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Contrary to popular belief, Atsumu doesn’t like things that are too sweet.

He can recall the time he bought a double chocolate, caramel-drizzle milkshake as a kid. The cup was brimming with chocolate chips, sprinkles of all colors with sweet and salty caramel layering on top of three scoops of rocky road ice cream. When he took a sip, he shivered and gagged from the frightening amount of sugar that entered his body. Sadly, the drink was paid for and with a small shred of guilt, Atsumu finished the milkshake (to his best ability, anyway). It was safe to say he never ordered it again, nor can he look at a milkshake without the terrors of that day. Now, Atsumu finds himself wary when it comes to new desserts, the milkshake incident reminding him that sugar can easily overpower him. 

Sweets can be too much, sometimes.

But right now, as his hand reaches to grab the sample of daifuku calling his name, this was not one of those times. No, rather he’s more than ready to eat a dozen in one sitting if he really puts his mind to it. The soft, powdery treat is drawing his weary bones in, and within a few seconds, he can take a bite and relish in the taste after a hard-earned week.

At least, that’s what he thought.

“You jerk! I obviously grabbed it first!” Atsumu cries out.

“Then why am I holding it?”

Atsumu huffs out a laugh. 

“‘Then why am I holding it?’” He  mocks. “You sound like a kid.”

The stranger narrows his eyes. “I would prefer if you didn’t call me that when you’re acting like one, too.”

“Ahh, ya said ‘too’ and exposed yerself, so ya definitely admit yer actin’ like a kid,” Atsumu reasons unhelpfully.

“Do you pick a fight with every stranger you meet?”

“No,” Atsumu replies a little too quickly.

The tote-bag he’s carrying is awfully snug between his fists and the urge to slam it into the stranger’s face sounds like music to his ears, one he can play on repeat as cloth hits skin.

All he wants is the sample. Simple as that. He’s had a rough week, long hours in preparation for a wedding and a nitpicky bride was not something Atsumu should have gone through with no payout. He needs some type of compensation for the hellish week and daifuku from his favorite vendor is all he really needs. 

But he doesn’t have it.

The stranger’s eyes squint and despite the mask adorning his face, Atsumu is more than confident the man is frowning. He’s likely confused, unsettled as to why Atsumu has taken such a liking to the treat to the point he’s confronting him in such a careless manner. 

The stranger gestures to the cup. “In the end I have it, don’t I?” 

He’s right. Atsumu could see long, slender fingers holding the cup of strawberry daifuku; long, slender fingers that definitely weren’t his. His fingers itch and tingle, an overwhelming urge to snatch it and sprint to the nearest exit. 

There’s a voice telling Atsumu he’s overreacting and the logical side of him knows it’s true. If someone took something and it was never in your possession, more often than not, it’s not yours to take. Atsumu knows that. He’s not barbaric.

Atsumu glances at the daifuku, fluffy and pink.

Scratch that. He’s definitely barbaric. Who is he if he doesn’t ignore that voice in his head every once in a while?

Atsumu blames it on his disposition as a sibling. Part of him knows he can wait the next week for the flavor to come back, but the other part of him feels like he’s losing. And the problem is, Atsumu doesn’t like to lose. He’s had one too many GAME OVER screens and rocks beaten by paper. Too many nights washing the dishes after losing a bet to Osamu. But what makes it so obnoxious is Atsumu doesn’t like the way that after every loss comes a smug grin, and it irks him knowing that he’s not the one wearing it.

It’s infuriating. Exasperating. Utterly maddening. 

And it doesn’t help that the culprit of these highly irritating emotions is also good-looking.

Atsumu tries not to focus on bouncy black curls, twin moles, and prominent muscles looking way too appetizing in an otherwise simple white t-shirt. It also doesn’t help that Atsumu’s not in his best attire, that is, if the worn and faded galaxy print pajamas were of any indication. But it’s not his fault that he is in desperate need for the comforting taste; it’s one of the few routines out of the many experiments and changes in his life.

Sadly, the need to taste a fresh sample doesn’t wait for Atsumu’s stylistic choices. Though had he worn something more presentable, maybe then this stranger would think twice about giving Atsumu the last sample.

Maybe then Atsumu would have his fucking daifuku.

“Alright, alright. Listen, uh… what’s yer name?” Atsumu asks.

“I’m not telling that to a stranger.” The man deadpans.

Atsumu tries not to roll his eyes. “Fair point. And okay, maybe ya do have it, but have ya considered buyin’ their latest one instead? This little guy can’t compare to their coffee flavor.”

“Are you trying to sway me?”

“No way in hell am I swayin’ ya right now, sir. I’m tryna be considerate.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose and fixes his gaze on Atsumu. A few seconds pass and his brows gradually become more pinched. He looks Atsumu up and down, as if weighing his options.

Then, with a scowl, he shoves the arm holding the daifuku sample.

“Take it,” the man says tightly.

Atsumu’s jaw drops. He tries to speak, mouth opening and closing, but there’s nothing except silence leaving his lips.

“Just… just like that?” Atsumu asks, incredulous.

Another sigh. “Do you want the sample or not? I have other places to be.”

“Yeah, I–... Yes, I want the sample,” Atsumu stumbles, brain buffering at the sudden change in events. A bucket of water douses the fire in his chest and all that’s left is confusion and shock.

Atsumu’s hand reaches for the cup, slow and deliberate, as if the man would snatch the sample and dart out the store. Atsumu’s expectation, however, goes unfounded as the daifuku is finally within his grasp, uneaten and staying in its place. Instead, the man turns to the table, plucking not one, not two, but three wipes from a purple container.

“Thanks,” Atsumu mumbles, trying not to dwell on why someone needs that many wipes. His hands aren’t dirty, right? There’s not a speck on them! Should he just get the wipes, too?

“Your change in attitude is a bit concerning,” the stranger comments, wiping his hands and dropping the wipes into the mini trash bin near the food stand.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Atsumu says. The embarrassment bubbles up in his chest and heat climbs up the back of his neck.

He is, if he borrows the words of his brother, an idiot.

Atsumu tries to shake off the feeling by picking up the daifuku; a bite should be enough to satiate him after this incident. However, when he picks up the soft treat, his eyes widen at the sight of a lightly colored mass at the bottom of the cup.

Oh. There were two. 

He groans and scratches his head. “Hey, uh…  sorry, but there were actually–”

But when he turns around, the stranger is gone.

Atsumu lets out an exhale.

He’s unsure if this is a blessing or a curse. That is, the extra daifuku at the expense of feeling like an absolute moron and jerk. Sure, that was nothing new. But when the frustration of that good-looking man plays back in Atsumu’s mind, his brain mocking him with their little imaginary fingers and cackling laughs, he can’t help but cringe.

What a great way to start the week, he thinks.

He takes a bite of the treat, subtle sweet flavors momentarily making him forget about black curls and twin moles.

Much to Atsumu’s demise, momentarily means just that.

Momentarily.

The events of yesterday plague his brain. From brushing his teeth to driving to work, the image of a black mask against pale skin has etched its way deep into the grooves of his brain. Now, even as he prepares an order of ohagi into a box, he still finds himself recoiling over the way he acted.

Atsumu isn’t new to embarrassing himself. Hell, he does it all the time. But majority of the time, it was in front of a bunch of scrubs Atsumu could care less about. Maybe it was the way he made the stranger uncomfortable and creeped out. His attire of galaxy print and smiling star pajamas definitely didn’t help establish him as a functioning member of society, either. Not only that, but it was late at night and Atsumu fussing over a singular sample likely wouldn’t warrant a good reaction out of anyone.

He sighs. It’s no use thinking about it, but it can’t seem to leave his mind. He resorts to telling Hinata, hoping that by sharing the memory, it would stop eating away the corners of his brain. But upon seeing Hinata’s face contort, Atsumu’s embarrassment comes back with full force.

“Wow, you sound like a jerk, Atsumu-san.”

Atsumu closes the box with much more force than he intends, biting back a wince as he checks for creases. He silently prays Meian did not see his little oopsie, taking a quick glance at the man as he sweeps the floor. His shoulders sag in relief when he notices Meian is still looking down.

“I know, I know Shouyou-kun! Stuff like this wouldn’t bother me, but you should’ve seen the way it happened!” Atsumu says. “Felt like the biggest asshole. Drama queen and whatnot. ‘Samu was havin’ a field day when I told ‘im.”

“Well, you are kind of an asshole.”

Atsumu looks up to see Inunaki turning away and covering his face with one hand as he wipes down a table with the other.

“Thanks for remindin’ me, I nearly forgot,” Atsumu drawls.

“Instead of pestering Atsumu about his meet-cute–”

“It seems like it was anything but cute–” Tomas interjects.

“–I need all of you to finish those boxes and tables,” says Meian, smiling a little too wide for someone who has to sweep the floor, “because our new employee comes in today to see what his new job will look like. I’d rather him not see how off track my team is.”

“Copy that, boss,” Atsumu salutes. 

“I saw you nearly crease the box, Atsumu. I expect each one to be neat for packaging.”

“... Copy that, boss,” Atsumu says, albeit quieter than before.

He can hear Inunaki and Tomas snickering in the corner. Damn them. 

“It’s fine, Atsumu-san,” Hinata whispers, “it’s not like you’ll see him again, anyway.”

Atsumu pats his shoulder with a grin. 

“You always got my back, Shouyou-kun.”

Hinata’s right, Atsumu reasons. In a place as large as Osaka, Atsumu deems his odds of seeing the same person is near zero. Though it’s a shame he won’t be able to admire that fine-looking man, and fine he was even with a mask covering his face, Atsumu sighs in relief.

But just like that bite of daifuku last night, relief is momentary. 

Ding!

“Excuse me.”

Plop. Atsumu’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. A muffled voice all too familiar echoes through the store, the usual melodic bell of the entrance door now resembles a warning tone, and Atsumu thanks himself for finishing the last box before he had the chance to crease them. 

“You’re here! Come have a seat,” Meian says.

Atsumu looks up to see black curls shine against the morning sun, gold pendant lights of the café highlighting the definite figure the stranger has. He’s wearing another white shirt, but this time, a thin cardigan and jeans adorn his body. The black mask is still on his face, once again highlighting pretty moles over his right eyebrow. 

The stranger looks over his direction, eyes locking for a mere second before turning away. If Atsumu wasn’t ogling him so intensely, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight twitch on the man’s expression, twin moles jumping up towards curly black hair in what Atsumu could only assume is the same heart-dropping feeling in his chest.

“Atsumu, Hinata,” Meian says, “take the boxes to Bokuto and help him out before things get too busy.”

Atsumu doesn’t have it in him to comprehend what Meian is saying, much less respond to him. He doesn’t know which boxes get which packaging, nor does he know what Hinata is asking him as he pushes Atsumu through the double doors. 

However, when he throws one last look at the man, ears straining to hear a semblance of their conversation, he leaves knowing one thing.

Somewhere in the stranger’s name is ‘Omi.’

It’s hours until Atsumu is finally able to leave the kitchen.

Actually, it’s only been half an hour or so; he’s just dramatic.

The usual five minutes of attaching their café’s logo sticker and placing the boxes in decorative bags seems to increase in number, leaving Atsumu with one too many sighs slipping from his lips.

It’s funny. Really funny how everything seems to play out for Atsumu. He can only hope that stranger-turned-coworker won’t turn yesterday into some type of grudge. The last thing Atsumu wants is unnecessary tension disrupting the job he feels at home with, even if he was the one who instigated said tension in the first place. 

He may be an asshole, that much he’ll admit unapologetically so, but when it comes to the workplace, he expects everyone to complete the job clearly and efficiently. He’s not one to waste his time with people over a misunderstanding. He’d rather say it quickly, bluntly, and as truthfully as it needs to be. The events of yesterday, however, definitely lack any of that, and Atsumu would much rather diffuse the air than deal with any of the annoying consequences in the long run. 

Atsumu rushes forward, thanking Bokuto on any final touches the packages need, and pushes the double doors open. 

To his surprise, when he comes out, Meian approaches him with said stranger trailing behind.

“Atsumu, I have an emergency call from a client so can you show the new guy the kitchen? I explained everything else already.”

Atsumu barely has time to respond before Meian mutters a quick thanks and s orry before rushing elsewhere with a phone to his ear. When Atsumu turns to the man, he does a double-take.

If he found him handsome, then Atsumu is definitely sure of it now. 

The stranger’s mask is off and he’s now face-to-face with pretty pink lips and a sharp jawline. The light from outside is brighter now and all the silly romance novels he occasionally (read: often)  indulged in didn’t seem too far off in their over-the-top descriptions, especially when he was looking at Adonis himself.

Atsumu, for a moment, forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, but when he sees squinted eyes and a scowl, he smiles.

“Nice to meet ya, again,” Atsumu says.

“Unfortunately.”

The displeased remark only spurs him further.

“Aw, no need to get so excited. ”

The stranger sighs. Atsumu tries to ignore the way his lips part open.

“Anyway, the name’s Miya Atsumu. So…” Atsumu pries. “What's yer full name, Omi-kun? I’m not a stranger no more.”

The man’s scowl deepens, grimacing as if Atsumu had insulted his entire bloodline. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What… did you just call me?” The man asks, carefully, slowly, like a balloon filling with air and ready to pop at any moment.

“Omi-kun.”

“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he corrects.

“Pleasure to be workin’ with ya, Omi-Omi.”

“Sakusa–”

“Sakusa Omi-Omi-kun.”

“Are you this annoying to every person you meet?”

“No,” Atsumu says a little slowly, “but I like ta call it charming.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but before he could leave to find another worker, Atsumu lets out a string of wait, wait, wait . Sakusa turns around. His eyes are impassive, bored even, as if he wants to be anywhere but near the vicinity of Atsumu. 

Atsumu takes a breath.

“Actually, about yesterday night–”

Sakusa frowns, nose drawing up and wrinkling.

“–wait, listen to me for a moment,” Atsumu says, waving his hands. “Just… just wanted to say sorry. I was pretty annoyin’. To be fair, I had to deal with the worst bride ever and she picked at every little decoration I put on. Didja know I used our best sugar flowers? I know I’m gettin’ paid, but premeditated murder sounded awfully nice, ya know? But I digress.”

Sakusa’s eyebrows pull together. Atsumu clears his throat. If that woman was the worst bride, Atsumu claims himself the worst apologizer.

“Also, there was an extra piece of daifuku in there that I was gonna give you, but you disappeared.”

“I didn’t particularly want to stay in a place where I was being harassed over a sample.”

“Ya got a point,” Atsumu admits. “Anyway, I hope by explainin’ it we can have a blank slate, ‘specially since we’re gonna be workin’ together.”

Sakusa nods. “You have a surprisingly good work ethic.”

“I take my job seriously, Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls.

“It’s Sakusa. And though I appreciate the sentiment of you clearing things up, something like that won’t deter my professionalism. I can and will work with anyone to get the job done.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows raise, a small hum leaving his lips.

“Well, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu says, “then why don’t we see the kitchen so you can come better prepared, tomorrow?”

Osamu, that traitor, is laughing. Suna, his equally evil counterpart and dreaded companion, is also laughing. Atsumu tries not to hurl himself across the table to hit both of them.

“Holy shit! So the guy you harassed is working with you now?” Suna cackles. 

“I bet he thought ‘bout quittin’ the moment he saw yer face, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu falls into temptation and throws a worn rag square in Osamu’s face. He’s immediately met with another wet rag hurtling towards his nose and he hears the subtle click of a camera going off in the corner.

“Ya fuckin’ asshat! This is what I get fer helpin’ ya clean up shop!”

“Ya come here gobblin’ my food, ya freeloader. The least you can do is some manual labor.”

“What about Sunarin, then?”

“He cleans up way more when yer not here, jerk. And he’s also got these,” Osamu says as he wiggles his fingers.

“Hell yeah,” Suna interjects, smirking as he drapes himself over Osamu from behind, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist.

“Gross! Both of ya make me gag.”

Atsumu clenches the rag and roughly rubs the wooden table, imagining the obscure wooden lines as Osamu and Suna’s face with every wipe. It brings him little satisfaction when he hears hushed whispers and the sound of a kiss burning his ears. His arms work harder to scrub the table, but he deems it futile after another smooch.

“Anyway,” Atsumu says, trying to thwart the couple’s disgusting PDA, “he said that somethin’ like yesterday won’t ‘deter my professionalism.’ He sounds like parent-teacher conferences.”

“Speakin’ of which, those were almost always about you,” Osamu says. “Ya always did somethin’ stupid. Pushin’ people’s buttons is your favorite hobby.”

“Not my fault I have some personality, ‘Samu. It was all in good fun.”

Osamu scoffs. “Yer lucky yer head was always in the oven that ya didn’t do any other dumb shit.”

“Agreed. Remember when he turned down that upperclassman’s party invite because he wanted to try making, fuck if I know, chocolate cake?” Suna asks. 

“Homemade chocolate. Straight from the cacao pods. ‘Tsumu said somethin’ like, ‘My chocolate is worth more time than yer party.’ The guy was pissed.”

Atsumu groans. “I didn’t like him, anyway. I prefer the kitchen.”

“You are almost always in the kitchen,” Suna says.

“It’s fun bein’ there,” Atsumu replies. “Ya get me, don'tcha, ‘Samu?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t an asshole about it,” Osamu says, “Speaking of which, sounds like you and that new guy will get along.”

Atsumu surprises himself with the laugh ripping from his throat.

“Get along? If yer definition of ‘gettin’ along’ is me pokin’ my new coworker until he explodes, then I think you might be right.”

Osamu clicks his tongue. “Fuckin’ jerk.”

“Yer my twin, my jerk number two. Or are Sunarin’s fingers too far up yer ass that ya forgot already?”

Atsumu readies himself for another wet towel to his face, but his stomach drops when the words leave Osamu’s mouth.

“No fatty tuna for ya for a week.”

He gasps.

“‘Samu, have mercy on a man! A week?”

“Keep bullshittin’ me and I’ll make it two.”

Atsumu places a finger to his lips, muttering a promise all the while hiding the crossed fingers under his lap.

Osamu scoffs, and Suna rubs his shoulder in a way that makes Atsumu’s stomach lurch and heart twist. He ignores the feeling, downing the cup of water and coughing when ice cold liquid surrounds his throat.

