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If there was one thing volleyball did, it was make you hungry.
At least, that was what Osamu used to always say. Something about, “when you have a taste of something, it just makes you want to eat whatever-the fuck, blah-blah-blah” pretending any of it made sense, even though it never did.
Right now, though, Atsumu hated to admit that his brother might have been right about this one thing.
The MSBY Black Jackals were in Tokyo, fresh off of a late season victory against the Schwieden Adlers, and the locker room was buzzing. Hinata was bouncing off the walls recounting the insane block Bokuto had put up against Ushijima’s spike, Inunaki was belting some ABBA song from the showers, and even Sakusa, who was hidden in a corner toweling off–hot, Atsumu thought–had the faint workings of an almost-smile creeping onto his face.
Atsumu felt electric. No matter how long he played this game, how many victories he achieved, how many service aces he scored (7 today, but who was counting), knowing he and his team had put their all into defeating a tough opponent–nothing made him feel more alive.
“What a fuckin’ game,” he sighed as he sat beside Bokuto, who was smiling down at his phone between his legs.
“You were so awesome, Tsum-Tsum!” Atsumu already knew that–if he hadn’t played well, he wouldn’t be as happy as he was–but Bokuto’s reply came with such an intensely beamed smile that it made him feel special anyway. “That quick you and Omi-san pulled in the last set almost made Hoshiumi-san cry!”
Bokuto was right, it had been an unreal play. It was, for all intents and purposes, a complete fluke. Nothing he and Sakusa had practiced, but it come at a point in the game where the Adlers had been consistently putting up particularly nasty blocks, and his range of motion was severely limited. It was a split-second decision, spotting an opening beside Kageyama, noting Sakusa over his shoulder and just trusting he would be there. It was well worth it to see the look on Fucking Kageyama’s face, even if he knew Coach Foster would be giving him a lecture the entire bus ride home the next morning.
Atsumu hummed in agreement, eyes closed as he tipped his head against the wall and placed his towel on his shoulder. Sakusa must have tuned in at the mention of his name, because when Atsumu opened his eyes again, they were making direct eye contact. He offered a quick wink, which his hitter reciprocated by rolling his eyes, and he chuckled a bit, trying to ignore the way his heartbeat had sped up for a second as they stared at each other.
Atsumu knew he was attracted to Sakusa. He also knew that Sakusa knew that Atsumu was attracted to Sakusa, and was pretty sure Sakusa was also attracted to him, probably, but neither of them ever said anything about it. He wasn’t sure they were going to, and that was fine. He liked Sakusa, as prickly and as mean as he could be and, defeating all odds and expectations (if you were to listen to Suna), they actually got along pretty well. But, Atsumu didn’t get the feeling he was much of a relationship guy, so that was that. It was fine.
“Man, m’fuckin starving!” He whined. It was an attempt to shake himself out of it, a way of diverting his thoughts, but it wasnt untrue; they had played to full sets, and Adlers games always cost a little more energy as it was. The bottomless pit in his stomach had been painfully noticable the minute he stepped off court. From across the room, Adriah yelled at him to “shut the fuck up for once,” because Adriah was an asshole, and Atsumu flipped him off and pulled out his phone to text his twin.
Atsumu couldn’t help feeling like some all-powerful being must have been looking down on him today. Because not only did his team just play maybe their best game of the season, but as his stomach rumbled he thought of Osamu, who was currently in the midst of opening a second Onigiri Miya location in Tokyo. Osamu, who just so happened to be opening said location today for a test run, ahead of its grand opening, which could really only mean one thing.
To: samu 🍙
im coming for free food
:p
with my team
lol
From: samu 🍙
what the fuck
no you aren’t
im busy
“Good news, team,” he announced anyway, standing up from his spot on the bench as everybody glanced up at him, “‘Samu says lunch is on the house today on account of our masterful victory, if any of ya feel like taggin’ along.”
He watched as Hinata’s face lit up at the promise of spending even more time with his teammates, like they wouldn’t be spending 7 hours on a bus together the next moring.
