Chapter Text
Who knows if I am still a little boy?
Waiting for the school bus, alone
Tired with my three quarters socks
Whispering prays in the corners
For being naughty
What if the prince became boring,
And always got on my nerves?
What if life is not dreaming?
I just ask to God
A little of vivacity
For I am a child
And don't know the truth
I am a poet and haven't learnt to love
Dumb it is to not live the truth
And I still have an entire afternoon
I walk on the streets
I get my paycheck
I change a plant from its place
I drive my car
I drink my alcohol
And I still have time to sing
Oh, to sing
But I just ask to God
A little of vivacity
For I am a child
And don't know the truth
I am a poet and haven't learnt to love
I am a poet, and haven't learnt to love.
______
Kiyoomi finishes his third drink of the afternoon in less than an hour.
It's strong and the buzz forming in his limbs and the rest of his body is good. The dizziness in the corners of his vision is even better. The burn settling in his stomach is divine. It all erases the sensation of being lonely.
Not a lie. It was him and himself in his large apartment, for the last four years or so, of him going to college lectures, coming back, sleeping, waking up, and college again. Now that he got his degree, though, the silence of his own company hits him even more, extends more, and sads him more for every passing hour.
He has the companies of the books he accumulated for the past years, of course, and his plants displayed in his living room, some whiskey beside his favorite spot on his sofa, some pens and notebooks all around the place, really, he has to take care of this mess (he won't), and his old dusty acoustic guitar he only remembers to play once in a lifetime placed in a corner, asking to be picked up every time it catches Kiyoomi's attention.
Well, but to make it seem less sad, he does have two very talkative-in-the-morning neighbors (he avoids them because they're actually just too nosy about his life), and a cousin (avoided too for the same reasons), but other than them? He has no one else. Cut ties with the rest of his family long ago. He can't even tell himself it's nothing like that, but it is.
But for some reason, somehow, he managed to make his own money and career to maybe the entirety of his life like that, on his own, actually sooner than expected, and still managed to maintain it like that to the present day. His lyrics are good, that much he can recognize. He fought for a degree to at least back him up when talking about the quality of his work, and thinking about it now, he probably wouldn't need it anyway because he is good like that.
So he tells himself. He needs to believe in something.
People know his life and his poetry by heart, and they're sold and sung to millions of people out there who have no idea who was writing these words in the first place. Well, not that he minds. He wished to remain anonymous from the beginning.
Maybe that might have been a mistake, Kiyoomi thinks, when he sits in the dark of his room, with a glass of alcohol braced in one hand and an impeccable amount of worry in the other to balance it out.
He found this talent considerably early. When he was a child, and almost turning into a teenager, maybe, he guesses, but that was a long time ago and he can't recall the exact year anymore.
Other people found his talent, actually, and he only found out he had a talent when he was told he had one in the first place.
He kept writing pages and pages and pages on the back of his notebooks, over and over, telling silent feelings he couldn't bear to say out loud to his mother, not even to the priest who called himself his Father. In an innocent manner, Kiyoomi did consider him family. But as any other life, along with the complexities it brings, everything was complicated back then.
He kept being held off by some kind of invisible guilt of feeling anything and no meaningful words ever came out from his mouth when he needed them to. So, as a solution, written, particular words, organized in certain harmony, were the best as an outlet for feeling, for his soul to rest for at least a short ammount of time.
That was, until he got caught by a professor. His hands got slapped with a wooden rule, and he was sent to Father's room for a lecture, because he wasn't paying attention in the lecture. But, for luck if he believed it at the time, he had a great relationship with the priest. Kiyoomi did consider him a close person. Closer than his own biological father would ever manage to be, to say the truth, and wasn't that sad.
He recalls trying to calm the priest down, and show him what he was doing. It worked, and it is an understatement to say he was delighted. Father was, too, emotional, touched, and said something along the lines, and Kiyoomi remembers because of course he kept a poem guarded with him with the words,
'You have a talent - too big of a heart to translate it in common words, my son. You have to create art in order to feel, and that's beautiful.'
He did say Kiyoomi had to pay attention to his lectures and classes, however, he still encouraged him to continue writing.
And the words stuck with him forever. Maybe it is the truth. Kiyoomi knows he feels too much. He knows he must make art his life. And still, he hasn't found someone with the same passion as him to accompany him with the intensity of it.
There's never hunger like his when it comes to feeling, there's never so much drive like his-
Ring, ring.
Sakusa turns slowly to face his bright red phone, staying beside his decorative bottle of whiskey he likes so much, both resting neatly on the tiny glass side table like good, polite friends. The incessant ringing cuts his thoughts in half.
"You're speaking to Sakusa Kiyoomi, hello." He picks up the phone, sighing audibly. Terrible hour, really. It must be late.