As he places the cup down, he feels a buzz emanating from the wooden table. He picks up his phone, eyebrows raising at Meian’s name popping up on screen.

Atsumu wonders if someone forgot to lock the store, or a potential order went sour and one of them has to help Meian with the repercussions. Usually those were the reasons for Meian’s late night calls, and as much as Atsumu wishes it wasn’t the former—he hated going back to lock up properly, the walk always made him sleepy—he’d rather not risk a bad order.

 Atsumu presses the green button.

“What’s goin’ on, boss?”

“Atsumu, remember that client from earlier?”

Atsumu sits up. The way Meian ignores ‘boss’ and the lack of greeting from the call, it sounds serious. In the corner of his eye, he sees Osamu and Suna leaning closer and he uses his hand to shoo them away.

“I remember. Is it bad?”

“We messed up the number of orders, so Barnes and I are delivering the extras early tomorrow morning. But because of that, I’m going to need you to help Sakusa again.”

Well, shit.

“Show him the ropes ‘round the place, ya mean?” Atsumu asks.

A cackle. Atsumu’s head whips to see Suna laughing on Osamu’s shoulder, shielding his mouth as he whispers to Osamu and earning a grin from him. Atsumu pulls his lower eyelid down and sticks his tongue out. Osamu repeats the gesture.

Meian hums. “Yes, you’re charming enough—”

“—Aw, boss, ya got me blushin’—”

“He’s quite skilled already, as I’ve heard and seen from his previous establishment,” Meian quickly interrupts, “I’ve also given him a booklet of our recipes and how to make them, so he should be fine for the most part.”

Atsumu nods, realizing his mistake, and says a quick affirmation to Meian. “Got ya, boss.”

He hears a sigh of relief from the other end of the line. “Thank you so much, Atsumu. I’m glad I can count on you.”

“I’m yer favorite, what can I say?” Atsumu huffs out in pride. “Besides, I know how to wrangle in the newbies. Didja see how well Bokkun and Shouyou-kun listened to me back then?”

Atsumu hears another sigh, this time, exasperated. “Keyword: back then. You enable them everyday.”

“How could ya say that, boss?! Unlike my brother,” Atsumu emphasizes the last sentence, throwing a glance at Osamu who looks nearly one move away from throttling Atsumu to the ground, “I’m an angel.”

“Anything you say,” Meian sighs. “Seriously, thank you, Atsumu. I’ll get going now.”

“Night, boss.”

The call clicks and Atsumu pulls his phone away, eyes meeting his reflection on a black screen. A light gleams and he looks up. Osamu and Suna are still next to one another, Suna’s hand draping across Osamu’s shoulder. Atsumu takes a glance towards his phone, sole reflection greeting him once again, and stands up.

“I’m leavin’! Partly ‘cuz I need ta be a responsible employee—” 

Osamu rolls his eyes.

“—and partly ‘cuz I’ve had enough of both of ya.”

Osamu flips him off and Atsumu stands up to leave, chair rattling as it hits the table. He murmurs an apology to the chair—not to Osamu, mind you—and puts on his jacket. 

But as he’s about to make his way towards the exit, a hand is pulling on his sleeve. Atsumu turns around, confused, before there’s a gentle weight on his hands.

A neatly wrapped green mass in his hold. He can see bits of soft, red fish peeking from the top. It’s warm.

“What–”

“We had extra,” Osamu says simply.

Atsumu gives a nod. He traces a finger over the clingfilm and clears his throat. 

Atsumu takes it back. Osamu is slightly an angel.

“Weddings can be hell,” Osamu says. “Take it, idiot.”

“Weddings can be hell,” Atsumu repeats, waving goodbye to Osamu and Suna in a slight daze.

Atsumu doesn’t trust himself to say anything more, that is, with the way his throat clogs up. He pushes back the conversation from a few minutes before, ignoring the pull in his chest when he thinks of late night cooking sessions, of ice cold water keeping his eyes awake when Osamu already fell asleep, and of lone reflections that stare back at him quietly.

He clears his throat.

It was the water. 

Definitely the water.

Atsumu likes the storefront of Panzuki.

It was a simple café with little decorations, gold-accented marks strewn over black making it look somewhat posh for a streetside eatery. The store had a window with alternating black and gold lines surrounding the sides and the shop name emblazoned in capital letters. In the corner, a modest sign displaying opening and closing hours is plastered for everyone to see and the cursive writing ‘closed’ is shown before the glass. It was, in a sense, picturesque. Atsumu has lost count over the amount of times customers and strangers alike pose outside the store to take photos. He can’t blame them. Especially when it was sunset—it made the gold shine much more brilliantly, Atsumu thinks.

So, yes, Atsumu likes Panzuki’s storefront.

In fact, he likes it so much, he doesn’t want to go inside.

Atsumu faults the gold decor shining particularly nicely this morning. He definitely doesn’t attribute his stock-still figure to stranger-turned-coworker Sakusa Kiyoomi moving around inside. Despite all his talk yesterday, Atsumu hopes Sakusa won’t be too difficult to show around the shop like Meian said. He likes a challenge, but babysitting a new cook isn’t one he’d like to partake in. At least with Bokuto and Hinata, the two were active and knowledgeable enough for Atsumu to enjoy.

He huffs out a breath, cracking his neck from side to side, and pushes the door open. The small bell above the door rings gently, unlike its ominous undertones of yesterday. Bokuto gives him a quick wave—a thankful distraction—before going back to setting the tables. Sakusa is also setting up the store, placing chairs and listening to Bokuto’s morning chatter. 

“Tsum-Tsum! I was just telling Kiyoomi-san about Keiji,” Bokuto smiles.

“About Keiji, huh?” Atsumu says, knowing full-well the conversation will be heavily led by Bokuto. “What’d’ya say so far?”

“He went to Asakusa to help Udai-san with his manga. He brought back barbeque from an old store we sometimes visit and Tsum-Tsum, when I tell you it was the best barbeque I tasted in so long. You know when you bite into the meat, and it’s all juicy and soft? Melts like butter on a sunny day when you sit on a wooden chair?”

“Wooden chair…” Atsumu echoes, wondering what a wooden chair has to do with barbeque.

“Dude, I was in heaven.” Bokuto sighs. “And Keiji also brought me back this volleyball keychain hand-made in—oh! Kiyoomi-san, that chair should be over here.”

Bokuto points to the side of the store and Kiyoomi nods, placing the chair neatly beside the table and window.

Atsumu opens his mouth to talk to Sakusa, but Bokuto beats him to the punch. 

“Kiyoomi-san, aren’t you also from Tokyo?”

Atsumu’s ears immediately perk up. A mental image of Sakusa walking across the streets of Shibuya plays in his head. Sakusa would probably look classy, even if it was just walking on a street.

“Yes. That’s where I worked previously,” Sakusa says.

Bokuto, eyes wide and anticipating, doesn’t say much more. Atsumu keeps his mouth shut as well, equal parts wondering what else Sakusa has to say and equal parts struck quiet when Sakusa throws him a glance. 

“I do agree their barbeque is delicious,” Sakusa says steadily.

“Right?” Bokuto says, “But since it’s in Tokyo, obviously, Keiji and I visit Tsum-Tsum’s brother’s restaurant. He has this really nice pork filling—he runs a rice ball place, Onigiri Miya, have you heard?—and it tastes just like the one in Asakusa!”

“A brother, huh,” Sakusa murmurs. 

“A twin brother,” Atsumu interjects, “but I’m the better lookin’ one.”

“I can only hope you two don’t act the same.”

“Trust me, Omi-kun—”

“Sakusa.”

“—Sakusa Omi-kun, if ya put us in the same room, I’m clearly a saint compared to him.”

Atsumu dismisses the memories of stealing Osamu’s pudding or taking his clothes from his closet. Sakusa and Bokuto don’t need to know that. And if he’s being honest, Osamu is more of a menace than he is, anyway. He’ll never forget the times Osamu takes the last batch of eggs, leaving Atsumu sprinting to the grocery store in flour-smeared clothes or whenever Osamu woke up at two in the morning everyday for a week to grab Atsumu’s leg from their bunk bed like a monster.

“Saint or not, Myaa-sam’s rice balls are tasty,” Bokuto says.

Atsumu nods. “Mhm. Don’t tell ‘im I agreed.”

“I won’t.” Bokuto winks. “I’m dropping by later to buy some. Keiji’s been tired with the deadlines lately, so I’m helping him out.”

A small grin plays unbidden onto Atsumu’s face. The thought of Bokuto walking with a bounce in his step into Onigiri Miya, placing an order all the while talking to Osamu about this and that, is easily imaginable in his mind. He could definitely see Bokuto explaining the reason for his visit. The name ‘Keiji’ would fill the majority of his words, but his excitement was contagious. 

He remembers when Bokuto was less a friend and more an acquaintance he had to make peace with in order to get the job done. The days were filled with kneading dough all the while listening to Bokuto chatter about Keiji or the way his monstera needed more water. Even now, not much is different, but Atsumu can’t help but be enraptured by Bokuto’s energy.

Though it’s nearly an everyday occurrence now—and likely one of Bokuto’s favorite subjects—hearing Bokuto talk about Keiji leaves Atsumu… captivated. It wasn’t like the stories were particularly special. For everyone else who manages to listen, the topics were usually the same. Atsumu could easily recall the main ones: dinner with Keiji, Keiji’s editing process, or another story that’s silly enough to laugh at. They were, to say the least, mundane and nothing out of the ordinary.

But when Bokuto continues to speak, that’s when Atsumu sees something extraordinary.

Starry eyes. Wide smiles. The way Bokuto’s body sways and hands dance to animate each story with more energy than the last. 

Even with his favorite creations, even with all the sights Atsumu has seen while he’s been alive, he can’t help but engrave the look on Bokuto’s face when he talks about Keiji. 

It’s sweet.

Maybe too sweet.

Atsumu is no stranger to the implications of romance. Sure, people consider him a flirt, and he’s aware that he is, but truly, he’s a sucker for all things romantic. He knows what gets people red in the face or clutching their chest. He revels in the feeling. Atsumu didn’t binge Nicolas Sparks books, tear-jerking dramas, and shoujo anime and manga with no payout. He’s a romantic at heart, much to his consternation. 

He wonders, however, if all that sweetness is something he can enjoy for himself.

Atsumu pushes the last chair under the wooden table. He hears a muffled voice calling for Bokuto in the back, and Bokuto leaves, giving a quick thanks to Atsumu and Sakusa for the chairs. 

When the double doors close, Atsumu looks at Sakusa. He’s wearing the café’s uniform: black jacket with gold lining on the edges and collar. It was a neat and pleasing choice, Atsumu admits, given how well it matches with Panzuki’s overall color scheme. He notices the way Sakusa’s hair matches with the uniform, looking straight out of a modeling magazine. Atsumu isn’t blind to the way his coworkers look. He knows part of the café’s popularity is due to eye candy—Bokuto and Meian’s pecs are but one of many sights—and Atsumu is well aware of how he looks in an apron. He can appreciate everyone’s good looks. 

And shit, is he appreciating his coworker a little too much right now. 

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t harass me again.” 

Atsumu sputters, Sakusa’s voice breaking him out of his thoughts. “Harass you? I’m not doin’ anythin’!”

“You’ve been ogling me for longer than what’s deemed normal,” Sakusa says, rounding the corner to take one wet wipe from the counter. Didn’t they clean the tables last night? 

“I need to focus if I’m observin’ somethin’ fine.” Atsumu winks, words flying out of his mouth smooth and easy. 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, wiping his hands with the wipe—they’re for his hands. Hands!—and tossing it in the trash bin hidden behind the counter. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m many things. Could be yours if ya want it.” 

“I want…” Sakusa starts.

Atsumu inches closer.

“... you to shut up.”

Atsumu groans. “Yer no fun, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu stands straight and Sakusa mirrors the movement, hands crossed as he waits.

“I heard you’re going to be helping me a bit more today,” Sakusa says.

“Ya got that right. Aren’t ya lucky?”

“Cursed, actually. I think I’ve been seeing you a little too much lately.”

Atsumu laughs, an unexpected, but surprisingly easy one. 

“The eyes can only handle so much beauty in one sittin’.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes so hard Atsumu’s shocked it doesn’t stay stuck there. 

“I believe my eyes should be handling some recipes instead,” Sakusa sighs.

“Ooh, that’s right,” Atsumu says. “Heard from the boss he gave ya our booklet of recipes. How much didja get through?”

Sakusa tilts his head. “I finished it.”

Atsumu lets the words process in his brain. Finished it? As in, read everything? The booklet Meian has for their recipes is thick, filled with ingredients, substitutes, inspiration, and who contributed to its creation. It took Atsumu a few days at most to properly take in the majority of the booklet. Even if Sakusa finished reading it in the span of half a day, did he properly absorb everything? 

“Yer serious? You even read the sections over what inspired us to make it?” Atsumu asks in disbelief.

Sakusa nods. “Yes, they’re enjoyable to read. I recall your friend’s farm and the sunset inspired your recipe for persimmon daifuku.”

Atsumu eyebrows raise. “Ya didn’t need to memorize it. And that recipe o’ mine’s nearly at the end.”

Not to mention it was tucked away in the gutter of the book due to lack of space. Sakusa could have brought up Hinata’s taro mochi cake or Inunaki’s green tea blueberry smoothie, considering their recipes took up a large section of a page and screamed color. 

“Meian-san told me the booklet will always be in the corner of the kitchen to refer to, but I did my best to learn what I could.”

Atsumu lets out a slow breath. “You’re so fuckin’ cool, Omi-Omi.”

“Sakusa.”

“If ya memorized a bunch, then ya gotta show me what ya learned, Omi,” Atsumu says, pretending he didn’t hear the correction. “I think Bokkun and Shouyou-kun are already gettin’ stuff out to prep, so show me your skills. Don’t get intimidated by me, ‘kay?”

“Oh no, I’m worried.” Sakusa deadpans. 

Atsumu sighs woefully. “I know. I’m pretty scary.”

Atsumu leads the way, pushing the double doors open to see Bokuto and Hinata walking around. The kitchen isn’t small by any means, but it’s still small enough to carry conversation throughout the room. Bokuto and Hinata are currently engrossed in a conversation and Atsumu is pretty sure he hears the names ‘Keiji’ and ‘Kageyama’ fill the majority of their words. 

“Alright, Omi-kun. Bokkun’s workin’ on yesterday’s batch of pastries. We let ‘em rise last night so they’ll be real fresh for today.” Atsumu gestures over to Hinata who’s preparing the machines. “Shouyou-kun’s getting the machines set up so we can get started on mochi since we sell out fast. For now, you and I can help Bokkun with the bread.”

Sakusa nods, dutifully listening to each word falling from Atsumu’s lips. Atsumu is relieved Sakusa seems to understand the general mechanics of working at a shop, then again, Meian did say he was skilled. But to what extent? Atsumu knows nothing about this man aside from the fact he seems grumpy all the time. 

“Let’s see what those hands of yers can do, Omi,” Atsumu says while drying his hands. 

But he doesn’t hear a response. Instead, the steady splash of water falling into the sink is what replies. He turns and is met with a Sakusa still washing his hands. He’s vigorously scrubbing all the way from the tops of his nails to the crevice of each finger. It’s rough and quick, but in a way that seems oddly practiced. Sakusa even double cleans the space under his nail and skin. 

Atsumu schools his expression. He’s never seen someone wash their hands so intently. Sure, working at a food establishment requires proper cleaning, but Sakusa seems to take this rule and frame it on a pedestal.

It isn’t until Sakusa rips away a piece of paper towel that Atsumu breaks his fixed gaze. Sakusa wipes his hand and he looks to Atsumu, giving a quick bow. “I tend to make sure I stay clean.”

“It’s no problem,” Atsumu says. He doesn’t elaborate or pull the conversation longer than necessary. Sakusa seemed genuine with his apology, no matter how curt it was. Something about it stores itself away in Atsumu’s head, but he keeps the thought for another day.

Atsumu makes his way towards Bokuto with Sakusa trailing behind. Bokuto already had his work area set up, wooden roller placed to the side as he shapes his third pastry. Upon seeing the two, Bokuto moves the trays of dough and sacks of flour to the middle of the table.

“Tsum-Tsum, I can work on the milk bread since the filling is less than the red bean,” Bokuto says. 

Atsumu gives a thumbs up, Bokuto mirroring the motion as he goes back to his area. Atsumu grabs two rollers from the bottom of the table and hands one to Sakusa.

“Alright, Omi! We have different designs for our red bean bread for warmer months and that’s a flower. Just to keep it interestin’, ya know?” 

Atsumu lightly coats the table with flour and weighs out a handful of dough, repeating the actions to give Sakusa the same area. 

“Instructions wise, roll it flat and put the paste in the middle. When ya finish, roll it up regularly and we snip the sides to give it shape. I’ll make one so we have a reference,” Atsumu demonstrates as he speaks. “The thing’s really easy ta mess up, ya know? Ya don’t want the bread to be too thick and ya especially don’t want it ta be too thin. Or else the paste is gonna flood the sides and it’s gonna start looking like a monster rather than a flower.” 

Sakusa scoffs. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am! You should’ve seen the way it looked the first time I made it. I cut too deep and put too much paste, so when it baked, the paste oozed out and it looked like a crime scene,” Atsumu says, putting in red beans and taking a glance to make sure Sakusa is paying attention. He is.

“How terrible.”

“Truly was, Omi-kun. But if yours looks like that, don’t be ashamed. Everyone goes through moments of cringe, embarrassment, humiliation, shame—”

“Enough.”

“Good, I was startin’ to run out of synonyms.”

Atsumu finishes the bread and places it aside, leaning down to grab scissors and snip the sides carefully. Once he finishes, he puffs out his chest and shows Sakusa the finished piece, posing as he frames his sample with his fingers like a camera.

“Open those eyes and stare in awe, Omi.”

“I’m staring, alright.”

“That’s right. Let those pretty eyes o’ yours sparkle,” Atsumu laughs as he cuts another handful of dough.

But when he places the dough on the floured surface, Atsumu sees Sakusa already rolling the dough.

Atsumu whistles. “Look at ya gettin’ ahead of the game. Eager, huh?”

“Probably.”

