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Assistant: Title: denial is a river in egypt, atsumu
        Author: lunar_kaceey lunar_kaceey 
        Chapter: 13/17 
        Summary: atsumu swears he is straight. just straight.then sakusa makes him come in his pants one night in their hotel room.so... maybe he isn't straight? (he falls in love with sakusa and never gets back up)
            
            atsumu comes in his sweatpants :p yeah
        Contents: Chapter 13: just teammates
    

    

        
          
          
            okay everyone, hold my hand. i've been telling you to trust the process. i hope you all still trust me <3i also hope the jumps from POVs make sense? i tried to make it flow.this chapter is like 14k words because i'm ready for freak nasty stuff...
          
        

      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
    Atsumu couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been heartbroken. Or if he ever had been.He’d had crushes, sure. Girls he chased on the playground in elementary school. A middle school girlfriend he held hands with between classes, who dumped him because he got too competitive during a round of volleyball at lunch.In high school, volleyball took up most of his time. He liked the attention girls gave him—liked being wanted—but it never stuck. He was busy. Too many games, too many drills. Though he did get rejected for the first-year dance by a girl he swore had a thing for him. That one stung.And there was that girl Osamu tried to set him up with who ghosted him after two dates. He’d felt bummed, yeah. A little bruised in the ego. But nothing like this.Nothing like crying so hard he threw up.He was curled over his toilet, knees pressed to the tile, sweat sticking to the back of his neck. He barely got the call out to Osamu—voice tight, breath hiccupping, words slurring into panic. And Osamu—his brother who never liked seeing him cry—came. He didn’t say a word, just sat on the floor and let Atsumu slump into his lap like they were kids again. Rubbed his back. Let him sob.It was embarrassing. Humiliating, even.Not because it was Osamu, but because of how broken he felt. Like something in him had split straight down the center and now he was just...leaking. Constantly. Through his throat. Through his eyes. Through his f@ck@ng bones.Because what the f@ck did you mean—just teammates? Like all of it meant nothing. Like Atsumu hadn’t mapped Sakusa's body in the dark. Like Sakusa hadn’t kissed every stretch mark on Atsumu’s body like he knew them. Like he loved them.And now? Now he was supposed to just toss a ball to him like none of it happened?
  Just teammates.
The words alone made Atsumu feel like his chest was full of gravel.He was barely eating. Osamu kept trying. Bringing over bentos. Pointing to the rice and telling him he better finish it before it got cold. Sometimes Atsumu would pick at it. Most of the time he’d just nod like he meant it and then forget. He only really ate after practice, when his body screamed for it. Never because he had an appetite.HIs mom called him everyday. He didn't tell her what happened. Didn't have to. He knew Osamu had filled in the blanks. She never asked. Not really. But she'd call and say, "How are ya, baby? I miss ya." Or "Don’t forget how amazing y'are." Or "Make sure ya drink water."And it helped. Kind of.Sometimes he kept her on the phone for hours. Just listening to her talk about the garden, about the neighbor’s cat, about what she made for dinner. He’d sit on his floor, back against the couch, and close his eyes and let her voice fill the room. He was a mama's boy. Always had been. Spoiled, babied, loved deeply and loudly. And right now? That was the only thing keeping him together.That, and volleyball. Volleyball always made sense.The court stayed the same. Drills stayed the same. His hands still knew the shape of the ball like muscle memory, like prayer. He felt good on the court. Useful. Competent.And it helped that Sakusa wasn’t really around. He had physical therapy. Rehab. The occasional sideline appearance. But he wasn’t in drills. He wasn’t in Atsumu’s ear. He wasn’t f@ck@ng touching him or watching him or breathing near him. And that made it easier.Easier didn’t mean painless.Because Atsumu still caught him in his peripheral. Still saw the corner of Sakusa’s body from across the gym. Still remembered how it felt under his mouth.
  Back to teammates.