"Hello, yes, I was wondering if you already finished writing the lyrics?" A high-pitched voice asks, nervously.
"I'm sorry, who am I talking to?" Sakusa looks at the clock positioned above his kitchen station. It is way past work hours, he confirms. He doesn't have a schedule at all, but still considers it rude for anyone to call in such a… resting hour of the day.
Everyone should be asleep at this time.
"Oh, I'm sorry, you must have talked to my coworker Koutarou-san? Um, Bokuto Koutarou? I'm Hinata Shoyou by the way!" The man clears his throat. "I'm sorry I'm calling so late, but he asked for some type of love letter for a song."
Ah, makes sense. Sakusa leans back into the cushions of his couch.
"Hm, yes. I do recall it." Kiyoomi looks at his notebooks thrown around on his coffee table. He winces at the torn pages and rumpled papers around them, clears his throat, and speaks again. "I'm sorry, I'm going through some sort of personal issues right now. I can't possibly finish the poem- the lyrics, within this week."
Sakusa says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
He isn't lying, but he isn't telling the truth either.
He's actually in a creativity block. He's stuck in a place where he can't bring himself to write any more sad lyrics, and if he's so annoyed at himself, he can even call it pathetic lyrics about loneliness.
And, much more than that, he cannot physically bring himself to write about love, because everything just comes out sounding bitter.
It would be terrible for everyone's careers if lyrics like that came out to public, including the careers of- of Bokuto Koutarou, and Hinata Shoyou, and the people they work for, with, and maybe even the people in their circle might be affected by the lack of feelings from the writer- lyricist? Whatever his job is considered to be by them, it'll end careers for everyone.
"But, but, that's okay! We do not have a deadline! I just called to ask if you've been writing other things, too. From what I've seen from your work, you're very talented." Hinata says, more enthusiastically, laughing a little, clearly letting his gentleness slip through his voice. Sakusa admits he doesn't find the man as rude as before for calling so late. "So? Have you?"
"Um, currently, no. There's not a new thing I can possibly show you, and I'm so sorry about that." Sakusa answers, looking around his living room searching for a specific notebook he knows can save him. When Hinata makes a disappointed noise at the other end of the line as soon as Sakusa finds what he's been looking for with his eyes, he grunts before saying, "But I do have some old poems you could make use of."
"Really?!"
Sakusa fondly rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm of the man at the other end of the line.
"Yes. They do not have as much quality as my most recent works, but I'm sure they do have some feelings I'm not able to capture anymore- um, currently." Sakusa says, getting up, careful to not let the loopy wire of the phone get stuck in his furniture, to grab the book from where it is on his kitchen counter.
He plops back down to the same spot on his couch he was before and opens the notebook mindlessly, looking through the pages without really reading them.
"Currently."
"Sad. Boo-hoo, poor guy. Shoyou, ask him if he can leave it at the studio." Another voice says from Hinata's end.
Sakusa frowns at the comment.
"Sakusa-san, can you leave it-"
"I heard it." Sakusa cuts, annoyed, and hears a hiss from a distance and a mumbled apology from Hinata. "Poor me. Can you pass me the address, please?"
"Hm? Oh! Yeah, yeah! Just a minute!" Hinata says, letting fumbling noises pass through the speaker. "Atsumu-" Hinata is whispering. "First of all, he heard you, you idiot. Now what's the address again?"
"Ah, give it to me." Atsumu, Sakusa assumes it is, says. There's more noises, until it lands on an apparently steady hand. "Hi, Kiyoomi. Do ya have a pen in your hands?"
The man's voice is annoying, something like a stereotypical jock, along with a completely cocky bastard would sound in Sakusa's brain, and he doesn't sound sorry at all for calling Sakusa a "sad, boo-hoo, poor guy".
Worse, he just got called by his first name by a complete stranger, with no honorifics whatsoever. Minus ten points to him in Sakusa's internal rank of people.
But, as Sakusa is a controlled man, he ignores it for the sake of his career and searches in his shirt's pockets for a pen, because work is work, and he needs his pay at the end of the month anyway.
He finds plenty of pens. He chooses the first he's able to get.
"Yes. Go on." Sakusa says.
"Osaka, eight street, building seven-one-one. Third floor, door two." The man says, simply, as Sakusa writes it at the back of his own hand. "Be sure to bring your sexy voice along too."
Sakusa feels his eyes twitch. There's a loud laugh when the silence extends too much, and Atsumu begins to speak again. Kiyoomi does not want to listen.
"I'm kidding-"
"Disgusting." He scoffs, and ends the call smashing his phone back into its box. He sighs, irritated, pouring one more drink into his glass.