Atsumu does the same, preparing his next piece ahead of time to help just in case. As he watches, he expects Sakusa to stop around putting the red bean paste in, but he’s pleasantly surprised when he keeps going. He looks at Sakusa grab a spoonful of paste, stares at the red mass for a moment, and scrapes off a small amount on the side of the bowl. 

Atsumu watches intently, curious as to how far Sakusa will go. He just witnessed it for the first time, so maybe he intends to figure it out for himself? It’s not like Atsumu isn’t the same. Sometimes he’ll go all the way with a dessert without asking or checking for confirmation just to see where he’s at. Is Sakusa the same? Atsumu isn’t sure, but by the time he’s done mulling it over, Sakusa’s already finished one piece of bread and presents it to Atsumu.  

“Holy shit,” Atsumu gawks. He turns the bread around, looking at each snip’s placement and thickness in awe. The red bean paste peeks out subtly, just enough so it doesn’t overflow but just enough that it’s filling. He turns to Sakusa. “Was that your first time doin’ that?”

Sakusa nods. “First time doing it, but I made sure to apply a few tips from some of the books I have at home before I came today.

“Looks like you’ve been doin’ some homework, huh?” Atsumu smiles. “Look at ya! Yer a natural!”

“I do my best.”

“I repeat: you’re fuckin’ cool, Omi. You’re, like, that mystery guy who shows up bein’ good at everything and winnin’ all the ladies. And men. Everyone in between. Probably pets, too.”

“Fascinating how your mind works. I do well and your first instinct is to compare me to a love interest in some story.” 

“I never mentioned a love interest so that’s all on you,” Atsumu says, “but I’m curious what else you can do.”

“Keep your eyes on me then. You’ve been doing it since you saw me again, anyway.”

Atsumu's eyes widen a little, taken aback by the comment. Sakusa doesn’t seem to mind, however, as he goes back to taking another handful of dough and working it through. Atsumu brushes it off. He hasn’t been staring at Sakusa that much. Sure he’s pleasing to the eye, but so are things like gourmet meals: things you can’t help but take a good look at. 

Too much time has passed for a good comeback, so Atsumu throws himself back into finishing the dough. And as more bread fills the trays, the bustle of the kitchen grows louder, other employees trickling in and the closed sign switching to open for the customers to flood the café. Inunaki and Tomas stay at the front, managing customers and dealing with the register and drinks while Atsumu and Sakusa stay primarily in the kitchen. The occasional Bokuto or Hinata drop by the kitchen, swaying across tables as they take out fresh samples back to the front. 

As the hours pass, Atsumu finds himself learning more about Sakusa. It’s interesting, like a game where you spend hours digging around and finally find an artifact to learn about.

For one, Sakusa is good at all things bread and filling, but he’s terrible when it comes to mochi.

“No no no! This way, this way!” Atsumu instructs as Sakusa’s mochi flops over the table pathetically.

“Sorry,” says Sakusa, the apology coming out strained. 

Amused, a smug grin comes across Atsumu’s face. “Oh? So the newbie still has things to learn, huh? I was startin’ to think you were good at everythin’. I gotcha, Omi, don’t worry.”

Sakusa scoffs. “How reassuring.”

Atsumu throws a grin and the work continues. Although it’s much like the usual when Atsumu goes to work, he finds himself enjoying the new presence that fills the small shop. The hours of the day pass and the morning sun turns to moon, and Miya Atsumu may have closed shop with a smile on his face.

Work goes on as normal without anything out of the ordinary happening. Atsumu wakes up, drinks cold water, fixes his appearance for longer than necessary, and makes his way to work. 

Working with Sakusa has slowly become a routine that Atsumu looks forward to. He’s not one for things to always stay the same, but he does enjoy the things in his life that do stay consistent. Walk into the shop, greet everyone, and make his way into the kitchen to prepare the pastries with Sakusa nearby. Though conversation doesn’t occur as much in the kitchen during busy moments, Atsumu does poke around when the bustle of outside quietens. And it’s usually moments such as these that ideas primarily begin to stir.

“Omi-kun, that’s genius. Seal-shaped mochi?”

The idea is fantastic. The appeal for kids can bring in parents, but the overall cuteness of the mochi can make for widespread pictures people can post to rack up customer levels. Not only that, but it wasn’t significantly harder to make than their regular mochi.

“When yer free, talk to Meian ‘bout it. We can add it to the menu,” Atsumu says.

Sakusa’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Really?”

“Good ideas deserve recognition, Omi-kun.” Atsumu smiles.

“Well… thank you.”

“Thank yer brain, Omi. It’s big and wrinkly for comin’ up with such an idea.”

“I take back what I said. Did you just call my brain ‘big and wrinkly’?”

“Yeeep. Just like a raisin.” Atsumu lights up. “Actually, we have a raisin and walnut loaf on our menu.”

“Please don’t–”

“Guess you can call it ‘Omi Loaf,’ ain’t that right?”

“God…” Sakusa frowns. “Stop talking.”

“I have an enigma of a mind, Omi-kun. The world has yet to be enlightened by my thoughts.”

“I’m never enlightened with you.”

“But Omi,” Atsumu whines. 

But before he could say any more, the double doors open and a voice calls his name.

“What’s up, boss?”

“Can you come here for a moment?” Meian asks, gesturing with his head to move out of the kitchen. 

“Way to go, Atsumu-san!” Hinata says. 

Atsumu pulls his brows together. Way to go? Way to go for what? Everytime Meian pulls him out of the kitchen he’s either in trouble or in need of assistance.

Atsumu follows Meian near the office near the kitchen, fiddling with his apron, and waits.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Meian says.

Oh god, he’s not about to be fired, is he? What was the last thing he did wrong? Atsumu’s brain racks through any memory that could potentially result in him with a box in his hands and an apron left on the table. Maybe he should stop calling Meian ‘boss’ for awhile and—

“I want you to represent Panzuki for the Tanabata Festival.”

Atsumu jerks his head forward. “What now?”

“The Tanabata Festival decided for local bakeries to compete as their new event this year. I want you to represent Panzuki,” Meian explains.

Hinata’s words suddenly make sense and any lingering thoughts of being fired disappear.

“Shit, I mean–” Atsumu huffs out a laugh, brain finally catching up, “of course I wanna compete! No question there.”

Meian throws him a grin. “I’m relieved. The moment I heard, you were probably the one willing to do it the most.”

“Ya know me so well, boss,” Atsumu says, throwing in the nickname now that he’s in the safe zone.

“Meian. But there is something you have to know.”

Atsumu tilts his head. “What is it?”

Were there limitations on what type of dessert you could do? A difficult theme? Maybe there was a twist he had to watch out for near the end–

“You need a partner for this competition.”

Atsumu lets out an ‘ohh.’ He didn’t expect that, but it seems simple enough.

“A partner?”

“It’s a partner-based competition because of Tanabata. Do you know the story between Vega and Altair?”

Atsumu hums. “The two stars in the sky? Not much.”

Two star-crossed lovers were banished into the night sky as punishment, but that’s all he really knows.

“Well, that’s what they’re going for. Just to make sure, I asked everyone in the shop beforehand if they’re willing to participate with you.”

Atsumu eyebrows raise slightly. “What’d they say?”

“What do you mean what they’d say? Of course they’re willing to,” Meian laughs. “I won’t rush you, but it’d be good to get started on brainstorming as soon as possible since the competition is in a month. Do you have any idea who you might want to work with?”

Atsumu purses his lips, tongue jutting out as he thinks. 

A partner, huh? Atsumu’s brain runs a mile a minute, weighing the pros and cons of who could possibly be working with him for a month. Though Bokuto or Hinata seem like an obvious choice, given their respective energies, Atsumu wonders if it’ll be… too easy. They usually have similar ideas, but Atsumu also wants something new. Something different to work with. Someone different to—

Omi.

“Atsumu? Are you—“

“Omi. I want to work with Omi-kun.”

“No fuckin’ way.” 

“I know.”

“Yer an idiot.”

“I know.”

“Can’t believe we’re related–”

“Fuck off, ‘Samu, I get it! His name just… slipped outta my lips!” Atsumu shouts.

Atsumu lays his head atop the wooden counter, mindlessly tracing his fingers on the patterns as he mulls over the memory. He’s not sure if he’s excited or anxious. The churning in his stomach won’t seem to let on which of the two he’s actually feeling.

“Who would’ve known you’d wanna be partners with him?” Osamu says before turning his head and lowering his gaze, hat tilting downwards in a mocking gesture, “Oh, right. Me. I told you the two of you would get along.”

“Eat a dick,” says Atsumu. 

“Already do.”

It takes every cell in Atsumu’s body not to strangle Osamu from across the table. It’s a daily mental exercise he practices everyday to no fail. 

By the time Atsumu has successfully prevented himself from murder, he hears ice clink inside glass. He looks up and sees Osamu moving closer and placing a cup of water near him, one Atsumu takes immediately to chug. It’s cold and freezing and battles the heat settling under his skin. Whether the heat is from Osamu clowning him or the impulsivity of choosing a partner, it does well to calm him down.

“What was his reaction when he found out yer gonna be partners?”

Atsumu surprises himself with the snicker that comes from his mouth. “I thought his eyes were gonna pop outta his skull.”

Atsunu had never seen such a shocked expression. Sakusa’s eyes were wider than ever, eyebrows raised so high Atsumu wondered if they would disappear into his hairline. Though Meian did say that everyone was willing to participate, Sakusa probably thought he was the last choice.

“You… chose me out of everyone … to be your partner?”

“Pretty sure that’s what I said just now, Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawled. Then, he paused. “Unless ya really don’t want to. I won’t force ya.”

As much as Atsumu had taken a liking to pushing Sakusa’s buttons, he’d hate for the experience to be a negative one for the two of them. Making food for others should, in Atsumu’s opinion, be positive. 

Sakusa, to Atsumu’s surprise, shook his head. “I want to do the competition, believe it or not. I just didn’t expect it.”

A smile stretched across Atsumu’s face. “My gut can tell a great partner from a mile away, Omi.”

”Don’t talk about your organs.”

”Feel free to rearrange them.”

”Jesus.” Sakusa sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world’s worst occurrences spilled with a single exhale. “I’m heading back to the kitchen, Miya.”

“Wait!”

Sakusa narrowed his eyes, lips tugged to form a frown. “What?”

“Since ya just agreed to work with me, we need a good mode of communication, don’t ya think?”

“Yes. Our job.”

“No, Omi-kun,” Atsumu whined, “I need yer number.”

A wave of despair colors Sakusa’s face.

“What’s got ya lookin’ so terrified?” Atsumu cackled. “What’s the worst I could do?”

He could definitely think of the worst things he could do. Random screenshots of a funny image online, nonsensical ten second videos, and the occasional existential question all sent sporadically throughout the day. If Atsumu sent him a five second video of a cat screaming and a whole plethora of other pointless animal videos, he’d be face to face with a big, fat you’ve been blocked screen staring back at him. Knowing Sakusa, those would be high on his list of ‘worst things Miya Atsumu could do.’

“The worst you could do?” Sakusa said, “Harass me. You have a solid history of doing that, don’t you think?”

“Sharin’ my love of humor and laughs is nothin’ close to harassment, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa clicked his tongue. “Anything that has to do with you is some form of emotional or physical damage.”

“Oh yeah? What if I sent ya a cat video? Do felines induce damage to ya?”

“Since you sent it, I’d assume some damage.”

Atsumu snorted. “Well, if it makes ya feel better, I’ll limit how much I send. How about two videos and we’ll work our way up?”

Sakusa huffed and, instead of answering, took out a pen from his breast pocket. He took a piece of tissue from the table and began scribbling. Before Atsumu could say anything, Sakusa was already looking back up, hastily handing over the tissue and shoving the pen back in his pocket.

Atsumu stared at the tissue in his hands, a series of numbers splayed neatly despite the haphazard fashion of Sakusa’s hand moving across the material.

“I prefer dogs,” is all Sakusa said before he turned to leave.

Things are going well. That is, Atsumu has sent two dog videos and he has not been blocked yet. His next order of business is to spur a response from Sakusa that doesn’t relate to work, but that’s a mission for another time.

omi!

what’d’ya think of the dog?

Read 8:26 PM

omiiiiiiii

i thought ya said ya liked dogs :[

Read 8:38 PM

omg omi!!

i have an idea where to go for some inspiration!!!

just to get some initial ideas ya know?

are ya available this sunday around 3?

Yes. Where is it?

a response?!?!?! :0

it’s a secret…

Just tell me, Miya.

no! i wanna keep ya on your toes

The text bubble ceases and Atsumu can almost hear Sakusa sighing through the phone screen. A small smile escapes his lips at the thought. When he doesn’t get a response, he scrolls up, about to leave the app, until he hears a notification alert. 

Fine. Where do we meet?

Read 9:17 PM

Atsumu sits up and immediately taps away on the screen, pressing a little too roughly on the send button.

Panzuki! it’ll be easy for both of us

AND it’s close to where we’re gonna go

also, wear comfy clothes

it might be a little cold!

Alright, then.

:] !!

Read 9:20 PM

Atsumu takes one more look at the messages, fingers running across the screen, and exits the app. There’s a thrum in his chest and he’s not quite sure what it is. Not sure whether it’s good, bad, or all in between.

But there’s a smile on his face and maybe that’s okay.

Come Sunday afternoon, Atsumu is dressed in a white shirt and jeans, a thin track jacket hanging loosely from his arm. He tucks his wallet in his pocket and double checks his phone to make sure he has all he needs. Atsumu takes one more look at the mirror, winks like an idiot, and closes the door behind him. 

The walk to Panzuki isn’t far. It’s around ten minutes if it were a regular day, less than if he was in a hurry, so Atsumu basks in the scenery as he walks. The sun is peeking from a building and the trees are neatly trimmed as he walks along the sidewalk path. He’s glad his apartment is close to work. The commute is easy and the view isn’t terrible in the slightest.

A jingle echoes in the air and Atsumu looks up. Right across from him, he notices a dog padding along with its owner. It’s large and tall with pointy ears, brown marks atop its eyes nearly shaped like eyebrows. Atsumu stops.

It looks just like Sakusa. Tall, dark, and keeps to itself… The resemblance is uncanny. Even the way the eyebrows pulled together like a frown made it all the more believable. 

The owner and dog turn to the right, walking inside a small apartment complex. Upon hearing the door click closed, Atsumu continues.

He wonders if Sakusa lives nearby, as well. There were many apartments for rent around his place and considering how Sakusa had just moved, it wasn’t all that unlikely he lived close to Atsumu.

Atsumu hums at the thought. Even if Sakusa did leave nearby, Atsumu doubts he’d ever be invited to his home. Pigs could fly, hell could freeze over… the impossible could occur and Sakusa still wouldn’t as much as let Atsumu know where he lives.

He reaches the storefront of Panzuki to find Sakusa already there. He’s standing up in a casual dress shirt and black mask, dark jeans shifting as he pulls out his phone. Sakusa hasn’t noticed him yet, and Atsumu is thankful for the few seconds to admire him.

But of course, the moment is brief and Atsumu continues to walk. 

“Omi!” He waves.

Sakusa glances up and bows his head slightly. 

“Ya ready to go?”

Sakusa nods. “For the most part.”

“What’s the least part?” Atsumu asks.

“Depending where we go, you might find out.”

“Ooh, how cryptic,” Atsumu grins. “I like me a mysterious ol’ time. It keeps the brain runnin’ and the adrenaline pumpin’.”

“Don’t blow a fuse now. The mystery might not be as interesting as you expect.”

“Anything can be interesting. S’all about perspective,” Atsumu says, gesturing towards his eyes. “It’s how I get a bunch o’ my ideas for the shop.”

They make their way to the train station. Atsumu notices Sakusa is following slightly behind. 

“What ya doin’ back there? C’mon,” Atsumu smiles. He tilts his head to the side, motioning for Sakusa to take his place next to him.

“Well, I’m not exactly sure where we’re going…”

“So yer lettin’ me lead the way?”

Sakusa nods. 

“That’s no fun, Omi–”

“Sakusa.”

“–Sakusa Omi-kun. It’s no fun if I do all the work, even if it’s just takin’ ya to our destination.” 

Atsumu pauses in his step, letting Sakusa catch up before starting again. 

“Walk with me and we’ll figure it out together,” Atsumu says.

“Even though you already know where to go?”

“I can always get lost.”

“Of course you can.” Sakusa sighs.

Talking with Sakusa feels easy. The words spill from Atsumu’s lips and before he knows it, he’s talking about late night shenanigans with Osamu, failed concoctions in the kitchen, and how red beans are heaven sent. To his surprise—and delight—Sakusa talks, too. Talks of how taro is on par with red beans, of how his parents are overseas, and of his job back in Tokyo.

“You’re from Itachiyama?” Atsumu gapes. “Their pastries are crazy good, Omi! What made ya wanna come to Panzuki, anyway?”

They turn a corner, Atsumu checking his phone to make sure they’re headed the right direction, and in approximately two steps and one kicked stone, Sakusa continues to speak.

“I heard Panzuki experiments a lot, but still maintains many traditional treats,” Sakusa says. “I found it interesting. I thought I’d grow and learn more here.”

“Well, Omi,” Atsumu says, a halt in his step, turning to face Sakusa who also stops. “You’re definitely gonna learn a lot. Why don’t we start here?”

Atsumu gestures to the large, white building in front of them. Swirls of blues, purples, and pinks decorate the walls and a splatter of stars litter across the wide dome pointing to the sky.

“A planetarium,” Sakusa mumbles.

“That’s right, Omi. Now, have ya ever heard the story of Vega and Altair?”

“Only briefly.”

“We’re in the same boat, then. Let’s get learnin’ and work these brains of ours, huh?”

They walk towards the entrance, an arched entryway adorned with leaves and golden stars, and a cool breeze blows against their bodies as they step inside. The walls are dark blue with glowing planets and a white box of facts is displayed underneath each picture. A mini playground is set to the corner, a handful of children hiding and running around plastic asteroids and satellites.

“Welcome. How may I help you?” A woman with two pigtails greets behind a counter. Upon her bow, Atsumu notices two small stars bobby pinned to her hair. 

“We’re here for the Tanabata viewing,” Atsumu says all the while ushering Sakusa closer and showing his tickets. “Can ya show us where it is?”