All of that, just to go back to teammates.Time passed.One month. Two.Eventually, Atsumu started seeing Natsuki again.It wasn’t a grand decision. No overthinking. Just a text, a reply, a night that didn’t end in loneliness.She was easy. Accessible. Didn’t ask questions. Didn't push. She came over when he wanted. Left when he asked. Let him press into her and forget.He bought her flowers sometimes. Dropped off her favorite coffee if he had time after weightlifting. Took her to a movie one night, but didn’t remember the plot.And they f@ck@d. A lot. Like animals.It was messy. Hot. Constant. Skin slapping skin. Her voice loud and raw in his ears, and him grunting into her neck, her thighs, her mouth. The room always smelled like s@x after. Always left sweat on the sheets.Whenever he was in a pouty mood, she climbed into his lap and rode him until he forgot why he was upset. If the press p@ss@d him off, she spread her legs and he shoved his face between them like salvation. They couldn't even shower without her dropping to her knees and blowing him until his eyes rolled back.He had to tighten the screws in his bed frame twice—from the way it kept slamming into the wall when he bent her over and pounded into her with everything he had, from how he folded her in half and slammed in so hard the headboard bruised the drywall.And it felt like sh@t admitting that. Made him sound like a douchebag. Maybe he was. Maybe that was just who he was now—the guy who used people to fill the void in his chest.It worked. For a while, at least. It distracted him. Made him feel something. Let him f@ck the loneliness out of himself one @rg@sm at a time.He felt bad about it. Deep down, he knew what he was doing. He couldn't give her what she wanted.Because he still loved Sakusa.As pretty as Natsuki was—she wasn't Sakusa.Osamu and Suna gave him hell for it.Especially the night Suna visited Osaka and they all ended up at Osamu’s house, half-drunk and loud over homemade curry and beers.Suna leaned back against the couch. "You’ve been sleeping with this girl for how long and still don’t wanna date her?"Atsumu rolled his eyes, tipping his beer toward him. "Not everyone needs to be tied down, y'know."Suna snorted. "You’re such a f@ckboy.""Takes one to know one.""Nah, I commit when it counts. You? You can’t even hold Natsuki’s hand in public."Atsumu narrowed his eyes. "Don’t need to. She doesn’t care."Osamu cut in then, voice calm but pointed. "Still. If ya don’t like her that much, why keep stringin’ her along?"Atsumu scowled. "I get off when I want. Who cares?"Osamu reached over and thumped the back of his head. "Hey," he said. "Don’t talk like that. That’s not how ma raised ya."Atsumu blinked. Then turned away.Because he wasn’t sure who he was right now. But he knew it didn’t feel good.What he did know, is yeah, he’s bis@xual.He liked women.Atsumu was able to confirm that every time he slipped between Natsuki’s thighs and made her cry his name. Confirmed it with the way the s@x was good. Sometimes it was too good. The kind that made him come so hard his vision blurred and his knees buckled.See? Still into women. So bis@xual, yeah.Then she started staying over more often. Slipped into his shirts after showers. Left her hair products on his sink. Her jewelry on his nightstand. Her panties, lacy and delicate, started showing up in his laundry basket, tangled with his socks. Her smell was in his sheets. Her voice filled the kitchen. Her life started creeping into his, and Atsumu let it happen.Didn’t stop it. Didn’t stop her.But even when she was curled against him in bed, soft and warm and sweetly asleep, he stared at the wall and thought,
  I miss him.
God. It tore through him some nights. It sat in his chest like a f@ck@ng infection he couldn’t shake.It hit hardest the day Sakusa was cleared from his injury. Sling gone. Curls a little longer than before. He’d been cleared for light practice, light drills. Not game-ready yet, but close. Close enough that Atsumu could see him on the court again. Could hear his voice in team huddles. Could feel the distance between them like a knife pressed into his ribs.Atsumu barely made it through the cooldown. As soon as Coach dismissed them, he left. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Just grabbed his sh@t and walked. Cried the entire way home. Just raw, quiet, shoulder-hunched sobs, like his body was trying to crawl away from itself.Because being "just teammates" was killing him.And now—now he was in his f@ck@ng living room. Romcom playing half-muted in the background. Natsuki straddling him on the couch, her body flushed and bouncing, her mouth open in a moan as she f@ck@d herself down on his c@ck.Her dinner was half-eaten on the table. The lights were dim. His hands were on her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. Her t@ts were bouncing in front of him, perfect and flushed, and her thighs were shaking just a little from how long she’d been riding him.His fingers dug into her ass. His mouth kissed blindly across her collarbone. He f@ck@d up into her, hard enough to make the couch creak and the plates on the table rattle.But his chest hurt.It f@ck@ng hurt.Because all he could think about was Sakusa. Sakusa’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Sakusa whispering his name like a command. Sakusa moaning low and dark when Atsumu hit just the right spot. Sakusa holding him after. This wasn’t that.This was noise and heat and distraction. This was him trying to lose himself in someone else’s body because he couldn’t crawl back into the one he really wanted.He kissed Natsuki’s shoulder and felt his throat burn. Because even with her shaking above him, even with her crying out and tightening around his c@ck, even with his own @rg@sm winding hot in his belly—he just felt sad.So f@ck@ng sad.Sakusa hated how quiet everything was.He went to his rehab appointments. Did the exercises. Checked in with the team doctor and the strength coach. Ate meals Komori left for him. Replied to the occasional brand email. Watched training footage.But it was like everything was happening through a thick sheet of glass. Like he could see the world moving but couldn’t quite hear it.And yeah—he had a headache all the time.After he left Atsumu’s apartment that night—the night they agreed to go back to being just teammates—the ache started behind his eyes.Then he went to his PT appointment, where he started sobbing the second he walked in. Not loud. Not messy. But the second the trainer touched his arm and asked him to rotate his shoulder, the tears started falling harder. The MSBY team manager looked confused. His doctor even more so.Sakusa just shook his head and muttered something about being frustrated with his shoulder. He didn’t offer anything else.Because how the f@ck was he supposed to explain that it wasn’t his rotator cuff that was broken?He kept thinking about how Atsumu had looked when he said it. That he wanted to love Sakusa. Out loud. Openly. Like he’d made it to some mountaintop and was waving Sakusa up like, come on, it’s not so hard.But Sakusa was still stuck halfway down the mountain, winded, knees scraped. Terrified of what he’d lose if he got there.Because sure, Atsumu had done the work. Faced it. Owned it. Whatever.But now what? Sakusa was just supposed to erase the decades of conditioning and shame? Just decide overnight that he could be that person? Hold Atsumu’s hand in public? Kiss him at the team hotel? Be the gay volleyball poster boy?And it f@ck@ng hurt. More than he thought it would. It dug into his chest and settled there like a splinter that wouldn’t work itself out.And he hated how often he wanted to call. How much he missed Atsumu’s laugh. His stupid texts. The way he always had some dumb story about Bokuto or a new weird workout trick.So he kept quiet.He tried to stay busy.But there were only so many times Sakusa could reorganize his spice rack before it lost the thrill. Only so many times he could vacuum his already-immaculate floors. Re-fold his socks. Rewatch old MSBY matches and analyze plays he’d memorized months ago. He wasn’t just heartbroken.He was bored. He’d never felt so f@ck@ng bored.Sakusa would pace his apartment like a caged animal for an hour—and then end up flat on his back, panting through gritted teeth with his phone resting against his bare thigh. One hand tucked across his chest in its g@dd@mn sling, the other wrapped around his c@ck, jaw clenched, muscles shaking.He was used to burning this energy at practice, at the gym, on the court. All of that gone now. He couldn’t even jack off properly without feeling like someone was twisting a knife in his shoulder. It was pathetic. And worse—he was h@rny. Constantly. Inconveniently. Violently.And there was only one person he wanted.He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He pulled up the hidden folder on his phone—the one with the passcode no one knew—the one labeled something boring like “scans” in case anyone ever saw it.Photos of Atsumu sweaty and flushed after practice, his hand down his shorts in the locker room. Videos of him in bed at night, stroking himself slow and whispering Sakusa’s name. Nudes from hotel rooms. Nudes from the MSBY bathroom. Voice notes.Sakusa didn’t even pretend to scroll anymore. Just clicked on the first video of Atsumu he could see.It was awkward—his left hand clumsy, the angle all wrong—but he didn’t care.He was desperate.His skin felt hot. His abs tensed. His lips parted around a shaky breath as he remembered the way Atsumu used to sound when he was actually under him—when it wasn’t a video, when it was real. The sounds he made when Sakusa grabbed his hips, held him down, bit at his collarbone and f@ck@d him hard enough to make the bed shake.He imagined that again. The weight. The heat. Atsumu’s legs wrapped around his waist, fingernails clawing his back, body writhing under him.