Ring, ring.
For God's sake, what has Sakusa done to deserve this?
"Yes." He attends, sounding furious.
"I'm so sorry, Sakusa-san!" Hinata apologizes, in a desperate voice. Then, he proceeds to let out something similar to a sob, even though he sounds more guilty than sad, and talks again. "Please don't mind this man, he's not professional at all. Feel free to come by at any time of the day tomorrow. Sorry! Bye!"
He ends the call.
Huh, Sakusa thinks. If Hinata really is trying his best to show good appearances to Sakusa, then he doesn't mind to contact the studio and leave his notebook - but only because of Hinata. But he'll get his revenge for the rudeness of the other man. Oh, he will. Sakusa writes under the address,
Annoy him back.
He finishes his drink fastly, and dozes off into sleep before even getting comfortable where he sits.
Sakusa wakes up with his curtains being violently opened and sunshine pouring directly into his face. He makes an annoyed sound and tries to cover his eyes with his arms.
"Jesus, you didn't even lay down properly, Kiyo." A voice from the living said.
Living, which Sakusa is definitely not doing at the moment.
"What time is it?" He asks, taking off his glasses and tossing them to the coffee table. He feels his head throbbing in pain and presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.
"Close to two-thirty. Very late to be waking up on such a beautiful day." The voice answers, walking to Sakusa's direction on the wooden floor. He kneels in front of him. "You gotta stop drinking before sleep."
"Uh-huh. You know I don't do it so frequently, Toya." Sakusa says, removing his hands from his face and smiling at his cousin. "Why are you here today?"
"I just came to water your plants." Motoya says, smiling sweetly, getting up from his spot and heading towards the kitchen, opening every cabinet until he finds the container he wants. He grabs it and fills it with water. "And, if it didn't seem obvious, I also came to check on you after your weekly I'm-sad-and-lonely-and-I'll-drink-mindlessly-on-my-weekends. Your words, not mine."
Motoya walks back into the living room, stopping in front of the first plants he reaches. Sakusa watches him, somehow annoyed at the comment, but too tired about it to protest, and happy to have company and someone to water his plants.
"Do you really think it is mindless to do that? To drink before sleeping? I do not have anything else to do for fun." Kiyoomi asks, sighing, laying back down on his couch.
"I mean, you could search for new things to do other than stay in your apartment all the time. Go out. Drink less. Or at least drink with potentially new friends." Motoya says, light-hearted and worried. He turns around and offers his cousin a small smile. "Or with a date."
Sakusa shivers at the word.
"No, thank you."
"You don't like the idea of dating?" Motoya asks, returning his attention back to the plants. He lifts the leaves of one or another, to reach its soil and pour the water he thinks it's needed. "You never talk about it with me."
Sakusa would like to remain as silent as possible. He can't do much of it. Motoya has this ability of being able to squeeze answers out of Kiyoomi, only by reassuring him silently with understanding and support. No one else does this for him, ever.
"I do." Sakusa says, turning to look at his ceiling. "I do like it. I just… can't bring myself to do it."
"Do you know why?" Motoya says, walking back into the kitchen for more water. He gets back with a filled glass, too, to give it to Kiyoomi.
He does know why. But this time, Kiyoomi can't tell the reason even if he tried really hard to. Even if he was obliged to tell, the truth is too far from acceptable, and it's buried so deep inside him that Motoya has no choice but to accept the silent answer Kiyoomi gives him.
Kiyoomi can't tell Motoya to stop right there and ask no more. He shakes his head, instead, and takes the glass from Motoya's hands and drinks the water down in three big sips.
"Okay," Motoya nods, getting back to the plants. "It's okay if you don't wanna tell for now. I just worry about you sometimes. I haven't seen you writing in a while."
This makes Sakusa's heart clench. He bites the inside of his cheeks.
"I'm in a creativity block. That's all." He justifies.
Motoya shakes his head without facing his cousin.
"No, the truth, please. You're very sad, Kiyo." Motoya says, still watering the plants, moving slowly to his left every time he finishes with a new one. "You don't have to justify why, I just want to know if you'll be able to move on from this."
And isn't that the fun part? Sakusa has no idea if he can.
He had no idea why he got so sad like this all of sudden. Or was it all of sudden? Was he in a snowball of frustration and didn't realize when it got so big? Was guilt slowly creeping back into him? Had it finally dawned on him that despite him being an adult, with accomplishments and a stable career, he still was as accompanied as he could ever be, with no one else by his side but his cousin?
Despite having him, Kiyoomi could never admit to the feelings he insisted on shoving away, but always came back. That just left a lump in his throat and a bad taste in his mouth.
He would trade his entire apartment for love and company, if he could, and he can't really do it, can he? Not in his reality. He covers his face with his hands in case he starts crying in front of his cousin.