The woman scans the tickets and nods, smiling as she guides them through the building. It’s predominantly dark, but the decorative stars and planets litter the ceiling in soft light. They reach a double door with a small poster displaying the ‘Summer Triangle’ and the woman wishes for them to enjoy. Atsumu opens the door and he’s greeted with a white dome encircling the ceiling, a handful of families and couples strewn across the seats. 

“Let’s go here, Omi,” Atsumu whispers, gesturing towards two empty seats near the back, “Don’t wanna strain our necks too much, ya know?”

Sakusa simply nods, but when Atsumu seats himself down, he notices Sakusa is still standing.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

Sakusa opens his mouth, but he’s quick to close it. Instead, he digs around his back pocket and pulls out a … a crinkled package? When Sakusa opens the package, it’s then Atsumu realizes Sakusa is holding wipes. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, watching as Sakusa carefully unravels the material and wipes dutifully around the chair, reaching even among the hard to reach crevices of the handles. Atsumu’s too in awe to respond, even as Sakusa throws away the wipes and sits down.

Sakusa avoids Atsumu’s gaze, opting to look at the blank white dome above them. “That’s the least part,” Sakusa murmurs. 

It takes Atsumu a minute, but the realization settles and his eyes widen in understanding. “Ohh,” Atsumu can only mumble. Then, he rubs a hand across his neck. “Shit, sorry.”

Sakusa looks at him, pauses for a moment, and opens his mouth. “Why?”

“I probably shouldn't have kept it a surprise? Then you could’ve prepared for it.”

Atsumu was caught up in trying to make the trip fun for Sakusa, but it’s now he remembers he doesn’t really know much about the other man. He wasn’t a friend Atsumu could drag along Osaka without much consequence. Now that he thinks about it, all the wipes, excess hand sanitizer, and even the much too long hand washing routine should’ve been something he noticed.

Sakusa raises his brows slightly, but dismisses him with a small shrug. “If it truly bothered me, I would’ve kept asking where we would be going.”

Atsumu nods,the sudden, unwanted feelings settling in his chest. He’s not sure where it comes from, but it leaves him in a slightly quieter mood than before. 

“Don’t stress too much about it,” Sakusa says. “The show is starting.”

Atsumu opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans back and watches the room dim and the bright dome turn black. A woman’s voice is playing from the speaker and the ceiling starts to explode in shades of blue, purple, and pink.

“Celestial goddess fallin’ in love with a human,” Atsumu mutters after the first act, “Say, Omi, sounds like a modern love story, don’t ya think?”

“That’s probably why it’s so popular.”

Atsumu hums. Probably. Anything that had to do with forbidden love often caught people’s attention and Atsumu was no exception. He can imagine all the drama that occurs within the storylines and, in all honesty, it piqued his interest. 

That’s most likely why he shuffles in his seat, enraptured as Vega’s father thunders across the galaxy and banishes her and Altair to the ocean of purple and blue painting the room. The narrator’s voice turns solemn as she retells the two lovers immortalized in the stars, separated. Atsumu can hear the children ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ as the stars twinkle brightly. He lets out a soft sigh of wonder as the galaxy shifts and displays the Milky Way strewn about with the fervor of a strong river. The narrator’s voice becomes more hopeful, saying that on the seventh night of the seventh moon each year, Altair would cross the magpies that laid upon the Milky Way to reach Vega. 

Then, a boom echoes through the room and Atsumu flinches. Partly because of the loud noise, but also because of the hand accidentally bumping into his. It’s a small and minimal touch, one that’s nearly nonexistent, but it leaves a skip in his heart and a warmth crawling up his face. 

The trip harbored many dangers, the Milky Way moving and twisting like an endless river, and there were days Altair failed to meet Vega. The galaxy becomes brighter and the room is taken back to earth. Rain begins to fall and Atsumu thinks the droplets of rain resembled that of stars. In years where Altair doesn’t make the trip, raindrops would fall on the day of Tanabata to reflect Vega’s tears. 

Before he knows it, the lights gradually brighten and Atsumu sits back up, an exhale leaving his lips. He turns to Sakusa who is still looking at the ceiling. 

“What’d’ya think?” Atsumu whispers, trying not to startle Sakusa too much as he sits up on his seat. 

“It was interesting. I liked it,” Sakusa says, mirroring Atsumu’s volume.

“Me too. Maybe ‘cause it was so heart-wrenchin’, ya think?”

“I don’t doubt it. They’re separated forever.” 

“Her father was pretty cruel for doin’ that.” Atsumu sighs, stretching his arms and legs on the leather seats. 

Sakusa nods. “At least they can still see each other.”

Atsumu hums. There was that, but an eternity of waiting, longing, and times where you can’t even see each other? Atsumu’s not sure if he could handle it.

“Do ya think you’d be satisfied with meetin’ someone ya love only once or every few years?” The question leaves Atsumu’s mouth before he could catch himself. He expects Sakusa to brush off the question or give a half-assed response, but to Atsumu’s surprise, Sakusa seems to give the question some thought. 

“I don't think I’d be satisfied,” Sakusa starts slowly, “but it’s something.”

The people around them are getting ready to leave, but Atsumu stays put.

“Somethin’ is better than nothin’, huh?” Atsumu asks. 

“They both know someone’s there for them so… I think that’s good,” Sakusa says.

Once the lights have fully turned on, the sound of seats bumping against the backrest, everyone begins trickling out the double doors. Sakusa is the first to sit up, body relaxing slightly once he’s away from the chair, and Atsumu follows behind. 

“To be honest,” Atsumu starts as they walk out the hallway, “this is only the second time I’ve been to a planetarium. First was with my brother for some field trip at school. I forgot how pretty it was.”

Sakusa rounds a corner and they’re met with a gift shop. Atsumu motions his head for them to go inside. 

“This is my first time,” Sakusa says as he looks at stuffed toys in the shape of planets and stars and moons. There’s a few pieces of jewelry hanging to the side in their own section. 

A small grin escapes Atsumu’s face. “Ooh, so I’m your first to a planetarium, huh?”

Sakusa sighs. “Regrettably.”

“How was the ‘Miya Atsumu Experience’?” Atsumu asks, walking around to look at the other items in the store. It’s a small store, and despite moving around, he can still hear Sakusa clearly. 

“He talked too much and I thought we would get lost,” Sakusa says. 

“Yer gonna put a dent in my reviews, Omi-kun.” Atsumu frowns, placing a hand over his chest.

“He also doesn’t call me by my proper name,” Sakusa adds. 

“My nicknames are to help my clients feel close.” Atsumu defends. “It amps up the experience.”

“I feel sorry for your other clients, Miya.”

“Okay, you definitely called me ‘Miya’ to rub it in my face.”

“I just call people by their proper name, Miya.”

Atsumu doesn’t realize he’s smiling until his eyes lock onto a small mirror. His attention is diverted, however, when he catches sight of space rocks and crystals on top of a Milky Way.

“Hey Omi, c’mere real quick.”

Sakusa makes his way to Atsumu’s side and peers down the small decorations Atsumu is pointing towards. 

“Ya thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Atsumu asks, picking up a few crystals.

Sakusa hums. “I believe so.”

Atsumu digs around his pockets and pulls out his sticky note and pen. He quickly writes down a few bullet points and an address. Atsumu shows Sakusa his notes and receives a nod.

“I’d say this was a success,” Atsumu huffs out in pride. “Well, it gave us a few ideas at best.”

“Something is better than nothing.”

Atsumu raises his brows. “Oh? Where did ya learn that, hm?”

Sakusa pretends to think. “The ‘Miya Experience,’” he says.

“You forgot a name there.”

“Hm, I don’t think so.”

Atsumu places the notes back in his pocket, grins, and walks out the gift shop with Sakusa by his side and ideas swirling in his head.

It’s been a few days since their viewing of the planetarium and Atsumu’s currently kneading the last set of tomorrow morning’s dough. It’s only six and they don’t close for another half hour, but a fifth yawn is already escaping his throat. 

Today was nothing short of exhausting. There were days so slow Atsumu would be finished with the day’s prep work hours before closing, cleaning and rearranging the same chairs and tables as he waits for a single customer to walk through the doors. Other days he’d be speed-walking through the entire store, voice hoarse as he relays what’s left in stock and arms aching as he prepares more mochi because they ran out midway through the day.

Today was the latter.

The afternoon was the worst. Panzuki’s location isn’t always the busiest, but it does have its moments where people line up outside the door. Usually it occurs during their seasonal specials, but today, it was a tourist group filling the cafe to the brim, holding cameras and speaking languages he couldn’t decipher at all. Couple Atsumu asking customers multiple times what they need and running around the kitchen to prepare more batches, his body was killing him, aching and sore in every joint and brain incapable of thinking anything except ‘Can ya repeat that?’

Atsumu places the last batch of dough onto the tray and puts it away. He quickly washes his hands and joins Bokuto who lays face down on the countertop. 

“Bokkun… I can’t move my legs anymore,” Atsumu mumbles into the countertop. 

Bokuto doesn’t respond. Atsumu turns his head to the side, cheek squishing onto the table, and notices Bokuto is asleep. He sighs, the warmth of his breath lightly fogging up the counter. 

Then, a wet rag falls to the table right next to his face. Atsumu immediately sits up, head spinning at the speed he moves. When he looks towards the direction of the thrower, he’s met with Sakusa's frown. 

“If you want to leave, you shouldn’t dirty the table with your face, Miya,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu groans. “Throw me a bone. If I keep movin’, my limbs are gonna fall off.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes and heads to store the leftover pastries. 

Atsumu taps Bokuto on the shoulder. “Bokkun. Bokkun, wake up. It’s closin’ time.”

Bokuto lets out a snore and Atsumu is quick to stifle the snort rising in his throat. He shakes Bokuto’s shoulder this time, a louder ‘Bokkun’ leaving his mouth. It works, barely though, with the way Bokuto squints his eyes as he looks at Atsumu.

“Wake up sleepyhead, we gotta go,” Atsumu says.

“Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto slurs, lips moving against the table, “sorry, but can you get my stuff from the break room? Can’t move.”

“Yeah, yeah, ya big baby.” Atsumu pats Bokuto’s back. If anything, Bokuto should be the one going home as soon as possible. He was lugging sacks of flour in and out the building and was the forefront of kneading the majority of the dough. Atsumu’s surprised his hands haven’t ripped off yet, but one look at Bokuto’s biceps and Atsumu can see why.

Atsumu walks to the employee break room. Well, more like supply closet. Panzuki was a bit on the smaller side and the break room only consisted of lockers and water bottles. Atsumu doesn’t mind—he never goes in there anyway, lest it’s for water or the bag he brings to work—but on days like this, he wishes there was a couch for him to crash on.

He opens Bokuto’s locker and he’s met with a large black bag. He pokes his head out the door. “Bokkun! This big bag all yours?”

Atsumu hears a faint noise of agreement and he grunts. He grabs the bag by the straps and lugs it over his shoulder, quickly opening his own locker to snatch his bag and leave the room. 

“Where ya goin’ with this beast of a bag?” Atsumu asks. “This thing’s heavier than the rice flour we got.”

“I’m taking a quick trip with Keiji and we’re leaving today,” Bokuto says. His voice is on the quieter side, but it still carries a hint of his excitement. “I’m waiting for him to pick me up.”

Atsumu lets out an ‘ooh’ and settles the bag on Bokuto’s side. He takes the wet rag from the table and does a quick once-over through the kitchen, crossing off each item in his mental checklist. It’s easy, somewhat mindless work, one Atsumu’s been used to ever since he got the hang of things. By the time he’s finished, he’s waving goodbye to Meian, Bokuto, and Sakusa and sauntering back home. 

A grand total of seven yawns have escaped Atsumu’s mouth the moment he twists his keys in the doorknob to his apartment door.  He’s quick to lob his bag across the table and flop onto the couch. He turns his head to face the clock, the bright red numbers telling Atsumu it was already seven and still quite too early—for him anyway—to knock out and wake up to a new day.

Atsumu sits up, stretching his arms and blinking his eyes. He should probably check what he needs to do by tomorrow. On days like these, it’s always tempting to skip his shower and curl into the comforter of his bed, scrolling through whatever videos he finds on the internet until he falls asleep. Thinking about it brings a new wave of exhaustion deep into Atsumu’s bones and he pulls up his phone to check his notes. 

“Give ‘Samu new samples, prepare dough for tomorrow…” he murmurs, checking off the finished items on his to-do list. “Shit, it’s my turn to contact the supplier.”

Atsumu heaves himself off the couch to reach for his bag. Usually Meian is in charge of contacting their supplier, but every once in a while, the employees switch around to ordering more stock. Today is Atsumu’s turn, much to his dismay, and he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and shut down his brain. He’s unzipping his bag and he can already feel the soft, cool sheets on his skin and the leisure of playing on his phone.

The thoughts are a welcome distraction, because for some reason, his bag is emptier than usual. His hands dig deeper, but all he can find is a spare shirt, powerbank, and notepad. 

“What the hell?” Atsumu says, slightly breathless. He turns his bag upside down and shakes it, the sound of his fox and volleyball keychain ringing in the empty apartment, but not a single item falls from the opening. 

Atsumu lets out a shaky breath.

His wallet is gone. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Atsumu mutters, hands dropping the bag with a thump. He’s supposed to order the new shipment of supplies by today with the store’s business card… if only he had the business card to do it! 

Atsumu buries his face in his hands, exhaustion long gone and replaced with dread. It’s one thing to lose the business card, but he lost his entire fucking wallet! He can freeze his cards, right? That exists? Where could he have even dropped it? Was he too rough with his bag? It wasn’t the sturdiest, so it’s not entirely impossible that it could’ve slipped out. Shit, how long was it open, then? His stomach hurts and he feels like going to the toilet.

Any and every scenario losing his wallet floods Atsumu’s brain. He’s spiraling and he doesn’t notice the vibration of his phone on the coffee table until he’s looking up. 

Losing his wallet and being unable to contact the supplier is a surprise in itself. One that undeniably sucks ass. But a bigger surprise is Sakusa’s caller ID plastered on his phone screen. This time, Atsumu can only hope this surprise doesn’t suck ass.

He presses the green button. “Omi?”

“Did you lose something?”

Atsumu sits up abruptly. “Holy shit, how didja know?”

“There’s a picture of you and someone who looks exactly like you in the front of this wallet,” Sakusa says.

“Oh my god, yeah, that’s mine! Where’d ya find it?”

“It was in the break room near the lockers.”

Atsumu could almost feel a lightbulb sprouting from his head, the memory of heaving Bokuto’s bag clear as day in his mind.

“No wonder. Fuck—um…” Atsumu stumbles. He groans. “Sorry to ask, but do you think you can give it to me? I gotta order some stuff for the shop by tonight.”

A sigh on the other line. “I’m outside Panzuki. Do you live far?”

“No, around ten minutes tops. I can meet ya outside my place. Lemme send the address,” Atsumu says, thumbs already flying across the keyboard and pressing the send button in record time. 

Sakusa reads the message, but silence befalls the other side of the line. A few seconds too long pass and Atsumu checks the phone call. Sakusa’s caller ID is still there.

“Hello? Omi?”

“Your apartment complex is right next to mine.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows shoot so far up his head he wonders if they disappeared. “Does that mean I can visit ya anytime?”

“Never go to my place.” From Sakusa’s tone, Atsumu can clearly picture the frown settled on his face. “I’ll be there soon.”

The call clicks and an overwhelming sense of relief floods Atsumu’s body. He cleans up his bag and places the items back inside. He’s about to leave when he catches sight of his fridge. In a split decision, he grabs a small box and heads downstairs to wait outside.

A few minutes pass and after a quick check on his to-do list—the supplier issue is the last one for today—he sees Sakusa walking towards him.

“Omi!” Atsumu waves. 

Despite the mask covering his face, Atsumu can tell Sakusa was frowning, with the way his brows were downturned and his eyes were squinting. Atsumu walks closer. Sakusa doesn’t say anything, only digs in his pocket and pulls out a worn brown wallet with a small faded fox in the corner. Surely enough, an image of Atsumu and Osamu is in the front pocket, the two of them posing for the opening of Onigiri Miya. Atsumu opens the wallet and right in the back is the store’s business card, safe and snug. 

“Ya saved my life, Omi.” Atsumu sighs in relief. “I could kiss ya right now.”

“Please don’t.”

Atsumu looks up from the wallet and exhales any lingering adrenaline in his body. “Seriously, thank you and sorry you had to drop it off. Ya saved me from a shit ton of trouble, though.”

“It’s fine. At least it wasn’t far.”

“Yer right. Who knew yer place is just ‘round the corner? You sure you don’t wanna invite me over?” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows.

“I already told you to never go to my place, Miya.”

“At least call me ‘Atsumu’? It wouldn’t kill ya.”

“Oh, it would.”

Atsumu sighs. “I admit defeat…” Then he raises his head and points with a determined smile. “… but only for today.”

Atsumu runs a finger across the image on his wallet. He’d never admit it, but he was more worried about losing the picture compared to the business card. There was a doodle of a rice ball platter with their favorites made by Osamu and Suna splayed on the back of the picture, and as silly as it was, he couldn’t bear to lose it; It was his only copy.

“Your brother’s restaurant?” Atsumu hears from Sakusa.

“Best rice balls in Japan,” he says, chest swelling with pride. “You ever been? Bokkun talked about it one time.”

“Not yet, but it did interest me. I saw they had pickled plum filling.”

“Ooh, ya like sour stuff, Omi?” Atsumu asks.

“I won’t tell you.”

“We already made it this far in the conversation. A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Atsumu tempts.

Sakusa looks at him for a moment before sighing. “Yes,” he relents.

“Look at yer character development, huh?” A languid smile tugs at Atsumu’s lips. “Knew I could pull it out of ya.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I’m leaving.”

Atsumu lets out a ‘boo’ but the smile stays on. “Oh, wait!” 

Sakusa turns around. “What is it?”

“This is for you.” Atsumu thrusts out the small box to Sakusa. “Daifuku I made at home.” 

Sakusa stares at the box, confused. “Why?”

“For comin’ all this way. C’mon Omi, I thought you were smart.” Atsumu laughs. “There should be three left.”