“Osamu-san is in Tokyo?” He questioned, looking like he was about to start bouncing off the walls. “Has he opened the new location already? I’ll have to tell Kageyama, he’ll be–”
“Sorry, Shou-kun,” Atsumu started as he dropped a hand on his shoulder in a plea to get him to please stop talking about Fucking Kageyama while he was so happy. “Not officially. He’s doin’ some trial days here ‘n there, but he’s not officially openin’ for another couple weeks. Tobio-chan’ll have to wait,” he finished, not bothering to hide the smirk of satisfaction Kageyama’s disappointment brought him.
He watched his teammate deflate, banking on him not reaching the conclusion that Kageyama was literally in the same building, rooms away, and could simply join them today if he wanted to.
“Well I’ll still come!” Atsumu knew he could count on Hinata.
As Bokuto nodded his agreeance, and Meian politely declined, and Atsumu shut Adriah down with a yer not invited ‘cause you were mean to me, Hinata turned to Sakusa, now tugging a shirt on–still hot–with a blinding smile.
“What about you, Omi-san? Will you come with us?”
Sakusa paused for a second, weighing his options. He wasn’t usually one to go on team outings, at least not after games, preferring to let his body and mind recuperate as quickly as possible, but Atsumu also knew he hated having to get room service from the hotel and seemed to trust that Osamu at least wasn’t poisoning his food. His eyes slid over to Atsumu, who instinctually grinned before he answered.
“Is the new building up to code?” He asked, pulling a fresh mask out from his bag.
“He wouldn’t be openin’ it if it wasn’t,” Atsumu replied easily, his heart only skipping a small beat when Sakusa nodded, muttering out an okay, I’m ready when you guys are. It was fine.
When they arrived at Osamu’s new location, which you could still see the faded lettering from what used to be a KFC sign sun bleached into the side of, Atsumu was surprised to see how busy it was for an unofficial opening. He knew Osamu had put a lot of work into cultivating a customer base in Tokyo by selling at games and festivals when he could, but he didn’t think they were that loyal. There wasn’t a line, thankfully, but most of the tables were taken up, leaving only one haphazardly placed on the street that Sakusa would definitely complain about, but that he could deal with. With a sigh, Atsumu instructed Bokuto and Hinata to park it and save their seats while he and Sakusa handled the ordering, for no particular reason other than being the most efficient. Obviously.
When they walked inside, Osamu was nowhere to be seen–probably stupid enough to be manning the place alone, since most of his employees were technically not supposed to start for another three weeks–so he and Sakusa made their way to the ordering counter, Atsumu’s hands in his pockets and Sakusa doing a preliminary scan to make sure the place passed his own personal health inspection.
“We did good today, didn’t we Omi-Omi?” He hummed, leaning over to bump his teammate with his elbow. Sakusa didn’t move away, but he didn’t retract his eyes from reading the menu behind the counter, which only had 6 items on it. He hummed.
“It was a good game. The team played well,” came his answer and Atsumu rolled his eyes, smile taking shape.
“Ya know what I’m talking about. We pulled off a killer quick, didn’t we? Did you see Ushiwaka’s stupid face when he didn’t even realize what had happened?” The mention of his friends name must have drawn enough of Sakusa’s attention that he actually looked at Atsumu, and Atsumu felt like wilting as his teammate searched for something in his expression. The two of them stayed silent for a moment, before Sakusa sighed and turned away once again.
“You know Coach Foster is going to be down your throat tomorrow, right?”
Now it was Atsumu’s turn to sigh, his shoulders dropping as he groaned a little.
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, glancing to Sakusa out of the corner of his eye. Sakusa was staring back. “But it was pretty cool though, right?” was his counter, a lazy grin sliding onto his features. And maybe he was really going crazy, maybe the hunger was finally doing him in, because it almost looked like Sakusa was smiling back.
“Yeah, it was,” he answered, turning his gaze to his feet.
Atsumu paused, trying to figure out what to say in response to that. He liked Sakusa like this, when it was just the two of them and he played along with Atsumu’s jokes and tried to act a little less like he was better than everyone. He was so much warmer, so much more willing to share. It was nice. He opened his mouth to ask another question, something stupid like do you have any plans this weekend, but maybe whatever higher power wasn’t actually looking down on him, because his stupid fucking brother had to walk in and ruin it.