Motoya doesn't push him to answer. He never does.
"Hm? What is that written in your hand?" Motoya asks, waking over and sitting on the arm of the couch Kiyoomi is resting his head against, driving their attention somewhere else so Kiyoomi doesn't get overwhelmed. "An address?"
"Ah, I have to leave a notebook in an idiot's studio." Sakusa says, lifting his written hand away from his face to look at it. It's smudged by now, but he can make out the basics. Both ignore how his voice sounds pained.
"Annoy him back?" Motoya reads. He laughs. "Why?"
"He was an asshole to me through the phone! His co-workers, Bokuto-san and Hinata-san? Pretty okay. They have some manners." Sakusa groans in annoyance before speaking about Atsumu. "Now, that man, Atsumu, which I think is just an employee who's going to get fired soon? Terrible. He first comments 'sad, boohoo' about me, and then says, 'be sure to bring your sexy voice to me', or something like that."
Motoya looks at his cousin with wide eyes, in silence, as Kiyoomi waits for any comments from him. Instead, Motoya cracks and laughs so much he has to grab his belly to stop it from hurting. Kiyoomi ignores him as much as he can, with a frown, until Motoya calms down, wiping tears away from his eyes.
"Kiyo."
"What."
"First of all, I think he flirted with you. Maybe in a gross manner, yes, but he did." Motoya says, smiling widely, as Kiyoomi rises from his spot to face his cousin, mouth hanging open in confusion. Motoya raises a finger in front of Kiyoomi's mouth. "Shh, not done."
Sakusa shuts his mouth, but bats Komori's hand away from him and insists on asking anyway.
"Okay, and what else?"
"And you said you would leave the notebook in a studio. With a guy named Atsumu." Motoya sinalizes with his hands for Kiyoomi to finish the thought by himself. He doesn't connect any points and makes an annoyed face at Motoya.
"I'm really not getting it, Toya." Kiyoomi says, backing out slowly. Motoya face palms, laughing even more. "Please explain."
"The studio is a whole building- it's a music and radio studio. Atsumu is not an employee, he is the employer. He owns the whole thing, you dumb man." Motoya shakes his head. "I don't know how you don't know that, given that you're a part of the local music industry in one way or another."
Oh. Ha-ha.
Kiyoomi is about to explode from annoyance.
At the same time, he isn't impressed that the man, Atsumu, was an asshole. Maybe he let his money or popularity or status or whatever enter his brain and now he's self-obsessed and filled with a confidence he shouldn't have. It happens. That doesn't make him feel any empathy towards him, though.
"Stop smiling maniacally." Motoya calls Kiyoomi's attention back, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Do not murder anyone. Just yet. Please."
"But can I get my revenge?" Kiyoomi asks.
"I don't know. Does it involve any crimes?"
"Not actually." Kiyoomi shrugs.
"Kinda boring, then. But go for it! Just make sure you don't throw away your entire career, it's pretty solid for now." Motoya gives him a thumbs up. He gets up from the couch, but stands in place. "I already took care of the plants you almost killed. I gotta go home, but I'll be back next week. Call me if you feel too I'm-sad-and-lonely-and-I'll-drink-mindlessly-on-my-weekends again."
"God, stop calling it that." Kiyoomi shoves his cousin's face away.
"Ouch! Promise, Kiyo!" Motoya says, annoyed, shoving Kiyoomi's hand away from him and grabbing his fists with anger. Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and sighs, controlling himself just so he doesn't physically fight his cousin like they used to do for the entirety of their teenage years.
"I promise." Kiyoomi surrenders.
"Good!" Motoya smiles sweetly, setting Kiyoomi free and turning on his heels and leaving, waving at him. "Don't forget to drink more water. Bye!"
Kiyoomi gives him a lopsided grin and the door shuts.
He rests again on the couch, and dozes off into nothingness for a while.
And when he finally feels like a person again, he gets up from his couch to do house chores and to do his job to try and write again.
To try - key word.
He tries and tires his brain with it until it gets past sunset. Nothing comes out if it.
The pile of ripped pages and crumpled paper looks bigger than the previous one.
It's sad, actually, and his hand shakes to write more self-loathing commentaries in organized manners to make it appear like good poetry.
What felt like too many hours later, probably more than he needed to finish a whole book if dared his brain to actually focus and create, he got up from his office chair and looked around.
He finds himself in a mirror, with dry and chapped lips, tousled hair, feeling sore and disgusting from spending almost the whole day inside the same room, with the same clothes he used yesterday. He reaches for his glasses, puts them on, and looks at the tiny clock kept on his table, disoriented.
"Shit."