Sakusa takes the box, thumb running across the creases, and opens it. He stares at them for a moment, eyes looking to Atsumu, then the box, then back up to Atsumu. “There’s five left.”

“Really?” Atsumu peers over, looking inside and, just as Sakusa said, there’s two extra pink treats inside. He hums. “Take it.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“Consider it me givin’ ya that extra daifuku I had when we first met, yeah?” Atsumu smiles. 

Sakusa opens his mouth, but is quick to close it. Instead he opts for a nod and a small, “Thank you.”

“Gratitude is a nice look on ya, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa snorts. “I take it back.”

Atsumu laughs, smiling even wider when he notices Sakusa’s lip twitch upwards. “Thanks again, too,” Atsumu says softly this time. “See ya tomorrow!”

Sakusa looks at him, eyes trained on Atsumu’s in a quiet reverence before saying, just as softly, “See you tomorrow.”

Sakusa gives a small wave, rounding the corner away to his own apartment in steady steps like he’d never dropped off Atsumu’s wallet. Atsumu makes his way back upstairs and contacts the supplier in record time, right before the eight o’clock deadline. He runs through a quick shower and changes to a large shirt and shorts and splays himself starfish on the bed. His phone is right above his face and he’s scrolling through the videos on his feed, the occasional cooking or volleyball video popping on his timeline. 

His eyelids are heavy and he’s about to fall asleep until he sees a flash of fur cross his screen. Opening his eyes a little wider, he taps the video. On the screen is a retriever of some sort, large but with a black, curly coat. It had a wallet in its mouth, placing it on a couch and laying down to sleep.

Atsumu chuckles. He sends the link to Sakusa.

he’s just like you >:]

Delivered

Atsumu doesn’t expect it to be read, much less garner a response, so he’s quick to leave the messaging app and back to scrolling. The dim light of his room is lulling him back to sleep and he’s losing grip in his hand.

Then, a notification pops up at the top of his screen.

He might be imagining it, considering how he’s on the cusp of sleep and consciousness, but it stands bright and clear to be read for tomorrow.

Sakusa Kiyoomi reacted ♡ to your attachment.

Atsumu was always told he had a hyperactive imagination.

When their mom was late to pick them up from school, he cried to Osamu saying she probably got abducted by the vegetables he didn’t eat from last night. Osamu told him if she was to get abducted, it would at least be aliens and not the bell peppers from their fridge. During midnight horror movie reruns, Osamu would tell him—in a shaky voice, mind you—the lights were flickering because of the storm outside and not the ghost from the TV. In their first year of high school, he was met with Suna staring at him and Osamu every time they were in the same room. Atsumu thought Suna must’ve been planning their downfall, but turns out Suna just needed glasses and couldn’t tell the twins apart. 

Common sense isn’t Atsumu’s forte. His mind didn’t always go to the most sensible scenario, but it did provide him with more than one fun memory. So, truly, whether it was realistic or not, Atsumu imagined a lot.

Maybe that’s why he’s imagining that he’s getting closer to Sakusa.

“Do I really look like a guy who likes sweet stuff, Omi?” Atsumu asks.

“Yes,” Sakusa says, eyes not once leaving the ground. He’s mopping the floor and it’s almost like he’s purposefully trying not to look at Atsumu.

Atsumu sighs as he finishes drying the last few trays. “That’s what everyone thinks! I may be a baker, but that doesn’t mean I like stuff that tastes like a bajillion sacks o’ sugar.”

Is it his looks? Does blonde hair have anything to do with liking sweet treats? Maybe he should run a social experiment and dye his hair back to brown. 

“What about you, Omi? How d’ya feel about sweet stuff?”

Sakusa finishes cleaning the last area of the kitchen and places the mop back, taking off his gloves and shucking them into the trashcan. He looks at Atsumu. “I quite like it.”

Atsumu nods. “M’not surprised. I mean, if yer a baker, ya gotta have some type of thing with sugar. But I can’t tell ya the amount of times people give me the sweetest shit thinkin’ I’d like it, ya know?”

“Well, did you?”

“I mean—yes, it’s good. But ya know when ya eat something so sweet, so strong yer body kinda…” Atsumu pretends to shiver, eyes squeezing shut as he sticks his tongue out in a frown. “Ya picking up what I’m putting down?” 

Sakusa scoffs, but he nods anyway. “I’m picking it up.”

“Exactly!” Atsumu exclaims. “Usually I give it to Sunarin—my brother’s boyfriend—because he can eat all o’ it without as much as blinkin’. He ate this ice cream inside a cotton candy without stoppin’ once.” He sighs. “Speakin’ o’ which, it’s kinda makin’ me hungry, even though the thought of it makes me gag.”

“I hate to admit it, but I am hungry, as well,” Sakusa says. Atsumu nods. He’s not surprised. Today was on the busier side and Sakusa was stuck in the kitchen rolling out dough after dough. 

Atsumu finishes up jotting down everything that’s been done and heads to clock out. Meian is scribbling something down on a clipboard and talking to Barnes and Inunaki about the shop’s shipment—Atsumu mentally thanks Sakusa for the hundredth time—and Hinata is waving them goodbye. 

“Boss, I’m headin’ out—”

“Agh!”

Atsumu pauses in his step, hands about to push the double doors when Hinata comes barreling through, shirt wet and hair less fluffy than usual. “Sorry, Atsumu-san! I didn’t realize it was raining outside.”

“Raining?”

Atsumu walks through the double doors and to the exit and, sure enough, droplets of rain drip from the roof and spatter onto the ground. It’s not too heavy, but with the wind rustling through the trees and flowers, it looks like it’s getting stronger. Atsumu sighs. “Shit.”

He didn’t bring an umbrella and he was supposed to drop by—

Actually…

“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu turns, lightbulb popping above his head. “Yer hungry, right?”

Sakusa squints, suspicious. “Yes, why?”

“Yer lookin’ at me like I’m ‘bout to do somethin’ bad.”

“With you, that’s always a possibility,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu grins. “Want some rice balls?”

They made it to Onigiri Miya just in time before the rain started getting heavier. It’s then Atsumu is reminded how lucky he is that the shop isn’t far from Panzuki. It made for frequent trips without too much cost and sore feet.

If he was being honest, Atsumu didn’t expect Sakusa to come with him. However, after some convincing and a picture of Osamu’s pickled plum special then Sakusa was sold.

It was nearly closing time and Suna was cleaning up the tables on the side while Osamu was shaping rice balls. 

“So, Omi-kun,” Atsumu starts, trying to ignore the shitty smile about to spread on Osamu’s face, “what got ya into bakin’?”

“Ah, so you invited me for some small talk, Miya?” Sakusa asks.

Atsumu ignores the cut-off snort from Suna behind him. He’s also pretty sure Osamu isn’t shaking from pressing the rice ball, that is, with how he’s facing away and his lips are upturned.

“Oh, definitely. I was thinkin’ about the weather next, if ya don’t mind,” he drawls.

Sakusa huffs out a laugh. “I just like sweets.”

Atsumu snorts. “C’mon, there’s gotta be more. A guy as tenacious as you can have a deeper reason than that.

Sakusa adjusts his mask and takes a sip of barley tea. “Who knows.”

“Aw, Omi. Ya can’t leave a guy hangin’ like that!” Atsumu whines. 

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “Arrest me for indulging my sweet tooth, Miya.”

“That an invitation?”

Plunk!

A row of rice balls are placed in front of them. “Time to let the man eat, ‘Tsumu.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu grumbles, but a little grin is pulling at his face. He picks up the rice ball with fatty tuna on top, delighting in the smell before he takes a large bite. It’s warm and delicious and he nearly forgets to gauge Sakusa’s reaction when he takes the one with pickled plum.

Sakusa is stuck frozen after his first bite. He chews carefully, then takes another bite, bigger. Sakusa’s eyes flit towards the rice ball platter and back to his half-finished one, as if making sure there was extra.

“Ooh, ya like it don’t ya?” Atsumu teases. 

“It’s the best I’ve had in a while,” Sakusa says. He looks towards Osamu. “It’s very delicious.”

“‘Course it is.” Osamu smiles. “I work real hard on makin’ these babies as good as they can be.”

“This is the one with Kita-san’s rice, right?” Atsumu asks. 

“Sure is.”

Atsumu leans close, careful not to tread too far in Sakusa’s space. Sakusa lets him. “A highschool friend of ours owns a rice farm and he’s one of ‘Samu’s suppliers. Pretty cool, huh?”

Sakusa nods. “It is. And I really do enjoy this… um…” Sakusa hesitates.

“You can call me ‘Osamu.’ Don’t be shy ‘bout it.”

“I really enjoy this Osamu-san.”

Atsumu gapes. “How come ya call me ‘Miya’ and not him?”

“Two ‘Miya’s’ would be confusing,” Sakusa says, like it was obvious.

“I’ve known ya longer!”

“Now, now, Atsumu. Like ‘Samu said, let the man eat,” Suna says from behind. He gives a quick wave to Sakusa, saying his name, and makes his way towards Osamu where another rice ball is prepared for him. “Thanks, baby.”

Atsumu gags. “You two are gross. Ya really gonna subject Omi-kun ta this, too?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Calm down, ya scrub. If Sakusa-san is uncomfortable then we’ll move.”

“I’m alright,” Sakusa says. 

Osamu has a look of ‘I told you so’ before eating his own rice ball. Atsumu flips him off.

“Sorry ya have to deal with my brother,” Osamu says to Sakusa. “He can be a real idiot.”

Atsumu splutters. “‘Samu!”

“I know,” Sakusa says all too quickly. “You should’ve heard how we first met.”

“Oh, we heard alright.” Suna leans against the counter. “He harassed you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it home safely.”

Atsumu huffs. “Yer all traitors. This is what I get for helpin’ ya around here, ‘Samu?”

“Stop usin’ that against me everytime, jerk. I give ya so much free food I’ll go broke.”

“You must come here often, then,” Sakusa says to Atsumu. 

“That’s right.” Atsumu eyes Osamu. “Sometimes I come after Panzuki, breakin’ my back wipin’ the tables and cleanin’ the dishes for my sweet little brother.”

Osamu gags. “Just finish yer food and get out.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n.”

It’s surprisingly easy. Embarrassing—and totally biased, Atsumu swears—stories exchanged between bites of food felt a little more lively. Sakusa hears about how Atsumu wet the bed until he was seven, how Osamu often used the last ingredients so Atsumu could buy the groceries, how Suna teaches a photography class and has a little too many pictures of a certain Miya Osamu. To Atsumu’s surprise, Sakusa enters the conversation as well, telling them all about how he’s from Tokyo. He tells them of how he used to have a pet chick that he took care of with his cousin, of the aquarium near his home that often displayed seals that did tricks, and of how he taught himself how to pickle his own plums at age six. 

“Seals, huh? Is that what made ya think of that seal-shaped mochi ya mentioned once?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa nods. “It’s somewhat a small reminder of my old home.”

“That’s actually real nice,” Atsumu says in awe. “It’s kinda like what Samu tries here, ya know? A piece of home to share.”

Sakusa’s lip quirks up. “I suppose.” 

The plates are wiped clean and Sakusa thanks Osamu again for the food, waving goodbye to Suna as well before they head out. Atsumu pats his belly, full and content. “How was it?”

Sakusa takes a step. “I liked it. It was fun.”

Fun.

Atsumu smiles and nods. “I think so, too.”

“Your brother’s a good cook.”

“He really is.” Atsumu stretches. “He’s always been good. And he gets better everyday.”

Atsumu thinks of Osamu with his head stuck in cookbooks. The kitchen was always filled with the two of them, and seeing the shine in Osamu’s eyes also pushed Atsumu further. 

“If it wasn’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have made it as far as I thought at Panzuki,” Atsumu says. “He’s awesome.”

“Why’d you choose Panzuki?”  

“Ooh, are ya interested in my backstory, Omi?” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows. “Should I leave ya on a cliffhanger?”

“Forget I ever asked.” 

Atsumu laughs this time. It’s soft, but it carries through the gentle wind. “Maybe I like sweet stuff, too.”

Sakusa lets out a disbelieving snort. “I thought you didn’t.”

“I meant that for the super sweet stuff, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. “Now hush before ya tempt me into talking ‘bout my backstory.” 

“You seem to love talking about yourself, though.”

“Yer temptin’ me again! Yer supposed to unlock character lore gradually!”

The walk back near their apartments is filled with the occasional banter. The rustle of tree leaves echo and Atsumu watches the way people clean up shop with the occasional broom and switch off the lights. The calm bustle of the streets leave them with enough quiet to walk in peace.

It’s simple. Easy. 

When Atsumu reaches his apartment, Sakusa gives a polite nod, signaling that he’s ready to go, but Atsumu stops him. An ‘ah, wait!’ escapes his mouth causing Sakusa to stay put.

“Thanks for comin’ with me, Omi-kun.” Atsumu grins.

Sakusa nods. “Thank you for inviting me, Miya.”

“Atsumu. And ‘Samu has a new recipe comin’ up soon! You should try it when ya can!” 

Sakusa thinks for a moment. Then—

“I’ll do it the next time we visit. Goodnight, Miya.” Sakusa turns the corner and waves goodbye.

Atsumu stays still on the spot, legs glued to the front of his apartment complex.

Next time we visit.

We.

A large grin escapes him.

Sakusa doesn’t feel as far as before. 

Maybe it’s not Atsumu’s imagination. 

Atsumu isn’t sure what counts as being a friend. Sure he has a handful of people he’d consider himself close and friendly with, but what parts of that is an aspect of being a friend?

He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be subtle. 

By subtle, he thinks of Sakusa sending (sending!) him dog videos. At first, Atsumu thought it might’ve been an accident, but then again, who would Sakusa even send these videos to? Unless he had someone extremely close to him, the probability was low. But two days later another dog video pops up, this time with a text saying ‘he’s loud like you.’ Despite the offhand comment, Atsumu immediately darted to the messaging app, thumbs tapping away on the keyboard to respond. And if he was smiling stupidly wide? That’s only for him to know.

But then again, maybe it’s supposed to be a little more obvious. 

By obvious, he thinks of meeting with Sakusa at Onigiri Miya for lunch or dinner. Ever since their first time there together, Sakusa would accompany Atsumu every once in a while, bickering over whatever their conversation happens to land on. It must’ve been quite a sight, that is, seeing two men over six feet in black and gold chef’s coats debating whether tea and coffee would be considered a soup—which Atsumu is making a great argument for. The conversation continues all the way inside Onigiri Miya, with Suna joining in while Osamu listens and moves around the kitchen. The verdict? Atsumu still doesn’t know. 

By the time they leave, full bellies and renewed energy, Atsumu’s stretching his arms out, enjoying cloudless skies as they make it back to Panzuki.

“Seems like ya can’t get enough of ‘Samu’s food, huh?” Atsumu laughs. “If I weren’t his family, I’d be emptyin’ my pockets everytime I go there.”

Sakusa sighs. “It seems I’m doing that a lot lately.”

“Well, he deserves every penny there, so you ain’t wastin’ it at least,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa nods. “Seems like I shouldn’t ask for a friend discount then.”

If anyone else, Atsumu would’ve laughed, would’ve shrugged the comment off his shoulder, but this was different. This was Sakusa . Sakusa who’s often grumpy and calls Atsumu ‘Miya’ as he relays the next batch’s order. Sakusa who doesn’t actively engage in talking to Atsumu, or anyone really, when given the chance. 

But this was also the same Sakusa who now texts Atsumu back, though sparse, is actually talking to him about things outside of work. The same Sakusa who, even when tired from the shop’s daily duties, listens to Atsumu intently, humming in all the right places and looking up when Atsumu stops talking.

Sakusa who just referred to Atsumu as a friend.

“Well,” Atsumu starts, something warm spreading across his chest, “am I a good friend for showin’ ya a nice place to eat?”

Atsumu glances at Sakusa, watching the way the sun’s light gleams against the curve of his nose and falls from his lashes. He can’t look away.

Sakusa hums. “I suppose. Should I be a good friend and recommend something, too?”

Atsumu smiles. “I’m all ears, Omi.”

omi!

are ya available next Tuesday?

i got another idea for some inspiration!!

I’m off that day. Where are we going?

a garden!

let’s look at the flowers of summer

our dessert can have some variety outside of stars y'know?

Sounds good to me.

YEAH!! it’s gonna be great

get ready to have your socks knocked off

Read 2:30 PM

Atsumu turns off his phone and spins in his chair, a wide smile stretching across his lips. Walking around a calm garden with Sakusa while the sun shines sounds like a pretty great, smooth-sailing plan.

Atsumu did not expect this. 

For one, he did not expect the garden to be crowded on a late Tuesday afternoon. It was supposed to be relatively quiet, at least, that’s what the pamphlet said; but then again, Atsumu wasn’t sure how much he could trust a yellowing flier in the bottom of his shoebox no matter how pretty the cover image was. 

But here people are, adults and children bustling around the pathways and pointing at flowers.

It was a bit hard to enjoy the walk without feeling like being in the way of someone’s jog or feeling like you’re hogging a flower bush just for taking a few extra seconds to admire it. When Atsumu was taking a picture—only one!—of the hydrangeas, a lady was impatiently tutting and tapping her foot, begging Atsumu to keep it moving.  Trying to avoid useless confrontation, Atsumu keeps walking.

Finding a place to sit was a nightmare as well. Atsumu did not expect the lack of benches around nor did he think the ones available would be all taken up. The humidity seemed to make the heat feel much thicker and Atsumu doesn’t blame any of them for hogging the seats.

Well, only a little. 

There were also too many children running about. Normally, Atsumu wouldn’t really mind it—being quite the hyperactive kid himself— but it was starting to have an effect on him when he had to keep shuffling back and forth trying to dodge them.

Atsumu couldn’t help but feel bad when Sakusa tried his best to cover up his discomfort by pushing up his mask as a pair of noisy kids came running around and knocked into his hip.

Secondly, Atsumu did not expect the lack of food. After circling the area for half an hour, seeing nothing but a singular vendor selling cheap candy he knows is too sweet, then Atsumu takes it in himself to rule out the possibility of a dessert stand. Why would a flier advertise food when all there was was candy? Is candy all that constitutes as food now? 