  Faster. F@ck, don’t stop. Deeper. Omi—
Sakusa came with a grunt, hips twitching, vision blanking out. He lay there afterward, his phone still balanced on his thigh. The video paused on a frame of Atsumu moaning his name with his hand between his legs.Sakusa hated how fast it still worked.How even now—angry and heartbroken—he still couldn’t stop wanting him.He should hate him.After months of I’m not gay, after all the nights Atsumu rolled over and said this doesn’t mean anything, after all the f@ck@ng times he refused to kiss Sakusa because it made it too real. Now he wanted love? Komori called him every day. Sweet, gentle, too-perceptive Komori.Sometimes they talked about nonsense—new protein bars, a dumb commercial, stories from their childhood days. But Komori had this tone in his voice. Like he was waiting. Like he was hoping Sakusa would open up, would say the thing they were both thinking.He didn’t.Not because he couldn’t. But because if he started, he didn’t know where it would end.Komori already knew. About the heartbreak. About Atsumu. About all of it. He knew Sakusa loved him. And he knew Sakusa wasn’t over it. Wasn’t over him.But Komori also knew the rest of it—the part no one else said out loud.That Atsumu was the one who used to say I’m not gay while wrapped around Sakusa’s c@ck. That Atsumu was the one - for awhile - who refused to talk about what they were. Who wouldn’t even look at him after some of those nights.And now?Now Atsumu’s figured it out. And Sakusa’s supposed to just forget everything. Wipe the slate clean and fall in line like nothing happened.That’s what f@ck@d Sakusa up the most.The assumption. The… expectation. That because Atsumu finally got his head out of his ass, Sakusa would be waiting. Would be ready to play boyfriend.But Sakusa wasn’t ready.Not when his own parents wouldn’t even look him in the eye when he wore shorts above the knee. Not when his mom still sent him flyers for marriage mixers in Tokyo. Not when being this version of himself could rip his whole life apart.Because if this thing with Atsumu broke again, Sakusa couldn’t just go back. He couldn’t flip a switch and suddenly date a girl and erase it all. He didn’t have that luxury. That freedom.And yeah, it p@ss@d him off. It p@ss@d him off that Atsumu could f@ck up for months, finally cry about it, and somehow make Sakusa feel like the one being difficult.Like he was the problem.Sakusa couldn’t stand how unfair it all was.Suddenly, after all the weeks—all the months—of denying, dodging, confusion, Atsumu was in love.Now Atsumu knew who he was. Now he wanted to hold hands and kiss in daylight and be honest about everything that Sakusa had spent years compartmentalizing just to survive.Like, oh—whoops. Turns out I’m not straight. Even though I kept claiming I was. You good?Sakusa pressed the heel of his palm to his eye until it ached. He was sitting on the floor of his living room, back against the couch, legs stretched out, one arm still in his sling. The room was dim. The silence rang.He could still hear Atsumu’s voice in his head. Those throwaway comments. That infuriating nervous laugh. The way he used to roll over after they f@ck@d, pull the blanket up to his chin, and say I’m still straight, you know. Or - give me some time to figure myself out.And Sakusa—like a f@ck@ng idiot—would stay quiet.Would let him say that. Let him mean it. Let him f@ck Sakusa in doggy because it was easier if we don’t look at each other—easier to pretend it wasn’t a man under him. That it wasn’t gay.Sakusa started to get used to the ache in his chest. The burn in his throat. The feeling of being wanted but not seen.And sure—eventually the s@x got more comfortable. More intimate. They started kissing more. Started keeping the lights on. But Sakusa couldn’t forget the beginning. Couldn’t forget what it meant.Couldn’t forget how many times Atsumu insisted they only do it in positions where their faces never met. Couldn’t forget how often Atsumu’s hand would linger on his shoulder, and then he’d pull it away, like touching Sakusa too long would make it real.Couldn’t forget catching dating apps open on Atsumu’s phone—apps for girls. Profiles still active. Notifications coming through while Sakusa was literally lying next to him in bed.Couldn’t forget the way Atsumu once snapped, don’t put me in a gay box, Kiyoomi right after Sakusa had dared to confront him about his s@xuality. About the back and forth.So Sakusa didn’t. He shut up. He waited.Because what else was he supposed to do?What else could he do, when he wasn’t sure if he was anything more than an experiment?A trial run?A phase?Sakusa hated that word—phase. But it stuck to his skin, no matter how hard he tried to scrub it off. Because sometimes Atsumu would touch him like he meant it, and sometimes Atsumu would look at him like he was trying not to see him.And he won’t forget the time they were at Atsumu’s place, after that match where Hinata admitted he heard them late at night through the thin hotel walls. Sakusa was on all fours on the bed, sweat dripping down his spine, breathing hard as Atsumu f@ck@d into him from behind. Atsumu’s fingers were tight on his hips, rhythm harsh, his voice nothing but gasps and curses and the slap of skin.It had been rough that night. Desperate. Good.And when they both came—when Atsumu pulled out, chest heaving, sweat dampening his hair—he leaned over Sakusa’s back, kissed his shoulder, and murmured:
  I made sure Shoyo won’t tell anyone what we’re doing.