It's late. It's so late, and Kiyoomi is dumb, really, to let time pass so slow and still miss it. The studio must be closed in a few minutes, but he can make it if he's lucky. He needs his check, damnit.
He runs for a quick bath, and when he's back out of it, he grabs his notebook, wallet, and makes a run for a taxi outside of his building. For his luck, he's able to catch one right as another passenger is being left on the sidewalk. He enters the car in a rush.
"Where to, sir?" The taxi driver asks.
"Um…" Sakusa looks at his hand. Shit. The ink has gone completely from his skin, and now there's just a blurred blue mark on the back of his hand. But the driver must know the city, right? Motoya told him it was a radio studio. "Um, do you know where the radio station is?"
"Hm, the Jackals? I'll leave you right there, mm-hmm." The man says, politely, starting up the car engine and unparking it as Sakusa attaches his seatbelt. "It'll be seven hundred and fifty yen, sir."
"Yes, fine." Sakusa says, searching for his money. He counts it and gives it to the driver without a word, the driver not bothering to check it if it's correct at all.
"Here?" The man asks, after a while, pointing outside at his right as he parks.
"Probably. Thank you." Sakusa leaves, half running, with everything he needs in hands, and an annoyance with the size of the moon.
He enters the building alone, already emptied if it weren't for very few staff.
"Good night sir, we're already closing." One of the receptionists greets him, adjusting his glasses as he looks up. He's serious and kind of threatening, but it won't work on Kiyoomi.
"Hinata-san said I could come by at any time today." Kiyoomi insists, sharing the seriousness with the man. He knows he's being annoying. He doesn't care. "Can I go up?"
"Ah, you must be Sakusa-san, yeah?" A more strong man appears from behind the receptionist, taking place on the counter, between Sakusa and Receptionist-san. He turns around to talk with the other man. "Sorry, 'Kaashi. We've been waiting for him."
Receptionist-san - Kaashi, was it? Nods and goes back into minding his business.
"Hi!" The big man extends his arm for a handshake and offers a big smile. Sakusa just slightly bows and refuses to touch him, but the man doesn't seem to be affected in the slightest. "I'm Bokuto Koutarou. We spoke through the phone! Atsumu and Shoyou are on the third floor, door two, waiting for you."
Bokuto points at the elevator, and then up.
"Thank you, Bokuto-san." Sakusa says, heading towards the elevator. He presses the third floor button with his knuckles, sighs, and looks mindlessly again at his notebook.
It's old. It has all kinds of texts, but mostly, there are love poems. This notebook has been the single thing saving him recently, since everyone loves a good love song, and he doesn't do that anymore - loving.
He can't.
This notebook is from the end of his last highschool years, when he fell in love with another student, an year older; And he truly fell, which was rare, but happened, and he wrote about colors that didn't exist, and his heart pounding fast in his ribcage every time they were close, and soft hair, and skin, and strong arms and imposing manner, and he had to stop.
He had to stop, because if Father saw this, he would find out who it was about, and Kiyoomi would be lectured about sin, and wouldn't be considered one of God's children anymore.
Or worse, he wouldn't be considered one of Father's children anymore, which Kiyoomi feared most knowing he was definitely more present in his life than God.
He closes the book forcefully when he reads about green eyes, closes his own eyes instead, and, in silence, prays for forgiveness again.
It was a few years ago, but the memory still burns behind his eyelids.
Kiyoomi walks into the booth.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
He walks over to door two, as indicated, when the elevator arrives.
Knock, knock.
"Seriously, right now?! It's so late. We have to finish work!" A muffled voice comes from inside. It keeps mumbling under its breath as Sakusa hears steps walking closer to the door, which is pulled open fastly with force, startling Sakusa. "Who even are ya?"
"Atsumu!" A small, ginger man shout-whispers from behind him, following up. "Don't be so rude!"
The man standing in front of him right now, Atsumu, is absolutely more horrifying than Sakusa thought he would be. If his attitude was bad through the phone, his attitude is worse now, it seems. No manners at all. It amuses him somehow.
Kiyoomi contorts his face in disgust when the man keeps staring at him.
The smaller man pushes himself in between Sakusa and Kiyoomi and bows.
"Welcome, Sakusa-san! Please enter. I'm Hinata Shoyou!" Hinata greets, pushes Atsumu out of the way with impressively almost no effort, and offers Kiyoomi a chair inside the room, happily signing with his arms to the one located across the table.
"Nice to meet you." Sakusa says, sitting down. Only because Hinata offered.
"Oh. Hah!" Atsumu laughs at himself, sitting down at a chair besides Hinata and writing a few words down.
"Is there something funny?" Sakusa asks, placing his notebook on the table slowly, with much effort to appear controlled. Atsumu's attitude is a lot to deal with, really, but his whole presence in front of him is ten times worse.