Of course, his body just had to betray him by making the most cartoonish grumbling sound loud enough for Sakusa to raise his eyebrow in concern.

“Hungry, Miya?” Sakusa asks as he slips his mask off, beads of sweat around his temples.

For you—

Atsumu bites back a potential joke and is quick to shake his head.

“What’d’ya mean? I totally ate a snack before comin’ out!” 

Growl…

The rest of Atsumu’s excuse dies in the air.

Sakusa snorts and rolls his eyes but makes no effort to drag him to the candy stand. Perhaps he thought the same thing. 

Third, and possibly, worst of all, Atsumu did not expect rain. Okay, maybe he should have expected it considering the weather lately, but still, the universe seems to have it out for him today. From rage-inducing traffic to the itchiness of his cotton shirt—sue him, he looks good in it—today was proving itself to be the worst.

“Fucking hell,” Atsumu grits out as the light sprinkle on his cheeks are quickly turning into a potential second shower of the day.

In a frenzy, he looks around, noticing the way his shirt is getting wet and everyone is moving around to find shelter. 

“We gotta get outta here, Omi,” Atsumu says.

Atsumu scratches his neck and lets out a sigh. Atsumu can feel the bubbling of guilt make home in his chest. He had made the suggestion, promising it would be amazing coupled with a puff of his chest, and now it was backfiring on him greatly. He needs to take Sakusa somewhere dry and less crowded as soon as—

“Come here.”

A hand wraps around his, and before he knows it, he’s being pulled forward. Atsumu’s breath gets knocked out of his chest at the sudden movement and small gasps fall from his lips and mingle with the pitter patter of the rain. Their footsteps pound on the pavement, wind and stray bits of rain becoming stronger with each step. It’s starting to get slippery, Atsumu’s feet occasionally tripping over the stone pavement with a complimentary squeak, and he can feel his hand slipping from Sakusa’s grip. 

“Omi—! M’gonna fall!” 

Maybe this was revenge for Atsumu dragging him across Osaka. Or a way to tease him like Atsumu always does. He doesn’t know, but right now, as he’s spluttering at Kiyoomi to slow down, Atsumu knows the pound in his heart isn’t solely because of their running. 

Sakusa, however, doesn’t say anything. Instead, the grip on his hand tightens and he’s being pulled closer. Their footsteps ring heavy across the garden and the rain is starting to pound, spattering against the stone and flowers with renewed vigor.

But despite the frantic running and the rain blurring his vision, Atsumu realizes this is the one thing he didn’t expect the most:

The smile that spreads across Sakusa’s face.

Atsumu squeezes the hem of his shirt, watching the way droplets of rain drip to the ground. 

“That was not fun,” Sakusa says while wringing out the sleeves of his cardigan.

“Ya definitely had fun runnin’ just now.”

“You have no proof.”

“I’ve got eyes, Omi-kun.”

“Congratulations. You still have no proof.”

Sakusa turns away, but Atsumu can see the way the corners of his lip twitch upwards. It’s a small tug of lips and barely noticeable, but it leaves Atsumu holding his gaze longer than expected.

His mouth opens to give a small tease, but Sakusa beats him to the punch.

“It reminded me of my cousin.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows rise slightly, perking up at the sudden confession. Sakusa pauses for a bit, taking the other sleeve of his cardigan and wringing it out before looking at Atsumu. Not wanting to drive Sakusa away from explaining further, Atsumu waits. But in between the silent lull of conversation and the occasional water dripping from Sakusa’s sleeve, Atsumu dejectedly wonders if it was the end of their conversation.

But to his joy, Sakusa opens his mouth to continue.

“My cousin—Motoya—and I had volleyball practice and his parents were late one day, so we ended up playing in the rain,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu gasps, a grin pulling at his lips quicker than he could imagine. “Ya played volleyball?”

Sakusa nods.

“I do, too! Oh my God, volleyball–... ya played volleyball!” Atsumu exclaims, unable to hide his excitement. “What position did ya play?’

Sakusa lets out a breathy laugh, “Wing spiker.”

“No fuckin’ way, I’m a setter!” Atsumu beams. “I can totally set to you sometime!”

Atsumu’s mind thrums and basks in the memories flooding his brain. The squeak of the gymnasium floor, the adrenaline of his fingers and legs adjusting themselves under a ball, and the smack echoing through the bustling gymnasium after a perfect set… It was exhilarating. Hell, even the sweat that dripped down his forehead that occasionally blurred his vision was wonderful.

Sakusa slips out a small smile and an unconsented swoop plays in Atsumu’s chest. 

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

While the rain begins to lighten, Sakusa continues talking. Talking about his cousin, about volleyball, about sunny days and failed desserts that encompass the memories of little Sakusa. And while the sun emerges from gray clouds and people begin to saunter their way back to the flowers, Atsumu finds himself unmoving, inexplicably enamored by the way occasional smiles are directed towards him.

He’s in awe of the way Sakusa gently sways with the flowers, in wonder of the sound of Sakusa’s voice as he talks about his home in Tokyo, and so utterly entranced with each moment that passes by with the two of them under a small roof and the smell of hydrangeas. And with the pitter patter of rain coloring the scenery around them, all Atsumu can think of is how he can be the reason behind Sakusa Kiyoomi’s smile.

“Sunarin, listen to me… if ya just sneak over the tuna—”

“‘Tsumu, I’m not risking my share of food just because you want more,” Suna says in finality. He makes an effort to move the bowl of marinated tuna farther away from Atsumu’s grabbing hands.

Atsumu rolls his eyes. “I just wanted extra!”

“You’re lucky ‘Samu’s at the store.” Suna shapes the rice in his hand, putting in more tuna as Atsumu watches intently. “You know better than anyone he’s got a sixth sense for stuff like this. You take one piece of tuna and he’ll hunt you down.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you also get his food for free.”

He can’t argue with that. Taking his last bite of onigiri, Atsumu lets out a much too loud, much too unnecessary sigh. “Yer killin’ me, Sunarin. When did ya become so obedient?”

“I’m just trying to help my hard-working boyfriend.” Contrary to his words, Suna quickly snatches a piece of tuna from the bowl and pops it into his mouth.

Atsumu gasps, affronted. “You dirty fuckin’ liar!”

“I only took one because I have self-control. Something you don’t seem to possess.” A lopsided grin tugs at Suna’s face, one that Atsumu sees on Suna all too often whenever Osamu is in the room with them.

Atsumu pretends to vomit and picks up his cup of water. “Even when ‘Samu’s not here, I’m still third-wheelin’.”

Suna snorts. “Go on a date with Sakusa, then.”

A cough, then two, and Atsumu chokes on his water. He’s thrown into a coughing fit and from the corner of his eye, though shaky, he can see Suna wearing a shitty little grin. He comes to pat Atsumu on the back, but Atsumu swats it away.

“So you like him,” Suna says more a statement than a question. “What a twist.”

“Shut yer trap.” Atsumu clears his throat. “Ya took me off guard ‘s all.”

“Why? Do you actually?” 

Atsumu opens his mouth, the word ‘no’ dancing on the tip of his tongue before he stops. He hesitates. Why is he hesitating? 

Then he exhales slowly, mumbling, “Oh shit, do I?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not you,” Suna replies unhelpfully, completely oblivious to the spiral he sent Atsumu in as he finishes up the last batch of onigiri.

Does he? He’s definitely gotten closer to Sakusa, that much is true. But other than that? He’s not quite so sure.

Atsumu thinks of the bustle of the cafe, and how it now encompasses Sakusa’s occasional hums and voice filling the space between them. He thinks of his ringtone as Sakusa sends a new attachment, the banter between them whenever they pass each other on the way to work, the way Sakusa always seems to listen to him honestly no matter the day. He remembers how quickly Sakusa came to his apartment when he lost his wallet, when they visited Onigiri Miya for the first time and got along with Osamu and Suna, the feel of Sakusa’s hand—warm despite the cold rain—as they ran like children with smiles on their faces. Sakusa’s smile.

Atsumu takes another sip of water, head clearing as he takes a breath.

Wow.

He looks at the clock, then back to the cup in his hands. 

“Did you figure it out?” Suna asks as he refills Atsumu’s cup.

“I don’t know,” Atsumu hums, but something in him feels like he already knows the answer. 

Suna gives him an unreadable expression, but slides over an extra onigiri across the counter.

“Hear me out, Omi,” Atsumu says, “Plot twists at the end aren’t all that bad.”

“It’s a cheap mechanic that garners an unnecessary reaction from the audience,” Sakusa explains. 

“Okay, fine, sometimes.” Atsumu relents. “But it’s fun.”

“There’s nothing fun about it.”

“‘Course there is! It leaves the audience curious and thinking ‘bout it even when the movie’s already over.”

Sakusa seems to think about it for a moment, hands stalling as he prepares today’s batch of mochi. It’s better than his first day, but it still comes out uneven. He sighs, but Atsumu deems it as a win to his conversation instead of the mochi splayed against the table.

“Ya probably like movies with a real good storyline. Consistent and thorough, maybe even on the simple side,” Atsumu says, then he gasps. “Omi. Holy shit, I think I got just the right movie for ya.”

Sakusa rolls his eyes, still focused on the mochi on the table. “Do you now?”

Atsumu nods his head vigorously, skull cap shifting against his head. “Wanna watch it at my place?”

Atsumu doesn’t realize what he’s asked until he notices Sakusa hasn’t responded. He looks up from where he’s filling the mochi with red bean paste—it’s probably overflowing, but that’s a problem for him later—and sees Sakusa working his tongue around his mouth.

He steels himself for a rejection. Maybe he got ahead of himself for suggesting Sakusa to come over, but he did mean it when he said he had a movie in mind. It’s worth a shot, at least. Even if Sakusa does reject then—

“Sure.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. Maybe— wait.” Wait. “Are you serious?” Atsumu sputters, hands stopped moving entirely.

Sakusa sighs. “Why are you surprised even though you’re the one who asked?”

“Didn’t expect ya to agree ‘s all. ‘Specially since ya said ya didn’t want me over,” Atsumu says, shrugging his shoulders. “Ya really are warmin’ up to me huh, Omi? Makin’ my heart flutter and shit.”

The words leave his mouth smooth and easy, and he finds himself wandering in the middle of sugary remarks and the truth.

“Gross.” Sakusa scowls. “And you’re right. I don’t want you over my place.”

“Then why’d'ya—”

“But,” Sakusa pauses, head turning away slightly, “I don’t mind going over to yours.” 

Anything Atsumu was about to say dies in his throat. The realization dawns on his face in what he can only imagine is ridiculous: eyes bugging out and eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. He swallows down the quick beat of his heart reaching his throat, throwing on a jaunty smile. 

“Wanna tell me when yer available?”

Atsumu should’ve known. His worn out mop of five years should’ve been trashed the moment he had to fix the frame. To be fair, he had more than enough money to buy a new one, but he couldn’t help but feel guilty every time the thought crossed his mind. It was one of his first purchases upon moving to Osaka and, though ridiculous, he named it ‘Mie’ and talked to her every time he cleaned up his apartment. They were a duo. A pair that worked well every time.

He didn’t expect Mie to betray him.

“Miya, are you…” Sakusa trails off as he stands at the entrance, gesturing towards the redness on Atsumu’s arm.

Atsumu waves it off. “I slipped. She broke—my mop, not a human — sorry, shoulda specified. She broke while I was tryna clean earlier.”

Sakusa only nods, toeing off his shoes at the genkan. “So… you cleaned.”

Atsumu nods, puffing his chest out and splaying a rakish smirk. “That’s right. All for you.”

He doesn’t expect the way Sakusa’s lips quirk up and Atsumu finds himself fast approaching a part two to his little slipping-on-his-ass session. He schools his expression and stands straight.

“Well, thank you,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu smiles, wipes his hands on his pants—when did they become sweaty?—and leads Sakusa to the living room. There’s a platter of rice balls and water on the coffee table. Atsumu is currently sifting through the CDs on the couch while Sakusa sits at the other end. 

“Good thing yer all the way over there, Omi,” Atsumu teases. “Don’t want ya to be lookin’ at what I got. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

Sakusa scoffs. “I won’t look, but tell me why you have so many?” 

“CDs always have extras that streaming services don’t. And…” Atsumu flips through the CDs, making sure Sakusa doesn’t see anything but a sliver of color from the case. “I’ve been stuck on which one we should watch.”

“Just put on whichever. We can watch the rest after.”

Atsumu pauses. He looks towards Sakusa. “Really? You don’t have anywhere yer gonna go later?’

Sakusa shakes his head. “No. Like I said, I don’t mind coming over here.”

Atsumu snorts. “M’kay, but yer gonna regret that later. I have more o’ these bad boys in my cabinet.”

“Omi. Omi.”

“I did not.” Sakusa refuses vehemently.

“You were humming. Singing the song with Elsa,” Atsumu says with a gape. “Holy shit.”

“I will strangle you.”

“And if I like it?”

“You’re impossible.” Sakusa scowls, taking another bite of his umeboshi onigiri in silence. Atsumu can’t stop grinning. 

“I told ya. I told ya I got the right movie for ya.” Atsumu revels in his victory, watching the way Sakusa’s lips twitch as the song keeps playing on screen. “Is this the first time yer watchin’ Frozen?”

Sakusa nods. “I’ve only seen parts of it, but never the whole thing.”

“It’s good, huh?” Atsumu asks. “It’s a real nice movie to watch whenever ya just wanna lie down. Ya get swept up in the story and it’s easy to digest. Like soup.”

“It is,” Sakusa agrees, albeit quietly. Atsumu can tell he’s already sucked back into the movie considering he basically ignored what he had just said. It’s nice, he notes. Seeing Sakusa’s focus away from their job and to something as simple as a movie. It’s miles away from how they first met, and to Atsumu’s surprise, he doesn’t quite mind. Back then, if he was told the stranger he fought with to get daifuku was going to be in his house, engrossed in Frozen of all things, he would’ve laughed.

The movie is near its end, right when Anna and Elsa hug. “Ya know somethin’, Omi? They’re kinda like me ‘n ‘Samu.”

Sakusa lets out a hum. “I can see it.” He sighs. “I hate to admit, but the twist at the end was interesting.

Atsumu fist bumps into the air. “I won.”

“You can’t win if we never made a deal.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Omi-kun. You enjoyed it. Ya liked Kristoff, didn’t ya?”

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “And what makes you think that?”

“Blonde, sweet, tender, broad shoulders, blonde—”

“I fail to see how two of those options are relevant.”

Atsumu clicks his tongue. “Denial isn’t a good look on ya, Omi.”

The movie ends and one becomes two, then three, and before long, they’re on their sixth movie. CD cases begin to stack on the corner of the coffee table and the platter of onigiri gradually becomes bits and pieces of stray rice and seaweed.

It’s warm, Atsumu notices. It could be the lazy feel of a full stomach or the summer heat outside his home; those are all reasonable causes. One that comes from the rationale of his brain. However, it could also be the way Sakusa is only a few centimeters away, body heat emanating near Atsumu. Suddenly his couch seems too small yet big at the same time, an odd push and pull swirling in Atsumu’s chest at the rationale coming from the stutter between his ribs. 

Atsumu allows his heart to dance and turn with every glance towards Sakusa. The light of the television plays along his curls, turning it different colors as new scenes pop up in the movie. It spills down the length of his face to his cheeks, nose, and the shape of his lips. Then, a tiny, barely noticeable smile tugs at Sakusa’s lips. Atsumu is no longer paying attention to the movie. 

How could he? Sakusa is just so—

“Pretty.”

Sakusa turns his head, eyes slightly wide. There’s a silence between them, one that stretches on and overstays its welcome. The sounds from the movie fills Atsumu’s ears with white noise. 

Atsumu clears his throat and coughs out a laugh. “Sorry, the movie got me sayin’ stuff ‘cause it’s… y’know.”

Sakusa nods carefully. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They both turn back to the television. Atsumu tries to focus on the movie instead of the pink that dusted Sakusa’s cheeks.

The movie continues. It’s a fighting scene with nothing else to call prettier.

Atsumu wipes the table, running the wet cloth across the two wood knots next to each other. It’s Atsumu’s daily spot, seated right at the middle of the bar counter where he and Osamu often talk in between lunch breaks and late night dinners. 

“Lately I’ve been havin’ three mouths to feed thanks to ya bringin’ Sakusa-kun around.”

Atsumu gives him a grin. “It’s good for yer business, don’tcha think?”

“He’s good for business,” Osamu parrots with a snort. Then— “He also seems good for ya.”

Atsumu nearly drops his wet rag. “What do ya mean by that?”

Osamu doesn’t stop washing the dishes, but he does turn off the water. For a moment, there’s only the sound of plates clinking against the dishrack echoing in the empty restaurant.

“You just seem,” Osamu starts, gesturing with his hands, “better.”

Atsumu snorts. “Was I bad at somethin’ before?”

“No, ya idiot—well… m’pretty sure yer bad at a lotta of things—”

“Hey—”

“But I mean—” Osamu pauses and Atsumu can almost hear the cogs turning in his head. “Ya seem louder.”

Atsumu’s brows pull together and he tilts his head. “Now, what are you on about?”

“Listen with yer ears not yer mouth for a sec, yeah?” Osamu sighs, rubbing his temples. “Like… whenever ya drop by now, ya smile so much I can see yer snaggletooth.”

Atsumu reaches a hand towards the corner of his lips where, indeed, his tooth is slightly sticking out in the corner. 

“Ya laugh so much I swear m’goin’ deaf—”

“‘Samu, are ya just tryna talk shit ‘bout me—”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Osamu grits out, but softens when he looks Atsumu in the eyes, “it makes me happy.”

Atsumu stops. “What?”

Osamu tuts and turns away, a scowl on his face, but it doesn’t tug his lips all the way down. “Ya seem livelier. Could be ‘cause of a lotta things, but I think Sakusa-kun is definitely at least one of ‘em, ya know? Didn’t expect it, but I don’t mind.”

Atsumu doesn’t say anything for a while. Osamu’s words float around his head like clouds, fogging his brain with information he’s unsure what to do with.

One of the clouds forms an image of Sakusa laughing over a video he sent when they were at work. They were only a few feet away from each other and getting ready to go home, but Atsumu needed to show Sakusa the video of ducks annihilating a bowl of peas; It was urgent.

