at the ready and his favourite food to offer and a jacket for him to sit on.
He thinks Atsumu has no right lecturing him on being selfish. Him, the most selfless person Sakusa knows, who bends over backwards to set the ball where he likes it best, who goes out of his way to adapt to his idiosyncrasies like it’s become part of his routine, too.
The thing is, this isn’t the first time Sakusa’s noticed these changes. When he reflects on them, it isn’t with surprise or resistance, but with seasoned acceptance. When a meteorite falls, there’s no use lamenting or denying its existence. The best you can do is to accept its approach, and do your best within the constraints of new developments –– which he has done. The feelings are neither unwelcome nor unfamiliar now. He’s just never thought to act on them, to change the meteorite’s course, or even to welcome its impact, until today. Until Atsumu’s you’re allowed to want things for yourself, you know.
And he does–– He wants–– He wants to see Atsumu’s eye light up at his actions, to always feel his warm gaze directed at him, to have him lean into his shoulder when he’s laughing hard at his words. To cook him meals, to share vulnerabilities and new experiences. He wants this for himself, even if it may not be routine or by design of the universe.
He tests the words on his tongue, between closed lips, not daring to say them out loud. Maybe if he says it quietly enough, Atsumu won’t hear him over the roar of the waterfall. I like you. This is a leap he wants to take, he thinks. For himself. Not now, not when it could interfere with their upcoming season, but maybe–– after––
For now, he takes out his marker and writes on the bottom of his small daruma. Olympic National Team, he writes. When he shows Atsumu, “The two of us,” is what he says.
When Atsumu stares at him, his face frozen in surprise, he continues, “I think you can learn to be a little more selfish, too.”
He turns to put his marker away, and looks up in confusion when Atsumu doesn’t make a quippy remark as he’d expected.
When he catches his gaze, Atsumu blurts out, “I like you.”
––So maybe he didn’t have to wait for the end of the season, after all.
Atsumu continues with a pained expression of his face, seemingly incapable of stopping: “I like you, Omi, I like you so much.”
He shuts his mouth when Sakusa smiles up at him. “I like you too, Atsumu.”
Atsumu gets into position under the ball. The ball falls into his waiting hands, from the trajectory of Sakusa’s perfect receive. They’re going to win this, he already knows.
He’d sent the first toss of the season to Sakusa’s waiting palm, as he’d promised. It’d bounced off the arm of the opposing defense with a loud pop.
Now, he sends the ball where Sakusa likes it best –– high and close to the net –– and watches as Sakusa jumps up to meet it. Even without the promise of the ball, he knew it was going to him. Atsumu smiles, as Sakusa slams the ball down within the three-meter line with a flick of his wrist, without grazing so much as a hair on their opponents. The sound of the spike stands out to him above the whistle signifying the end of the match, the cheer of the stadium, and the sound of his own blood in his ears.
He watches as Sakusa glances up at him from the midst of their team’s celebratory huddle, and he smiles back.