It's not only the cocky attitude in his words.
His posture is of someone who thinks he's better than anyone else in the room, his lazy smile and brown honey eyes piss off Sakusa in an unexplainable manner, his clothes are - no. Sakusa can't offend that, not really. It's nice clothing actually.
He would say that only they could cover his toned arms.
And his bleached hair is… horrible, really. It's clearly for people who want to show off no matter what.
There's too many rings in his fingers and Sakusa can't tell if he's trying to exhibit either compromise, taste, or money. All of the options sound bad, really bad.
"I'm laughing cause ya did bring yer sexy voice along." Atsumu answers, finishing whatever he was writing and closing his own notebook with a more sincere smile. He tucks his pen behind his ear and smiles teasingly at Sakusa, who just scoffs as an answer.
"You're disgusting, seriously." Sakusa says, frowning, and handing the notebook to Hinata when he finally sits down across from him.
"I've heard that one before, sweetheart." Atsumu snatches the notebook from their hands, and Hinata makes an offended sound. Kiyoomi grunts in frustration.
"Let me see! Agh! Que saco, Atsumu!" Hinata protests, rising up from his chair in a jump.
Kiyoomi doesn't try to understand what probably are curse words in another language coming from Hinata as he walks over to Atsumu, resting his elbows on Atsumu's backrest.
When Hinata finally quiets down, both of them read in silence for a few minutes, each doing different, but similar expressions.
While Hinata looks much more enthusiastic and emotive, gripping the front of his button up from moment to moment as if he's clutching at his heart, Atsumu looks much more… like he's winning in a lottery. His eyes have this kind of sparkling in them. Kiyoomi can't pinpoint what is making them do that. It's weird, in a certain way, but Kiyoomi finds it interesting to watch attentively anyway.
"Wasn't I selling one of these poems as lyrics? Where's the musician?" Kiyoomi interrupts their reading, crossing his arms when he bears enough silence. Both Atsumu and Hinata turn to face him, with wide eyes.
"Ahh, it's a thing we do?" Hinata tries to explain. He taps his chin with his pointing finger, thinking of a better set of words. "We're live radio hosts, so we have to be creative, right?"
Sakusa nods in response.
"Well, Atsumu-san here had this idea of playing romantic songs live, so he calls musicians over to play them sometimes! This gives opportunities for dedications, to make the songs open letters of love." Hinata continues, walking back to his chair and plopping down on it. He starts to spin from one side to the other, as if to help him think, and Sakusa thinks it's kinda funny. "But! We've always gotta innovate, so he-"
"I decided to put out unreleased songs." Atsumu says, catching Sakusa's attention. His smile is sly. Sakusa squints his eyes. "People love it. The listeners send in letters and letters asking for a new musician to feature in the radio, for us to help them release new music. So we've got a deal with a group of them, and we're separating a few lyrics for those who don't compose from zero or are stuck. Ya got a pretty nice paycheck coming for yer wallet, darling."
"Alright. Which ones do you like?" Sakusa asks, a little less tense, resting back in his chair, letting a twitchy smile appear for a second.
"Every single one I've read so far." Atsumu laughs to himself, amused, and Hinata agrees, nodding. Sakusa looks at his side to avoid showing any reactions to what was most likely a compliment, failing miserably when he's sure Atsumu caught it. "Can't believe someone like ya wrote those. Did ya actually write this?"
Atsumu points at a specific poem Sakusa would rather never look at again, practically shoving the notebook in his face. New colors, his heart, soft hair, soft skin, and strong arms, imposing manner… and so much guilt, and he's sorry for ever looking into green eyes and ever thinking differently of them. Forgive me, Father.
Sakusa blinks away from the page.
"Are you doubting my capacity for love?" He asks instead, fiercely, looking over the notebook right at Atsumu's face, smiling in the form of a tease.
"Not anymore. Not after reading this one." Atsumu shakes his head, more serene and quiet than before. Sakusa thinks, regrettably so and only for a brief moment, that Atsumu might not be so bad for getting it.
"Yeah! This one is… really, really great, Sakusa-san. You did a good job!" Hinata says, giving him a thumbs up. He starts to gather a few papers here and there, snatches the notebook from Atsumu's hand, who, this time, is the one to protest, and gets out of the room. "I'll be right back!"
"Where is he going?" Sakusa asks, curious, leaning over the table.
"Oh, to get your contract!" Atsumu beams at him, bearing his sharp teeth. Sakusa Kiyoomi has to physically grab his right fist with his left hand to keep it from landing on such a nice smile. "You're in for good."
"Great. Too bad I don't get to see you again to get revenge on your rudeness." Sakusa deadpans, not looking away from Atsumu's eyes for a second.