Another was Sakusa trying to hide his smile whenever Atsumu gave him dark chocolate in the shape of a paw print. Atsumu had found it at a nearby confectionary store and he immediately bought it without hesitation. 

Each cloud wanders around with no specific goal in mind. But when Atsumu looks a bit more closely, each cloud forms swirls that stretch all the way from his head to the beating behind his ribs. 

Atsumu stares down at the table, not knowing what else to do with himself. He lets the squeak of the faucet and the splash of water overcome the thoughts in his brain.

“‘Samu,” he says after some time.

“Yeah?”

Atsumu leans down, resting his chin on his forearms, tracing the twin wood knots on the table.

“Ya really think Omi’s that good of an influence for me?” Atsumu asks softly, gauging Osamu’s expression. “Even if I managed without him in my life so far?”

Osamu studies him for a second before he snorts, drying his hands on a rag that he throws over his shoulder.

“Ya always have more room for good in your life, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu says, the corner of his lips turning up gently, “Ya gotta find people to fill in the parts where I’m not with you, ya know. It’ll be a nice change.”

Atsumu smiles, head feeling much clearer than before, a new release in his chest he didn’t know was twisted up. 

Change, huh? Maybe Atsumu wasn’t opposed to that.

omi!!

there’s a park half an hour away that stays open late

they have a hill where we can see the stars clearly! looks like a countryside

do ya wanna try going?

Sure.

I’m available anytime this week.

alright!! B)

Read 8:23 PM

Atsumu doesn’t turn off his phone yet, instead, opting to stare at Sakusa’s contact photo. It’s the hydrangeas from their time at the garden, blue and purple bunches of flowers against green. 

He’s glad he took the picture. Not only did it make for great inspiration for the dessert, it was a hidden reminder to who had his attention the majority of the trip. But no one would ever know that.

Then his phone buzzes.

“Crap–” Atsumu fumbles.

[8:30 PM] Sakusa Kiyoomi sent an attachment.

This shiba looks like you.

Read 8:31 PM

Atsumu presses the link and, sure enough, there’s a shiba wagging its tail. It comes out to play in the rain and yips at its owner excitedly.

Atsumu smiles.

aww omi, ya think i’m cute like the shiba?

Read 8:35 PM

He has to do a double take when a little heart appears at the bottom of his text bubble.

:)

Read 8:36 PM

Atsumu drops his phone and buries his face into his pillow.

Contrary to Tomas and Inunaki’s occasional jabs, Atsumu never really dated. Maybe his standards were too high or he was just high maintenance, but it was never a bother. Something he never necessarily paid attention to. At least, that’s what Atsumu tells himself.

He repeats the clarification to himself over and over again and tries not to overanalyze what’s right in front of him. When he meets up with Sakusa at the storefront of Panzuki, he tries not to think too much about the way Sakusa smiles a little more. When they drink the store’s latest dragon fruit smoothie, he tries not to focus so much on pretty lips on a straw. Even when they settle on the hill and the clouds begin to darken and blend with the color of the ground, so much so that sky and earth are barely visible, Atsumu tries not to feel the way his heart jumps and soars, and palms sweat against his shirt.

But when Sakusa looks at him, he knows he’s fucked.

The night breeze is cool on their skin as Atsumu sets up the telescope. Sakusa stares upwards at the sky, marveling at all the stars he wasn’t able to see from his bedroom in Tokyo.

“I’ve never seen stars like this,” Sakusa says. It’s light, breathy and so quiet that if Atsumu wasn’t paying attention, he would’ve easily missed it against the wind. 

“I only ever saw ‘em when me and ‘Samu were younger. Our ma would let us stay up and use her old telescope. I’d say I was real good at findin’ all the stars.” Atsumu winks. He scoots closer and takes the telescope in his hands. “Watch.”

Atsumu moves the telescope around, twisting the knob every so often. The stars are pretty and everywhere he looks is another splatter of white against blue and black. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he gestures the telescope to Sakusa.

Sakusa leans into the eyepiece, hands coming to gently rest against the stand. He lets out a small gasp. Atsumu smiles.

“That’s the Milky Way. Looks cool, huh?” Atsumu says.

Sakusa’s lips upturns slightly. “It’s bigger than I thought.”

Atsumu agrees. The first time his mom showed him and Osamu the Milky Way through their telescope, they were bouncing against the grass, sleep long gone as they saw bright light seeping through a dark ridge. It stretched longer than anything he ever saw and the colors of dark blues, purples and white made it seem like it ebbed and flowed against the night sky like waves. 

“Wanna see somethin’ even cooler?” Atsumu asks.

Sakusa leans back, eyes flitting from the eyepiece then up to the sky, in the direction of where the Milky Way is. Without looking at Atsumu, he nods.

Atsumu comes closer and leans forward into the telescope, moving it around slightly and gesturing to Sakusa to come closer with a wide grin. There’s a shuffle on his side and Atsumu leans back, Sakusa peering into the eyepiece. 

“That’s Vega,” Atsumu whispers.

Sakusa exhales, soft and full of wonder. “It seems brighter than the Milky Way.”

Atsumu laughs, an airy one that disappears into the wind. “Right? Here, lemme zoom in a bit. Tell me if you can see it better.”

Atsumu places his hand on the knob and turns it forward slowly, looking at Sakusa for a reaction. He turns it once, twice, and on the third try, he notices Sakusa sitting up slightly. “There.”

Atsumu watches the way Sakusa shifts in his seat, head turning every once in a while and it’s then he’s reminded of late nights and starry skies. Of hushed whispers and wide smiles. Of home and comfort.

Sakusa looks away from the telescope and his eyes meet the sky, as if checking to see if what he was seeing was true. Atsumu follows his gaze and though not as clear, he can see the soft twinkle of a star near the Milky Way.

Atsumu begins to move his hand away from the knob, but as he lowers his hand, he feels a light tug. He breaks his gaze away from the sky. Sakusa is looking at him with an expression he can’t read. Atsumu looks down and sees Sakusa’s hand on top of his, not quite holding it, but enough for him to feel shockwaves run through his body. He meets Sakusa’s eyes. Atsumu can’t seem to talk, words caught in his throat and for a moment, there’s only silence.

Then Sakusa opens his mouth, voice quiet and soft. “Can you show me Altair?”

Atsumu nods, not trusting himself enough to say anything, to do anything besides moving closer. Sakusa guides Atsumu’s hand to the lower end of the telescope, but he doesn’t move. He’s barely touching Atsumu’s skin but Atsumu can feel the pinpricks of warmth shooting through his hand with every movement. Taking a steadying breath, Atsumu leans in, carefully guiding the telescope across the Milky Way and upon seeing an equally bright star, he moves away from the eyepiece, gesturing at Sakusa to look.

Sakusa stares at him for a moment, then leans into the telescope, hand still hovering Atsumu’s own.

It’s warm. Atsumu doesn’t push it away.

When Sakusa looks back up, he meets Atsumu’s eyes. And maybe it’s then Atsumu feels the realization dawning in his chest with every skip in beat. They’re close, hands warm against the body of the telescope and Atsumu can see the way Sakusa’s curls sway against the wind. His top mole is slightly smaller than the bottom one. His eyes are green. God, his eyes are fucking green? Atsumu swallows but nothing goes down.

Then—

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu. 

Atsumu shivers. His breath is caught in his throat and Sakusa seems to bring the final blow because among the twinkling stars of the night and the warmth of their bodies close to each other, he smiles. 

“What is it, Omi?” Atsumu asks, a barely there whisper. He wonders if Sakusa can feel the warmth of his breath against his lips.

“Looks like you killed me.”

It takes a moment, but Atsumu smiles too. “All ‘cause of sayin’ my name?”

Sakusa laughs. Atsumu wants to hear more. 

“Well,” Sakusa starts, lightly squeezing Atsumu’s hand, “I guess I was dying to say your name, Atsumu.”

“Cheers!”

Cans of beer clink against one another in the empty bakery. The bitter liquid slides down Atsumu’s throat and he’s quick to cough, warmth spreading across his chest all the way down to his fingertips. 

“Never have I tasted something so good, Tsum-Tsum! Omi-san!” Bokuto shouts. He earns a light smack from Meian, muttering, “If you’re this loud now, I don’t want to hear you drunk.”

Inunaki snorts. “Is that why there’s not a lot of beer today?”

Meian doesn’t respond and takes another sip. 

“Atsumu-san, Omi-san! Are you excited?” Hinata asks, leaning into the table to face Sakusa and Atsumu.

“Excited and confident,” Atsumu huffs with a grin. “We made some real nice babies, didn’t we, Omi-kun?”

Sakusa makes a face, horrified. “Don’t phrase it like that.”

The night goes as well as Atsumu would expect. Inunaki and Tomas are playing janken over the last bottle of beer. Hinata seems to be in an animated conversation with Barnes and Meian, the name ‘Kageyama’ taking up half whatever it is he’s talking about. Atsumu can hear light snores from Bokuto across from him.

He can’t see the sun’s rays anymore and the warmth from the hanging lights make his eyes droop quicker than usual. His head feels fuzzy around the edges and his ears are gradually filling with cotton. Atsumu can only thank the universe that their little celebration isn’t the night before the competition. 

“Omi,” he drawls, dopey grin on his face, “we make a good fuckin’ team, huh?”

Sakusa laughs. It’s quiet, but Atsumu hears it nonetheless. “I guess we do.”

There’s a flutter in his chest, maybe a squeeze, a clench of sorts. He’s unsure, so instead, he lets his eyes linger a moment longer as Sakusa takes a sip of beer and the evening continues.

Atsumu isn’t that drunk, but he feels tipsy enough to not mind the unconsented hiccups and giggles leaving him. He’s pretty sure half of his conversation with Hinata is already forgotten in the recesses of his brain.

His brain buffers when Hinata gets up and shimmies out of his chair, singing a song about the bathroom as he heads out to the back room.

Atsumu glances to his side, eyes running across the expanse of Sakusa right next to him. He’s watching Inunaki boast around with the bottle of beer, swinging it in a manner dangerously close to spilling on a frowning Tomas. 

There’s a pleasant buzz in his body, one that settles around his bones as he lazily trails his gaze across Sakusa’s arm next to his. Sakusa changed out from his work uniform into a simple henley, sleeves wrapping around compact muscle. There’s a spatter of moles littered across fair skin and Atsumu notices one particular mole right on Sakusa’s pinkie knuckle. 

Usually when Atsumu’s brain is in normal working condition, it’s not uncommon for him to act stupidly. Osamu often said that despite having a clear and fresh head, Atsumu still acted as if he had no brain, moving along and doing things without a second thought. Despite not having much in his system, the alcohol seems to be making that aspect of himself much worse.

Because right now, brain or not, he’s found himself holding Sakusa’s hand.

Atsumu immediately retracts, realizing not only where his hand is, but who his hand is touching. “Omi— shit, m’sorry I— oh.” 

Sakusa stays quiet, eyes still facing away, and opts to gently take Atsumu’s wrist back and rest his hand underneath. 

Oh.

Atsumu presses his lips into a line to quell the overwhelming urge to smile. Possibly scream. He fails the former, however, and he’s now idiotically grinning from ear to ear. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the warmth on his palm, but it all culminates to a swarm of thoughts racing in his head trying to compete for attention.

Neither of them move away. Even when Sakusa shifts in his seat to take a drink, he settles back into the hold, long, slender fingers finding their way back to Atsumu’s. Even when Atsumu talks to Barnes about a new show he's been thinking about, the gentle hold doesn’t abate, tugging around his thoughts in a myriad of directions.

No words are exchanged, only the occasional glance as they go about their business as the night drags on. 

Atsumu gives a light squeeze, nearly unnoticeable. Sakusa squeezes back.

Atsumu places the last batches of their dessert into the fridge to set. Upon the sound of the fridge door closing, Atsumu rests against the counter, a yawn escaping his throat. 

“Finally, everythin’ is all prepared for tomorrow.”

His arms are tired from making the same dessert for the umpteenth time and his legs feel like giving out, but his chest swirls with anticipation. 

“Are ya ready, Omi-kun?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu makes his way towards Sakusa, leaning against the countertop, and lets out a breath. “M’sure we’ll be fine. The stuff we made is real good.”

It was true; Atsumu believed in that much. As confident as he is about their dessert, however, it doesn’t guarantee for people to come flocking their stand. There was always a possibility, but Atsumu didn’t see the point in mulling it over when he could think otherwise.

He looks down where he’s leaning against the countertop, the stainless steel cooling his hands as he mindlessly traces over the faint scratches from the daily wear of the kitchen. Sakusa’s hands are right next to his. They’re on the edge of the countertop, thumb dangling down as it rubs against the side of the table. The mole on the corner of his knuckle is right where he remembers it.

Atsumu’s pinky lightly grazes Sakusa’s. It’s warm.

“Can I?” Atsumu whispers.

“We did it yesterday.”

Atsumu snorts, tension alleviating by the small sound leaving his lips. “It’s good to ask.” He comes close. Sakusa lifts his hand and allows himself to be held by Atsumu’s. His thumb runs across the mole on Sakusa’s knuckle. “Besides, we were kinda tipsy yesterday. My head was gettin’ fuzzy.”

Sakusa hums. “I wasn’t.”

Atsumu’s hand freezes. “You… weren’t?”

Sakusa shakes his head and moves their hands. With slight disappointment and little surprise, Atsumu begins to retract his hand, but he feels a tug. 

Ah.

Sakusa intertwined their fingers.

“Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s heart jumps to his throat and he swears his knees buckled a bit. Damn, Sakusa Kiyoomi. Did he just Pavlov Atsumu into this reaction every time he says his given name?

“What’s up, Om–”

“Can I kiss you?”

Kiss.

Kiss!?^%#*

When was the last time Atsumu kissed somebody? 

His first kiss was in middle school with one of his classmates after lunch. When their lips touched, she tasted like miso soup and chocolate milk. Not a good combination—Atsumu nearly threw up—but it sure was memorable. 

The other kiss he can remember was in his second year of high school. They dated briefly and it wasn’t anything special, but Atsumu remembered the guy gave him more teeth than lips every single time to the point Atsumu would always settle for cheek kisses instead. 

Really, he didn’t have many memories with kisses and with the ones he remembers? They weren’t that good. 

So what the hell does he do now?

Nod. 

He nods. 

Dazed, his eyes dart from Sakusa’s eyes to his lips and back to his eyes once again. His body feels frozen, but his mind overheats with thoughts running left and right trying to grasp the situation at hand. Thoughts of Sakusa gradually coming close, much like when they watched that movie together, but even more so now. Thoughts of the scent of red beans and lavender and ‘clean’ that Sakusa always has. Thoughts of Sakusa’s hand gently taking his hand and oh god placing it on his own cheek, fingers grazing curly hair and soft skin. Sakusa feels warm against Atsumu’s hand and he can’t help the shiver that runs across his body.

“Kiss me,” Atsumu mumbles. It’s quiet, almost inaudible, 

but true. 

And Sakusa does.

It’s not as dramatic as Atsumu expected. It’s not a rush of lips or a slip of tongue. It’s just a press of lips.

But Atsumu smiles. 

There’s no fireworks sparkling across his eyes. No butterflies fluttering against the walls of his stomach. None of it.

Instead, there's warmth. One that spreads gently across his chest all the way to his fingertips as he carefully runs his fingers across the corner of Sakusa’s cheek. Sakusa tilts his head to lean into the touch.

Sakusa pulls away, thumb softly running across Atsumu’s own.

“Atsumu—”

“Again,” Atsumu exhales, smiling so wide his eyes turn into crescents. “Kiyoomi, again please.” 

Sakusa’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he laughs quietly. “Seems like it was good then.”

“More than good!” Atsumu exclaims. “Fuckin’ fantastic if ya ask me.” 

Another laugh. It leaves Atsumu’s chest fluttering. 

“Then… again.” Sakusa smiles.

A voice echoes through the bustle of people, effectively curtailing the chatter to collective murmurs as they listen to the announcement. 

“Come by to see vendors of your favorite shops compete with Tanabata inspired specialities!” The voice says, loud and lively. “Winners will be announced before tonight’s firework show. Please visit the stalls and place votes to each box around the alley!” 

Little by little, passerby begin to trickle through the aisle of vendors. Atsumu sees numerous families, children trudging along in small steps as they point and babble at the colorful stalls in what Atsumu can only assume is awe. He also notices a few students taking pictures and gesturing towards different vendors as they talk animatedly, probably discussing which to try first among the variety of food all throughout the street. There’s a small photoshoot in the corner of the street and Atsumu wonders how long they’ve been at it.

Everyone seems to be minding their own business, walking around and chatting throughout as they find themselves at different areas around the aisle. 

However, not one customer has approached them, yet.

Atsumu takes a quick glance at Sakusa. He’s wiping the table, much like always back at Panzuki, but he’s going over the same spot, wiping carefully in a repeated motion. His shoulders are stiff and he keeps looking up whenever a potential customer passes by their stall. Atsumu shimmies over and places a hand on his back lightly. He pats.

“Keep wipin’ that spot and yer gonna turn wood into glass.”

Sakusa scoffs. “Your logic is ridiculous.”

Atsumu places a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m hurt, Omi-kun. I know that sometimes bein’ a super genius can be a lonely path since not everyone will believe me—”

“—You’re right, I don’t believe you—”

“—but believe me when I say we’ll be fine.”

Sakusa huffs a breath out his nose and stills his hand. He stands up to look at Atsumu. There’s a slight crease in his brow, one that often remains evident no matter what they seem to be doing, and Atsumu notices the way they try to straighten out. 

It seems like he’s searching for something, maybe some sort of backing to Atsumu’s claim as Sakusa gazes at him. Atsumu stands up a little straighter, and throws him a smile, one he hopes can convey everything Sakusa needs to relax. Perhaps he found whatever it was, because Sakusa sighs, gives the barest hint of a grin, and says, “Alright, I’ll believe you.”

Atsumu feels a funny little twist in his chest and glimpses around their stand before he shuffles closer to Sakusa. He gestures Sakusa to come closer so that their faces are only a few inches apart. Atsumu feels around their table and grabs a plate, shielding their faces from the potential view of customers.

Atsumu whispers, “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“You already did,” Sakusa says.