“For fucks sake, ‘Tsumu, I told you not to come!” Osamu yelled as he walked out from the back, drying his hands on the towel flung around his neck. “Hi, Sakusa,” he added, earning himself a noncommittal wave from the wing spiker.
“Shut up, ‘Samu! Omi-kun and I just played the game of our lives, and we’re starving,” Atsumu yelled back louder, making sure to be just whiny enough that his starvation could be believed, and noticed in his periphery as Sakusa withered. “What kinda brother would ya be if you didn’t feed us?”
Osamu wasted no time humbling Atsumu.
“Game of our lives my ass,” Osamu answered, because of course he had been watching. “We both know that ya just got lucky with that quick–sorry, Sakusa–”
“Leave me out of this.”
“–and I told you I was busy,” he finished, settling up to the register to punch in an order anyway.
“So I’m helpin’ ya out! Ya don’t even haft’a make anythin’ fancy, give us your extras if it’s easier, and ya still get our business!” Atsumu reasoned, fully intending not to pay.
“Ya aren’t even gonna pay,” Osamu replied.
“Nah, but if it’s good I’ll post it on my Instagram story.”
“Only if it’s good?”
“Why wouldn’t it be good, hey? The fuck are ya doin’ to ‘em?”
“I’m leaving,” Sakusa said before Osamu could retort. Ah, so he was back to normal, quiet, grumpy Sakusa. Osamu really did ruin everything.
“Wait, Omi-kun,” Atsumu started, but as he turned to look at Sakusa’s retreating back he caught sight of what looked like some sort of altercation starting on the street just outside. Right in front of the window was a tall man, almost as tall as Sakusa, with the brightest white hair he had ever seen in his life and wearing what was probably his school uniform. He would look really fucking cool if he wasn’t passionately shouting, presumably, at someone just out of their viewpoint, and when Sakusa turned back to him Atsumu knew they were thinking the same thing.
“Omi-kun, I fucking have to listen to that,” he said plainly, and Sakusa nodded, with a grin. Atsumu changed his mind again, thanking the higher powers that Sakusa Kiyoomi was just as much of a nosey, judgemental asshole as him, because that meant fun Omi was back. Fuck you Osamu.
He tossed a half-hearted be right back at his brother, who just looked incredibly tired as though he was the one who had played a full five sets today, and beelined for the door with Sakusa. They tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as they each took a seat alongside their waiting teammates. Sakusa, the asshole, took the seat beside Bokuto, the one facing whatever was going on, which meant Atsumu was going to have to rely entirely on his hearing to convey the situation.
“You were quick! What did you–” Hinata tried to greet them, only to be met with a hiss from Sakusa.
“Shut the fuck up,” he said, and Hinata blinked, looking confused.
“Me ‘n Omi-kun wanna eavesdrop,” Atsumu whispered to the ginger beside him, nodding his head back in a gesture which caused Bokuto’s eyes to widen in excitement as he made an oh face. Hinata nodded, and angled his head to listen in, too.
The other man–the one who was farther from them, and whose long black hair Atsumu had only gotten a quick glance at from behind–was talking, and he had to strain to make out any of his words through the distance and noise of the busy street.
“You already heard it from Shoko, didn’t you?” He was asking, and Atsumu was immediately intrigued. As the man continued to say something he couldn’t quite hear, his mind raced with theories. Was Shoko a friend? A girlfriend? What were the chances that they had stumbled upon a love triangle? If there was one thing he loved–other than volleyball–it was listening to other people’s petty drama. He felt like a kid in a candy store, putting pieces of a story together as they dropped, knowing things they would probably be absolutely humiliated about, and–
“So you’re just going to kill everyone who isn’t a sorcerer?”
Well that was new. It had come from the man closer to them, the one with the insanely white hair, and Atsumu thought, surely I misheard that.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to kill anyone if there wasn’t a point to it.”