Atsumu bites his lower lip, smiling, like he's thinking. His eyes shine even brighter.
"I dunno why ya thought I was so rude. I was trying so hard to cause a good impression on ya, truly a sweetheart." He says, resting his chin on his hands, leaning over the table, relaxing his eyes. Atsumu's smile turns into something smart, like he just had the greatest thought ever - Sakusa doubts it, of course - and leans even more over the table, into the direction he's sitting. "And no one said ya were not going to see me again. Ya are coming back with more lyrics… Aren'tcha?"
Sakusa feels his eyes twitch in distress because he probably will. He doesn't answer, because both Hinata and Bokuto come barging through the door with loud voices and laughter.
"Here!" Hinata gives Sakusa a stack of paper and his notebook back. "I told you, he's good, Koutarou-san. You're going to see it."
"Yeah! And we definitely- excuse me." Bokuto says, reaching for a loose paper in the middle of the stack.
It is a photocopy of the page where he wrote the poem on.
Differently from the original, which is profusely modified with red squiggles where the words didn't quite fit plus two yellow post-its with the correct stanzas, the photocopy looks dead to him. It is in black and white scale - the life taken out of it.
But it was soon to become music, so Kiyoomi ignored this fact; the text was about to be revived into something else.
It felt, somehow, he was selling a part of him, but it was no bother, because, in reality, it actually relieved him he was getting rid of this in a way or another. He wanted to forget. To forgive. To change the meaning of the poem for him.
"We stay with this." Bokuto says, turning the paper to himself, squinting his eyes to make out words. "If you sign the documents, of course! Let me take a look."
Sakusa reads through the document's pages without needing to look at Bokuto's reaction. He knows there's a good poem in his hands, and he needs those words being said by somebody else.
He needs these memories gone and reassignified to someone else's heart. And just as Kiyoomi finishes reading the papers, tapping the tip of the pen right where he needs to sign, Bokuto gasps.
Kiyoomi looks up at where he's standing.
"Wow!" Bokuto beams at him, pointing at the paper. "Very sweet! It sounds a bit like you wrote it for a kind of masculine girl, though."
Sakusa freezes in place. Everyone stays awkwardly in silence, with a serious face. No, no, absolutely not, Sakusa would rather die than to explain this text to anyone.
Until Atsumu breaks the silence with a loud cackle, calling everyone's attention to him.
"It's obviously written for a man, Koutarou. Things have been going over your head recently, haven't they?" Atsumu laughs a little more at Bokuto and gives Sakusa a side eye as if to check on him, but still with a smile. Hinata laughs along.
"I mean, I didn't realize it at first okay?!" Bokuto says, hiding his face behind the paper. "Shoyou! You could have explained it to me!"
"Sorry? I wanted you to read it first to hear your own conclusions!" Hinata taps on Bokuto's shoulders to comfort him. "But it is very funny that you, of all people, didn't get it at first try."
"Stop! Usually I get those things, I'm just tired, okay?" Bokuto cries into the paper, hunching his shoulders in a sad manner. Hinata sits him down in his own chair, taking the paper away from his hands, eyeing Atsumu with a sigh. "I'll tell 'Kaashi you're making fun of me."
"We're not!" Hinata tells Bokuto, struggling. Hinata looks at Atsumu again with a worried face, shrugs, and says, "It's been a long week for him, I guess?"
Atsumu seems to accept Hinata's justification.
All while Sakusa remains silent, trying to understand whatever gave him away to these men, how was the truth behind constructed phrases, metric paragraphs and complicated words and so, so many years of basically lying to everyone around him, so easily found. Or why was Bokuto so sad he didn't get it at first.
"Your mood is acting up, isn't it, Koutarou-san? It's okay, you'll be okay." Atsumu says, getting up from the chair with a loud, worried sigh. "I'll tell your boyfriend to pick ya up. You're gonna be alright."
Ah.
Okay. They're probably all… just like Kiyoomi. In a sense.
He takes a deep breath,
And signs the paper.
"Take the documents with you." Sakusa says, before Atsumu can exit the room they're in. "I already signed them."
"Great! Downstairs we go, then." Atsumu says, looking over his shoulders one more time at Hinata and Bokuto with a worried glance, before he and Sakusa let the door close behind them.
When they both arrive at the elevator, Sakusa maintains himself as far away as possible from Atsumu when he hands over the documents. And, curiously, after some seconds, it's Sakusa who breaks the silence.
"Was it that obvious?" He asks, shuffling around, messing with his nails. "What the poem was about?"
Atsumu huffs a small laugh.
"No." Atsumu shakes his head. "No, it wasn't, but we read new lyrics all the time. And we.. we get the feelings you wrote about."