Just like that. Like a favor.And Sakusa had nodded. Mindlessly. Quietly.Because yeah. Of course Atsumu didn’t want anyone to know.And now?Now Atsumu wanted to talk about love? Now he was ready? Now he wanted Sakusa to catch up, to forget all of that, to fall into step and smile like it hadn’t nearly destroyed him?He didn’t know how to do that.He didn’t know how to let it go. How to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop—waiting for the day Atsumu would meet another guy who was out and proud and loud, who didn’t carry the kind of trauma Sakusa carried, and realize he didn’t need Sakusa anymore.He didn’t know how to believe that Atsumu wasn’t going to leave him for something easier. Something less complicated.Because Sakusa didn’t get to try it out. Didn’t get to run back to girls and straightness and comfort if it didn’t work.Sakusa didn’t get a phase.And it hurt like hell to think that maybe—just maybe—that was all he was to Atsumu.It made him tired.Because no one cared about Sakusa’s timing. No one gave a sh@t about how hard it was for him to open up. To hold a man’s hand in daylight. To picture a future that looked nothing like the one his family had built for him since he was ten.On top of that, he was still benched. Still unable to train. Still lying awake at night wondering if this tear was going to f@ck up his future. If the pain would linger. If he’d ever serve the same again. If he’d become replaceable.Volleyball was the only thing that made sense in his life. And now even that was out of reach.Yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu needed someone. Maybe he was hurting. But Sakusa was already being torn apart in ten different directions. His chest already felt like it was being squeezed in a vice every day.And now he was supposed to be the emotionally available one?Just because now Atsumu was ready?God, it made him want to scream.Especially when his mother called earlier. Told him, ever-so-sweetly, that the daughter of her friend from med school was in Osaka this month. Lovely girl. His age. Beautiful. Smart. Soft.“She’d make a good partner,” his mom had said. “It’s time to start thinking seriously, Kiyoomi.”
  Start thinking seriously.
Like he hadn’t been thinking seriously since he was twelve and realized something about himself didn’t quite match what they wanted from him. Like he hadn’t tried to be the perfect son. Like he hadn’t held himself back in every way imaginable just to stay palatable to people who would never really know him.Sakusa could never give them what they wanted. Couldn’t smile through a marriage with a girl and pretend he wasn’t unraveling at night. Couldn’t wake up next to someone soft and sweet and full of warmth and know that she’d never make him feel what Atsumu made him feel with one f@ck@ng glance.Because yeah, he was gay.And he hated it sometimes. Not because he was ashamed of loving men. But because it made life harder. Lonelier. Unfair.Atsumu could, at any moment, pivot. Turn around and marry a woman and have two kids and be the golden boy of Japan all over again.Sakusa couldn’t. There was no “normal” for him to retreat to.And yeah—maybe that made him bitter. Maybe that made him an @ssh@l@. Maybe it made him unfairly cold toward people who could live in the middle of s@xuality. Biphobic? Is that the word he is looking for? He sat there, shoulders curled in, a lump in his throat he didn’t know what to do with.And for all his effort to stay detached—above it—untouched—he still wanted to call Atsumu. He wanted to hear his voice. Just to know he was still out there. Still him. Still the same dumb, loud, magnetic, infuriating boy that Sakusa had fallen for against all better judgment.Sakusa didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t even hear her key in the lock. He was sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through emails on his tablet. His head turned only when he felt a kiss press against his cheek.His sister—quiet elegance and gold jewelry, the same dark curls, the same serious eyes—dropped a grocery bag on the counter and said, “You look rough.”“Hello to you too.” Sakusa muttered.She smiled, already pulling ingredients from the bag. Vegetables, eggs, chicken. She didn’t ask before opening his fridge. She didn’t have to. The way she clicked her tongue told him she already knew it was empty. Then she just started chopping onions with the kind of precision that came from years of watching their grandmother cook.She filled the air easily. Talking about her week, her now-fiancé, gossip about their cousin’s wedding, a story about one of her coworkers. And then, casually, like she was testing the temperature, she mentioned their parents.Sakusa flinched.It was subtle. Barely a twitch of his shoulders. But she noticed.She didn’t press. Didn’t say a word about it. Just kept slicing, stirring, talking like normal. And he let her.They ate together on the couch, him curled to one side, her on the other. She placed two of his pain meds in his hand and watched to make sure he actually swallowed them. Later, they sat on the balcony, the evening breeze cooler than expected. She tugged a throw blanket over both of their legs and swung the bench gently with her foot, their shoulders touching.For a long