Nope, definitely didn’t mishear that one. He furrowed his eyebrows, surveying his friends’ faces. There was no fucking way they were about to listen to someone confess to murder in front of Onigiri Fucking Miya.
Hinata looked alarmed, Bokuto had a similar look of shock, and Sakusa looked confused as he narrowed his eyes on the two over Atsumu’s shoulders.
Atsumu tried to catch his gaze, sending a message of what’s happening? What can you see? But Sakusa just shook his head the slightest bit. Nothing, yet.
“You’re going to kill all non-sorcerers and create a world of only jujutsu sorcerers?" Osamu had to be pranking him. There was no way. What the fuck were these guys talking about? “You know that’s impossible, right?” The first man pressed, his voice raising as he did so.
“He’s very animated,” Sakusa muttered, just loud enough that Atsumu could hear him, and he believed it. He definitely wasn’t talking like a calm person.
“It’s possible for you, Satoru. Isn’t it?” The second man countered, and although he didn’t really understand what he meant–he had understood maybe three words of this conversation–Atsumu could tell it was pointed. The further man was difficult to hear, so he struggled to make out his next comment. “...convince…impossible to do something that’s impossible for you?”
Atsumu was so fucking confused. Were these guys really catfighting about who could murder more people? Is that what was going on?
“He turned around,” Sakusa let out, a bit breathless as he slammed his hand to the table, just slightly pinning the tips of Atsumu’s fingers under it. He could throw up.
“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru?” The second man’s voice was much clearer now that he was facing them, and he continued. “Or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”
Atsumu didn’t really get what that meant, couldn’t even really tell if it was an insult or not, which was usually his forte, but he wasn’t going to say it didn’t sound really fucking cool. If someone said something like that to him on the court he could probably pull off 10 separate accidental quicks out of spite alone. There was a moment of silence in which Sakusa turned his head, probably trying to get a better look at the first man–Satoru’s– facial expression.
“If I could become you,” the murderer (?) continued “that ‘foolish’ idea would become a lot more realistic, don’t you think?”
That must have gotten to Satoru, because he gasped so loud that Atsumu could hear it, and things were completely silent for a moment, waiting for someone to deliver some nail in the coffin, and then–
Sakusa laughed.
Well, it was more of a snort, since Sakusa was clearly caught off guard by whatever it was he had seen. The other three at the table all jumped, all looking hard-pressed not to talk, but Sakusa waved them all off. He coughed for a second before regaining his composure and looking back up. Atsumu made eye contact, frantically moving his hands about to press for an answer to what just happened, but Sakusa just held a hand up before he whispered, “he’s walking away.”
“What?” Atsumu retorted, which earned him a sharp look that told him to stop talking.
“If you want to kill me, then kill me.” Oh good, Atsumu thought, we’re back on murder. “There would be a point to that.”
Sakusa looked somehow even more confused now, his eyebrows drawn low and eyes focused as his head turned to the side. Bokuto was looking back and forth between the two of them, completely lost, and Hinata seemed as desperate as Atsumu to get Sakusa to talk, if the way he was bouncing his leg was any indication.
There was a good stretch of silence before Sakusa abruptly looked down to the table, clearing his throat. Bokuto began very pointedly trying to look busy, picking up his phone which was completely off, and Atsumu understood why, as the man with the white hair brushed past him. He was able to catch a glimpse of him, and the poor guy looked absolutely wrecked. The entire conversation–at least, what he could gather from it–was more about personal achievement (and murder?) than anything else, but the guy looked like he had just gotten dumped.
Had they just broken up in front of Onigiri Miya?
Jesus Christ, Sakusa had laughed at him looking like this. Maybe he was even more of an asshole than Atsumu.
Once Satoru was out of earshot, Hinata was the first one to pipe up.
“Should we call the police?” He blurted out, and Atsumu actually stopped to ponder it.
They had heard some incriminating things, sure. But there was no way the men were just casually, actually talking about killing people, killing each other on a busy street in Tokyo on a random Thursday afternoon. Not a shot. And, really, as much as the idea of Osamu getting interviewed by police officers and the news before he could even get the location open was funny, it would probably be bad for business to associate the restaurant with murder, and he wasn’t that terrible of a brother.