"And what are they exactly?" Sakusa asks, sounding a little more defensive than he would have liked to be. But he needs to listen. Just to make sure.
"Now, c'mon. Love. For another man." Atsumu states it with an expression like the question bothered him, but his voice sounds sweet and delicate like he wants Kiyoomi to understand something. "I know ya didn't want to say it so explicitly. And it's okay, ya know. With us. To love another man."
Sakusa hums, acknowledges, nods, and keeps himself silent until they arrive at the lobby floor. He feels something tighten just like guilt inside his chest, but breaking just like a tug-of-war rope right after, when he sees Atsumu smiling at him with understanding.
Ding.
The door opens.
"Akaashi-san!" Atsumu's obnoxious voice is back. He walks up to the reception counter, entering behind it. Sakusa keeps himself at a distance, at the front. "Your boyfriend! Upstairs. In a mood. Go save him, please?"
"We need some days off. A month for me if it's not much. Please." Akaashi-san, Kiyoomi thinks it's actually his name this time, says in a deadpan tone to Atsumu, getting up from his chair.
"Granted." Atsumu answers, shooing him with his hands as he steals Akaashi's chair. "Don't overwork yourself. I'll call a substitute."
Akaashi smiles happily at him as a thankful gesture and enters the elevator.
"So! Everything is right, for everything I've seen so far... your contract is signed, I believe you've read everything." Atsumu says, smiling at Sakusa, piling the documents along with a stack of papers. "We'll call ya when we need a new poem. Which is probably when this one is almost finished being set into music. You'll come back for your revenge, Kiyoomi!"
Sakusa nods and gives Atsumu a small smile.
"Oh, yes, I will. Good night, Miya."
Sakusa decides to walk back to his apartment. He'll have nothing to do when he comes back to be alone, anyway, so the walk occupies at least some of his time.
He drifts into thoughts and doesn't realize when he finds his neighborhood, when he walks up the stairs, when he unlocks his door, and when he picks up his current notebook, and writes pages and pages of every possible feeling, of rage, nostalgia, guilt and hope.
He writes, too, about brown honey eyes, toned skin, bleached hair and hands full of rings.
He can't tell himself he's so accepting of those new elements into his life. If there's one thing also present, it is regret.
And, sadly, when he sets down to sleep, he dreams of memories that just remind him of why he can't let Atsumu's charm slide into his life so easily.
______
"You may close your textbooks." The professor instructed, seated behind his desk.
The day was particularly sunny. Sakusa remembers looking out of the window, and happily deciding to guard the memory of a bird flying by.
His joy didn't last long and the memory turned bittersweet now.
He closed his notes and put them inside his backpack, turning his attention back to the professor, who was adjusting his glasses in order to read his own notes. He cleared his throat, calling in full attention from class, and Sakusa listened attentively.
"It's important to know to confess and to know the prayers for forgiveness. You are all growing up, and have to know these are needed by everyone in order to repent for the sins that we have committed, or, considering you're still children, for the sins you will yet commit during your lives." The professor takes the loose pages from his desk in his hands, continuing the lecture while walking through the class.
"All humans, by our very nature, commit sin. No matter what differences we have, we all face temptation. It is why our beloved Jesus Christ died for us, and it is why God allows us freewill to the present days. Sins test our love and devotion for God, Jesus and the Church, so listen well right now." The teacher turned in his heels and got back to the front of the class.
"They make us worthy of either Heaven, Hell or Purgatory, children, and it's in our hands to control our impulses to finally enter Heaven by God's final judgment. By confessing and asking for forgiveness, we take ownership of our own willful actions, and by facing up to our faults, God forgives us for being flawed in nature." The professor smiles. "You must be honest with yourselves before you can be honest with God. If you cannot take ownership of your own actions, God cannot, and will not, forgive you."
The classroom remains silent.
Kiyoomi knows he's not one to be forgiven.
He cannot begin to face his actions which he's sure are not acceptable to anyone's eyes. He knows… something in him is just ultimately wrong.
God would be happy if he didn't need to show Kiyoomi he was wrong about a lot of things, and he had to recognize at least this. And then, if he did recognize it, he would have to ask for a forgiveness he knew was never reaching him.
And Christ would also be happy if he didn't had to show him the pain of the world as a man; he lived there, he saw how it was. But he was a perfect being and that's why he would have perfect joys, and Kiyoomi had flaws that would doom him into suffering.
"Be sure, class, to memorize this prayer for next week." The professor says, starting to write it on the chalkboard in delicate letters.
It was important. Something that could help him, maybe. The delicate letter sinks in Kiyoomi's heart in bold font. He remembers it to this day.
'O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of Thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.'