“Hush, now.” Atsumu clears his throat, suddenly shy. “Will a kiss on the cheek calm you down?”

Sakusa’s eyes widen. There’s a beat of silence between the two of them, stretching out longer than comfortable. Atsumu can feel heat creep up to his cheeks and his shyness from before is now growing into full fledged nervousness with a side of embarrassment. 

Right before Atsumu slaps on a crooked smile and a joke to bypass the awkwardness, he hears breath. Then a snort. Then slowly, the corners of Sakusa’s lips upturn and he’s letting out a laugh so quiet, Atsumu probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it had he not been so close.

“Was that just you wanting to kiss me?” Sakusa smiles. Atsumu’s glad he’s holding the plate in front of the two of them. It’d be quite a spectacle for any passersby to see how red-faced he is. If he walked out like he is now, he could probably rack up customers from how ridiculous he looks. 

“Is that a yes?” Atsumu asks. Then, because he sees Sakusa’s lips quirk up again, he adds, “Please tell me that’s a yes.”

He earns another small laugh and Atsumu preens like a puppy being praised. “It’s a yes.”

Atsumu hypes himself up, the prospect of kissing Sakusa's cheek weirdly more daunting than kissing his lips yesterday. He grips the plate tight and leans in. 

It’s quick. Far too light to have been considered a peck on the cheek, much less a kiss. Atsumu’s not even sure if he reached Sakusa’s cheek at all. Nonetheless, he pulls back, the heat on his face hotter than before and mouth dry. To his luck, Sakusa seems to be equally as affected; the tips of his ears are red and it spreads wide across his face. Atsumu lowers his hand with the plate and coughs, hoping the heavy beating in his heart wouldn’t be heard. 

Atsumu asks, “Did that calm you down?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay, me either.”

It’s silly, Atsumu thinks. He knew a full kiss now would make them combust on the spot, so he opted to take it slow and simple to ease their nerves.

Obviously it didn’t work.

Atsumu breaks into a grin and, to his joy, Sakusa does the same. 

People do, in fact, gradually come to their stand. The first is a child with a hat much too big for his head. He comes barreling towards their stall with small hands keeping the flopping hat in place and stares at the array of jelly shining against the lanterns. 

“Excuse me!” He shouts, tipping his head upwards, eyes flitting between Atsumu and Sakusa. “Can I have what you’re selling?”

It was enough to get the ball rolling. 

Atsumu and Sakusa cut up the gelatin on the tables, making a show of moving the plates around so the gelatin could dance and shine. Colors of purple, blue, and pink glitter against the paper lanterns around them.

Atsumu played around more than Sakusa seemingly expected, with the way he smiled as he watched Atsumu work. He turned and twisted, smiled and brushed shoulders against Sakusa everytime he went to the back of the stall to grab their desserts. 

“One hydrangea wagashi for you aaand…” Atsumu says, to keep up some suspense, “galaxy yokan!”

After his little show, more people start to line up and a few even ask for inspiration for the dessert.

He goes on and on, the occasional quip from Sakusa to help him remember certain events that lead to their choice. 

He retells each story, every trip springing in his head like a bee buzzing for attention. He shows off the hydrangea wagashi, pointing out the colors of purple, blue, and pink and how they were inspired by the ones he and Sakusa saw during their garden trip. He decorates the plate with rock candy and tells everyone about the planetarium nearby selling ones of every color. When they place their magnum opus of galaxy yokan, Atsumu animatedly recounts how clear the stars were the night of the hill. How when he sprinkles on the edible stars atop the gelatin, he talks of stars of all sizes littering the night sky. 

People smile. People laugh. Sometimes people even ask more as Sakusa slices the gelatin and Atsumu decorates the finishing product. Atsumu gives all he can, talking about anything and everything about each trip no matter how menial such as the color of his shirt or the dog that passed by them for mere seconds. Sakusa simply listens, smiles, and lets Atsumu continue.

But no matter how much everyone asks or how much Atsumu likes to talk, he keeps a few things to himself. 

For one, he never talks of Sakusa’s aversions or the way Atsumu begins to clean the seats and tables beforehand whenever Sakusa wants to sit. He keeps quiet of rainy garden runs and volleyball memories that result in finding a gym for a game. He doesn’t talk of pretty stars swimming in a sea of blues and purples being the backdrop for Sakusa’s touch that sends warmth skittering across his skin like the pitter patter of rain. He doesn’t speak of onigiri filling their stomachs between breaks, of dog videos, of jokes and banter that make him smile.

He keeps it all to himself.

Because no matter how much he tries, he won’t ever be close to expressing the hints of sweetness of Sakusa Kiyoomi.

“Atsumu-san! Omi-san!”

Atsumu turns and he grins when he sees a barrel of orange hair stumbling next to white.

“Shouyou-kun, Bokkun! Ya made it!”

“It was busy!” Bokuto exclaims, stretching his back in effect. “But you guys have probably been busier.”

“We can take over if you want!” Hinata suggests. “Bokuto-san and I were planning on how to attract customers.”

“Want to see?”

“Leave it for the customers,” Sakusa says quickly and Atsumu can’t help but agree. Knowing those two, anything they do could bring attention to their stall, for better or worse. 

Atsumu smirks. “Yer sure you two can handle it? Omi-kun and I did real good this entire time without ya.”

“Bring it on Tsum-Tsum! My disciple and I will overcome any mountain. No matter if it’s bigger than… than uh… what’s something big?” Bokuto whispers to Hinata, hand covering his mouth.

Hinata gives it genuine thought and Atsumu can nearly see the cogs spinning in his head. “Oh! Kageyama and I have this super huge plant at home.”

“No matter if it’s bigger than Kageyama’s plant!” Bokuto stands proudly.

“It’s also mine, Bokuto-san!” Hinata defends. “I water it more than Sleepy-yama and—”

Atsumu tugs at Sakusa’s sleeve. “Let’s bounce before Hinata starts relaying all his wins and losses from Tobio-kun, again.”

Sakusa nods tiredly and it leaves Atsumu laughing. 

They waltz around a sea of people wandering around, letting the moon illuminate their chef’s coat as they try food from different vendors and partake in the games scattered across the venue. Atsumu can see the way Sakusa tries not to frown—more than usual, at least—when he loses the majority of the games they play. Having a sibling, much less a twin, made Atsumu more competitive than he should be. Luckily for him, Sakusa puts up a good game… most of the time.

“How’re ya likin’ yer seventh loss, Omi-kun?” Atsumu gloats.

“Ah, so we’re relaying losses now? I didn’t know we were trying to be Hinata, today.”

They continue their way throughout each aisle before finally standing face to face with an array of bamboo. Its green leaves sway with splashes of red, blue, and yellow hanging from its stems like fruit on a tree, each one its own hidden treat written within the paper.

Atsumu nudges his shoulders against Sakusa. “Wanna tell me what yer wish is?”

“Didn’t they tell you that if you say it out loud, it doesn’t come true?” Sakusa looks towards the tanzaku fluttering against the wind. 

“Weeell,” Atsumu drags out, “the more people know, then the more likely it’d come true, yeah?”

Sakusa gives it some thought, humming faintly, then, “Maybe. But what if I don’t want to tell you at all?”

“Yer cruel, Omi. Real cruel. And here I was ready to tell ya mine.”

“You just have a big mouth.”

“Lucky you, huh?” Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows.

Sakusa huffs out a little laugh, grabbing an empty yellow strip of paper from the side to begin writing. Atsumu moves along and grabs a red. True to his word, Sakusa doesn’t say his wish, writing quietly while the chatter of people drown out the pen moving across paper. Atsumu looks at the sheet in his hand.

What should he even wish for? Now that he thinks about it, if Sakusa did agree to hear his wish, he’d have realized all too quickly his brain was blank. He could wish for success in his brother’s business and for Panzuki. His parents' health could also be something he could write down. 

In the end, he settles with a combination of health and success. But when Sakusa walks over to the bamboo stem, hair messy from the wind and hands meticulous in tying his strip of paper, Atsumu adds something else. Wish or not, he’ll find a way to make it come true.

“The fireworks will be starting soon,” a voice over a speaker system says. “The winners for today’s food stall competition will be announced a few minutes before! Don’t forget to add your vote!”

Atsumu turns to Sakusa and extends his hand. He smiles a little. “Hand?”

“I hope you don’t say ‘in marriage.’”

“Aw crap, ya figured me out.”

Sakusa laughs, light yet full all at the same and it’s then Atsumu’s glad Sakusa took his hand in his before his knees buckled at the sweet sound. 

When they reach their stand and see Hinata and Bokuto, the voice speaks again.

“Thank you to everyone who came today and for supporting our wonderful vendors for this year’s Tanabata festival!”

The speaker continues, listing a few sponsors and other events later in the night. Atsumu turns to his side to see Bokuto and Hinata chattering away as they eat skewers of dango.

There’s a sudden gust of wind that sways his bangs away from his face and he’s come face to face with Sakusa’s side profile. He’s taking what seems to be a deep breath, closing his eyes and opening them like a reset.

“Hey,” Atsumu murmurs softly.

Sakusa turns to face him. His lips quirk up. “Hey.”

Atsumu mirrors the movement. “You okay?” 

Sakusa exhales, pauses, and nods. “For the most part.”

Atsumu notices the slight fidget in Sakusa’s fingers, the lips being worked between his teeth, and the pinch of his brows. Atsumu squeezes his hand. “Wanna know somethin’?”

Sakusa nods. “What is it?”

Atsumu leans close, cupping his mouth with his free hand and whispering, “No matter the result, I’m glad you’re my partner. I hope that makes the least part… less.”

It takes Sakusa a moment to register the words, but when he does, his cheeks dust pink and he huffs out a tiny laugh. “I’m glad, too. I had fun.”

There’s a skittering in Atsumu’s chest, much like when he first tried that horrid milkshake that sent shivers down his spine and tingles in his fingers. This time, however, it’s not entirely unpleasant. He nudges Sakusa’s shoulder. “Still hopin’ we win, though.”

Sakusa snorts. “Obviously.”

The speaker clears their throat. “Now! Without further ado, the winner for this year’s Tanabata vendor event is…”

Atsumu tenses up, hand squeezing Sakusa’s in tandem.

“... Panzuki!”

He lets out a breath.

A cheer sounds behind him. Then two, three, and a wave of applause spreads throughout the people strewn about the venue. Atsumu can vaguely see Bokuto and Hinata’s voices yelling with grins on their faces and bounding towards him. Rather, all he sees is the way Sakusa’s eyes turn to crescents and lips give way to a toothy smile.

The night passes like a blur afterwards. Atsumu can recall bits and pieces of Hinata and Bokuto smothering him into a tight hug, struggling to drag Sakusa into the mix. They’re given a simple trophy that seems like it came straight from a toy factory, but it shines prettily enough for Atsumu not to care. When people come by to congratulate him and Sakusa, he beams and inserts a plug to Onigiri Miya. 

Whenever the night comes to a close, he remembers sitting next to Sakusa as they indulge themselves in a pack of daifuku.

“The fireworks are starting soon,” Sakusa says.

“Is that excitement I hear?”

“No. It’s pure, unadulterated fear of loud noises and debris.”

Atsumu laughs, scooting himself closer to the warmth of Sakusa’s body, placing the daifuku and trophy to the side. “We can leave if ya want. I don’t mind. It’s too loud when we’re really close to it, anyway.”

Sakusa nods. “Sounds good to me.”

Atsumu stands, carrying the trophy in his hand and letting Sakusa hold the box of daifuku. “Let’s go home then.”

The ride home is quick for the most part and, much like the rest, Atsumu is too tired to properly recall the walk home until they reach his apartment complex. He briefly remembers agreeing to take the trophy home in his place and talking to Sakusa about his home decor. 

One thing, however, that he remembers clearly among his sleep-addled mind is the sudden warmth of Sakusa’s hands pressed against his face.  

“Wake up before you trip over the stairs and break our prize,” Sakusa jokes.

“I’m wide awake. My eyes are wider than the galaxy right now.”

“Oh wow, impressive.”

Atsumu nuzzles himself closer into Sakusa, letting his cheeks warm up between large hands. His eyes droop as the feeling settles deep within his bones, but he quickly opens them again. “Nevermind, m’tired as fuck. Think I might eat shit if I climb up the stairs.”

“Mm, that’s what I expected.” 

One terrifying walk up the stairs and shaky elevator ride later, and Atsumu is sprawled starfish in his bed with a loud groan. “Standin’ and walkin’ ‘roud for hours isn’t good for me, Omi.” Atsumu turns to face Sakusa, cheek smooshed against the bed sheet. “Do ya wanna sit down? It’s clean I swear.”

Sakusa is standing up against the wall with heavy-lidded eyes and Atsumu is wondering how long he’ll stay upright before he goes snoring all over the floor. 

Atsumu sits up. “I can put a towel on the bed if ya want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sakusa says, seating himself at the very, very edge of the bed. If Atsumu didn’t know any better, Sakusa probably had one buttcheek on the mattress and another in the air.

Atsumu rests his chin between both hands. “Wanna tell me how ya feel about winnin’ without your ass fallin’ off the bed?”

“My ass is not falling off the bed.”

“Omi, not a single cheek of yers is on my mattress.”

Sakusa sighs. “I‘ll be honest with you. If I move any more up this bed, I will definitely fall asleep.”

“Ain’t a single thing wrong with that, Omi-kun.”

Sakusa scoffs, a tired smile stretching across his lips. “Do you just want me in bed with you?”

“Your words, not mine.” Atsumu winks.

It seems to work, Atsumu thinks, because Sakusa is now settling himself against the headboard, not a single limb dangling off the bed. Atsumu shuffles closer. 

“Can I?” 

Atsumu gestures towards Sakusa’s hand and chest, opening his arms and wiggling his eyebrows. Sakusa pulls his brows together, trying to piece together exactly what Atsumu is suggesting. He looks between Atsumu and himself once, twice, then Atsumu swears he notices an imaginary light bulb pop above Sakusa’s head when his ears turn pink. 

Sakusa nods slowly and, upon the confirmation, Atsumu stumbles over the sheets and positions himself between Sakusa’s right arm and chest. His heart feels like it’s about to jump out of his throat as he nuzzles in the crook of Sakusa’s neck. He carefully places his right arm to drape across Sakusa’s chest and lets out a breath.

“This is nice,” Atsumu mumbles into the skin. “M’surprised you agreed.”

Sakusa huffs a tiny laugh. “I’m surprised, too.”

Atsumu sighs and lets himself go boneless into the cuddle. “Mind tellin’ me how it feels to be a winner?”

Sakusa gently flicks his forehead. “We both won, idiot.”

“Ow! You effectively delayed my sleep time by one minute.”

When Sakusa readies his fingers again, Atsumu swats his hand away. 

“I’m going to fall asleep,” Sakusa warns. 

“What’s stoppin’ ya?” Atsumu yawns. “We’re off tomorrow.”

“I didn’t shower.”

“Me either. That’s a problem for us in the mornin’.”

Sakusa says, “You’re a terrible influence.”

“Thanks, I do my best.”

The light in the room is dim; Atsumu’s lamp on the desktop and the moon from the window are the only things illuminating the bedroom. Atsumu feels his head and arm rise and fall steadily against Sakusa’s chest.

There’s bread in his chest. Now that’s odd. After all, he’s pretty sure the microorganisms in his chest cavity are quite different from the ones found in yeast. So no, there’s no bread in his chest, but it sure does feel like it. There’s a blossom of warmth spreading throughout the space behind his ribs like dough growing in the oven. It’s soft and occupies the room it’s held in and Atsumu melts.

He closes his eyes, letting his breaths skitter softly into the fabric of Sakusa’s clothes. His head feels cloudy and soon, he knows he’ll open his eyes to tomorrow. 

“Winner or not,” Sakusa murmurs, almost inaudible. There’s something gentle pressing into the crown of his head. “I’m lucky.”

Atsumu fixes the green scarf around his neck and waves.

“Thanks for lockin’ up, Wan-san!”

Inunaki only huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy your date, you bastard.”

Atsumu fakes a frown and juts his lips out. “It’s okay, Wan-san. Omi and I can find someone for—”

“Leave before I tell Meian you were the one who broke our mop—”

“Agh! Shhh!” Atsumu begs. He notices the kitchen doors opening and Sakusa walks out as he slips on his gloves. “Omi-kun, ya gotta defend me! Wan-san’s gonna rat me out for breaking the mop!”

Sakusa stalks up next to Atsumu and slips on his own green scarf. “It’s your fault for trying using it as a microphone.”

Atsumu makes an affronted noise, but it quickly dies down his throat when a hand slips into his. “Let’s go,” Sakusa says.

Any lingering annoyance seeps out of his body with a quick nod of his head. A stupidly giddy smile is stretching across Atsumu’s lips and he simply flips Inunaki off when he hears him say ‘simp’ right before he leaves the front door. 

It’s a quick walk to their destination—save for the snow occasionally slowing them down, but it makes for great hand holding—one Atsumu has known for years and only recently told Sakusa about as a chance to try their chef’s special. They walk in and Atsumu is quick to clean the seat for Sakusa before he sits himself down. The waitress comes to take their order and just like the first time, Atsumu finds his eyes widening when he sees a double chocolate, caramel-drizzle mess. There’s chocolate chips, sprinkles of all colors with sweet and salty caramel on top of three scoops of rocky road ice cream.

“No fuckin’ way,” Atsumu laughs. “Didja really order their milkshake?”

Sakusa raises an eyebrow. “Yes, why?”

“It’s super sweet!” Atsumu exclaims. “Like, I’m-about-to-get-fifty-cavities-and-tonsillitis type sweet.”

Sakusa actually laughs and takes a sip, leaving Atsumu’s mouth wide open as he shows no reaction. “It’s quite delicious.”

“Holy shit, yer a menace. I knew you liked sweets, but these?”

Sakusa smiles. “You should’ve been more specific.” 

“You child.” Atsumu scoffs at the excuse, but nonetheless smiles too. He feels a shiver, but this time, he doesn’t blame the milkshake considering the weather outside.

It’s a nice change. 

And when Atsumu reaches over to intertwine fingers with Sakusa’s, carefree laughs bouncing off the warmth of the restaurant, he doesn’t mind this type of sweetness in his life.