time, they said nothing.Then she asked, “So what’s on your mind?”He shrugged. Looked away.The tears came fast. Not dramatic. Just a steady sting behind his eyes, then the slow slide of salt across his cheek. He sniffed and blinked toward the sky, trying to keep his throat from closing.She didn’t push. Just sat with him. Quiet. Patient.Until she said, gently, “Komori filled me in a little bit.”Sakusa exhaled hard through his nose, bitter. “Yeah? What does he think’s going on.”There was a beat of silence. Then, “Just that you’re in love with someone. That it’s complicated. And that you two are… taking a break.”His eyes flicked toward her. Then he let out a choked, frustrated sound and wiped at his eyes. “I just feel so f@ck@ng stupid. Crying like this. All the time.”She moved closer, careful of his sling. She brushed the curls away from his forehead the same way she used to when he was a kid with a fever. Her hand was soft. Warm.“It’s not stupid." She said softly. His mouth trembled. He looked away again.“I don’t even know if I want to be with this person,” He said finally, voice low. “It’s like… now they’re okay with everything. With who they are. After months of telling me they weren’t sure. That they were straight. That it didn’t mean anything. All while we were…”He swallowed.Her expression didn’t change. She just listened.“And now they’re sure,” Sakusa went on. “Now they’re fine. And I’m just supposed to be happy about that. I’m supposed to forget all the times they couldn’t even look me in the eye after we f@ck@d. All the times they wanted it from behind so they didn’t have to see my face.”He sucked in a shaky breath. Her hand was still in his hair, steady, grounding.“What if next month they decide no, actually, they do only like women, and I was just—” He stopped himself, then exhaled. “It hurts. Because now I’m the bad guy because I need a second to breathe?”“You’re not the bad guy, Kiyo.” She softly assured.His chest caved a little. Shoulders curled in on themselves.“I keep wondering if I made it worse by waiting,” he whispered. “Letting him say things and not say things. For not confronting him more. For not having those serious conversations with him. I avoided conversations because I was scared.”She slid her hand from his arm to his back, drawing little circles there like she had when he was a kid. “You were trying to protect your heart,” she said. “That’s not a crime.”“I’m scared of what mom and dad would say.” He admitted. She didn’t speak right away. Let the words settle. He kept talking: “They’re still trying to set me up with that girl. That one from our neighborhood. She’s a med student.” He said. “They talk about it like it’s already written. Like it’s still going to happen, eventually.”His sister sighed through her nose. Then, “You don’t need to keep living for them, Kiyoomi.”“And have no family?” His voice cracked. “Sure. That sounds great.”Her hand found his, warm and steady, curling over his knuckles. “You’ll still have me,” she said, like it was obvious. “You’ll always have me. And Komori. Even if Mom and Dad can’t figure it out—you don’t have to twist yourself inside out to make them comfortable.”He turned his face away, jaw clenched, trying to keep it together. But his mouth trembled, and his eyes burned.She scooted closer, pulled his head gently to her shoulder, and kissed his curls. “Kiyoomi,” she said softly, “if you keep trying to live their life instead of yours, you’re gonna be miserable forever." He nodded, just once, small and sharp. Then again. Wiped his eyes with his good hand.“I know,” he said, hoarse. “I just… I wish it didn’t feel like choosing one thing meant losing the other.”She exhaled. "I know." The crowd was screaming like they’d just won nationals, even though this was just a regular season game.But it was Sakusa Kiyoomi’s first time back on the court since the injury.Not a full return. Nothing dramatic. No signature jump serve. No diving saves. Just a few careful rotations. Some conservative receives.But it was enough to send the crowd into a frenzy. Enough to make Atsumu’s chest seize the second he heard the roar swell as Sakusa stepped onto the court with black KT tape peeking just slightly beneath the collar seam. It was subtle. The average fan wouldn’t notice it. But Atsumu had seen it in the locker room earlier—seen Sakusa tape his shoulder in slow, practiced movements, quiet and calm like it was any other day. No sling.They were on the same side of the net, same team, even ended up standing shoulder to shoulder during one of the rotations. But it felt like there was a canyon between them. An impossible, silent gap.Because yeah—just teammates.After sharing beds for months. After brushing their teeth side by side, lips still swollen from kissing each other awake. After they mixed up whose sweatpants were whose in the laundry pile. After Atsumu learned that Sakusa liked his hangers spaced evenly in the closet and needed his toothbrush angled just so on the sink counter. After Sakusa started making Atsumu’s favorite breakfast unprompted—soft scrambled eggs, rice, and miso with just a little tofu—and remembered every time which mochi flavor Atsumu liked best when they passed that one shop after weights.After all of that.
  Just teammates.