“They didn’t kill anyone,” Sakusa answered with a tsk and an eyeroll, and he seemed so confident in it.
“I don’t know, Sakusa-san. They talked about killing people a lot,” Bokuto was next, saying it so absurdly casually that it was almost funny. “I kinda think they mighta.”
Sakusa crossed his arms to this, fixing Bokuto with the straightest face possible.
“They also talked about being sorcerers and destroying the world.” He was so monotone as he said it, as though there wasn’t any doubt in his mind that the two were crazy. “Did you see that stupid fucking pose he pulled? They’re probably on something.” As Bokuto nodded sagely to this, Atsumu decided it was his turn to step in.
“Hey Omi-kun, not sure if you noticed this, but some of us had the good seat stolen by a prickly jerk and didn’t get to see what was goin’ on,” he said it with a false sweetness, hoping to draw out whatever valuable information his teammate was withholding.
“And that’s terrible for you,” Sakusa replied, patting Atsumu’s arm that was resting on the table in a show of mock-sympathy. What the hell?
“It was like this!” Bokuto replied, before Atsumu had the sense to question whether Sakusa was flirting with him.
His teammate was standing now, giving an approximation of the most anime-like pose Atsumu had ever seen in real life. He had his knees bent slightly, with one hand positioned in front of his face while the other extended out, ready to…flick someone? Atsumu and Hinata took a moment to stare in confused silence, turning to look at each other then back to Bokuto.
“Yer kiddin’ me,” he said, and caught a glimpse of Sakusa smirking.
“I’m not! And then he went like this,” Bokuto continued, clutching the flicking hand to his chest and throwing the other arm back like he had been shot.
“They said something about Jiu Jitsu, I think!” Hinata added, like that made things any clearer whatsoever. “Maybe they’re planning a…fight?” he questioned, though he didn’t even sound like he believed it.
The table sat quiet, bewildered and pondering their own theories, before Sakusa spoke again.
“We didn’t get a chance to order earlier. If you two want to go tell Miya-san what you want.” He said it with a look directed at Bokuto and Hinata, which they both perked up at, like they forgot they were ever here to eat.
“Oh yeah! Atsumu-san, can I tell him what happened? Do you think he has time to come sit with us?”
No. He definitely doesn’t.
“I’m sure he can find the time.”
Shoyo offered a bright smile, pushing his way up from the table and tailing Bokuto, who was showing him the pose again. They were both murmuring variations of ‘so cool,” to one another as they entered the door, and Atsumu couldn’t help but to shake his head.
Then, he and Sakusa were alone again, and Atsumu met his eyes to see fun Omi hadn’t died out yet. Good.
“What fuckin’ freaks man,” he noted, and Sakusa hummed in response.
“Did you see the guy's face when he walked past? He looked like someone shot him.”
“He looked so fuckin’ dramatic! They’ve gotta be in a situationship or somethin’, right?” Sakusa chuckled; he always looked so genuinely happy when he was making fun of people.
“Miya,” he started, making eye contact that Atsumu was not expecting. “That fucking pose almost killed me. For a second I thought you and your brother had set up some sort of prank–”
“I thought that too!”
“But then I saw his face and realized he wasn’t acting. He has to be crazy. Or roleplaying. Or something.”
Sakusa could be funny when he wanted to. Atsumu liked how it felt to get it out of him.
“No fuckin’ wonder that guy doesn’t want him,” Atsumu added, moving to a lazy copy of the pose Bokuto had shown them and delivering a couple of air flicks in front of Sakusa’s face. “Am I charming you, Omi-kun?”
“Not quite,” he answered, but he was smiling.
“Imagine getting dumped in front of Onigiri Miya,” he pondered aloud, which only caused Sakusa’s smile to grow.
“Formerly KFC,” Sakusa added, gesturing towards the burnt letters above them. Atsumu couldn’t help but to laugh at that, and for some reason, despite the fact that they had maybe possibly just witnessed either a murder confession or an improv troupe, he clocked the smile, the look in his teammates eyes, and trusted.
“Hey Omi-kun, what are you doing this weekend?”