Atsumu stood at the edge of the rotation line, watching Sakusa sub out after his final play. And for a second, their eyes caught—barely a moment. Not even a real look. But it cracked something open in Atsumu’s chest so wide he swore the air left him.There was sweat on Sakusa’s neck, his lips parted as he exhaled. His curls were damp and stuck to his forehead and he looked exactly like the version of him Atsumu used to wake up next to.
  Jesus f@ck@ng Christ.
Atsumu’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach out. Grab his jersey. Say something. Scream something. Drag him into the locker room and demand to know how he could look so composed when Atsumu felt like he was bleeding out every time they brushed shoulders.But instead, he offered him a small nod. Something professional. Teammate-like.And maybe it was the adrenaline. Or maybe it was the burn in Atsumu’s lungs after match point. Or maybe it was the sick, bittersweet way Sakusa still looked like home even when he felt like a stranger. But Atsumu felt like something inside him was caving in.Because Sakusa was back. Back on the court. Back in his periphery.Right where he belonged.And it was unbearable.And Atsumu’s body remembered Sakusa’s before his brain could stop it. The way Sakusa used to press a palm to his lower back when they left a room together. The way he’d kiss Atsumu’s temple when it was just the two of them in the locker room. The way his lips tasted when he was tired and quiet and just awake enough to mumble, don’t forget to turn the kitchen light off.Now Atsumu just swallowed hard, clapped his teammates on the back, and tried to forget that everything he ever wanted was standing inches away, and felt miles out of reach.The interview was the final punch in the gut.Their manager’s voice rang out—“Miya, Sakusa, you’re up”—and Atsumu almost laughed. Of course they were. Because why not put two men with a shared s@xual history and unresolved feelings and a metric f@ckton of trauma on camera together.He followed Sakusa to the press corner, keeping a half-step behind. Watched the way his jersey clung to his lower back. The way he ran a towel over his neck once, then left it to hang there.They stood side by side under the lights. Close. Too close. The host gave them a smile, mic already in her hand, and the cameraman adjusted the angle.Atsumu could feel Sakusa’s heat beside him. The way their arms brushed, barely, every few seconds. The way neither of them moved away.It was muscle memory. It was torture.The questions were fine at first. Expected.“Sakusa-san, how does it feel to be back?”“I’m grateful. Missed the court.”“Miya-san, did you feel the difference having him back in rotation?”“Yeah,” Atsumu said, mouth working before he could think. “It just... clicks with him, y’know? Doesn’t need a full sentence—just a glance, a shift in posture. We pick it up fast.”He felt Sakusa shift slightly beside him. Couldn’t tell if it was discomfort or something else.The next question dragged them into the shallow end of hell.“You two have an incredibly tight dynamic on court. What’s your relationship like off it?”Sakusa didn’t even blink.“We’re just teammates,” he said. “We work well together.”The words dropped like a guillotine.Atsumu swallowed.
  Just teammates.
Right. Teammates who’ve sucked each other off in hotel bathrooms. Who’ve f@ck@d in silence and in gasps and with spit drying on their chests. Who’ve shared toothbrushes and sobs and whispered half-confessions between thigh-spread desperation. Teammates who knew the sound the other made when the @rg@sm was too much to handle. Who knew what food they liked post-practice, what brand of detergent they used, what part of the neck made the other groan just a little louder.“Yeah,” Atsumu said finally, “Just teammates.”The interview wrapped quickly after that. They nodded, smiled. Played their parts.They walked down the tunnel together in silence. Footsteps echoing off the walls. Damp shirts sticking to their backs.Atsumu was about to veer off toward the showers when he felt it.A hand. Gentle but firm. On the back of his neck.Sakusa's palm was warm. Familiar. The pad of his thumb dragged slow over the curve of Atsumu’s nape, just like he used to do after they kissed, or when they were in bed and Atsumu was panicking about press, or family, or his own g@dd@mn brain.Atsumu stopped walking. So did Sakusa.They looked at each other. Both of them a little out of breath. Both of them pink with leftover heat and a different kind of exhaustion.Neither of them said anything.They just… stood there. Eyes locked. Their chests rising in sync.Atsumu opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Sakusa’s gaze dropped briefly to his lips, then back up.And then—slowly, like letting go hurt—Sakusa’s hand fell away.He walked into the locker room without a word.Atsumu stood there.Frozen.He pressed his fingers to the back of his neck, the skin already cold where Sakusa had been.He’d missed that. God, he missed that touch. That grounding weight. That stupid, gentle thumb stroke.He blinked. Once. Twice.And then the tears came. Just a few. Hot and angry and quiet.He wiped them away with the back of his wrist and followed Sakusa into the locker room. Back to routine. Back to silence.Back to just teammates.It was supposed to be just another night out. A group unwind. Hinata was already two beers deep and shouting about nothing, Inunaki had his feet on the booth and a smirk on his face, and Bokuto was pouring shots for anyone within reach.And Atsumu was fine. Really. Until he looked up and saw Sakusa walking in.Like the air thinned instantly. Like the world dipped into slow motion, just long enough to make Atsumu dizzy with it.He should’ve known. Komori had mentioned to Suna who had then mentioned to Atsumu that he was in town. And if Komori was there, Sakusa was bound to follow. Still—seeing him outside of practice, not in a sling, in real clothes, in Atsumu’s space—f@ck@ng stung.Sakusa looked good. Too good. His curls were pushed back but still damp at the ends like he’d just showered, his shoulder slightly stiff but no longer braced, and he wore one of those dark, long-sleeved button-ups that Atsumu always used to unbutton for him slowly.And for a second, Sakusa looked like he was about to leave.But then Komori spotted him and waved, loud as ever, pulling him toward the back where their table took up half the corner of the bar.Atsumu’s stomach turned.Because it had already been a sh@t day. He was exhausted. Still sore from yesterday’s drills. And now the only person who could make the air around him hum just by existing was walking toward him with a look so unreadable it made Atsumu’s pulse hammer in his throat.And as if the universe couldn’t get more cruel—Natsuki.She was stumbling in from the opposite side of the bar, high on the laughter of her friends and whatever sugary c@cktail they’d just downed. She spotted him like a missile and beelined straight for his lap.“Oh my god,” she laughed, throwing her arms around his shoulders. “You didn’t tell me you looked this hot tonight.”Atsumu tried to keep his voice steady. “Ya saw me an hour ago.”“I know,” she pouted, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then his jaw. “But I missed you already.”“Alright, alright—chill a little.” He muttered, gently trying to pull her back by the waist.But she was clingy when tipsy. Greedy, soft, pliable. She let her body mold against his and nuzzled into his neck like they hadn’t just f@ck@d in his car after practice yesterday.“You smell so good.” She whispered, loud enough for the table to hear.Atsumu winced.Inunaki raised an eyebrow, grinning over the rim of his drink. “Y’know, Miya, if you’re gonna have an audience, at least do something fun.”“Shut yer trap.” Atsumu snapped, voice low.But he felt it. That familiar burn at the side of his face.Sakusa was watching. Not saying anything. Not fidgeting. Not even blinking.Just watching.And Atsumu—who had once memorized every expression Sakusa had ever made, who could pick out the difference between his annoyed face and his I’m-not-talking-to-you face—couldn’t f@ck@ng read this one.Didn’t know if Sakusa looked p@ss@d or just… blank.And maybe that was worse.Because Atsumu knew what he looked like right now. His neck red from the heat of Natsuki’s breath. Her gloss smeared over his skin. Her dress riding up her thighs as she perched in his lap, her hand half-hidden under the table, dangerously close to his belt.And Sakusa just drank.Like nothing about this meant anything. Like Atsumu wasn’t about to be sick. Like Sakusa hadn’t kissed him until he cried just two months ago, in the dark, with his hand trembling in Atsumu’s hair.Natsuki giggled against his jaw again, mouthing at his skin. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, noticing the way he stiffened. “Not in the mood?”He didn’t answer.Because the only person he wanted touching him was sitting six feet away.And Atsumu?Atsumu just stared back.Helpless. Angry. Aching.Because this wasn’t fair. And it wasn’t right.But it was happening anyway.And f@ck if he didn’t feel like breaking something.But instead he sat there.Frozen.And then Atsumu did the stupidest thing he could’ve done.He leaned in. Let Natsuki’s mouth find his. Let her kiss him deep and slow, lips plush and tasting like strawberry gloss and tequila. Let her settle fully into his lap, hands in his hair, her little whimper slipping into the seam of his mouth like it was a habit.And the whole f@ck@ng time—He stared at Sakusa.Eyes open, locked across the table. Challenging. Daring. Waiting.Because yeah, maybe it was petty. Maybe it was cruel.But something inside him wanted a reaction. Needed one. Needed Sakusa to do something. To glare. To scoff. To storm off. To pull him by the collar and say stop it, or come home with me, or I miss you.So he kept going. Deepened the kiss. Slanted his mouth over Natsuki’s, tongue filthy in the way she liked, the kind of kiss that would make anyone blush if they cared to look. Her thighs squeezed tighter around him. She moaned into him, hands crawling up under the hem of his shirt.But Atsumu’s eyes never left Sakusa.And Sakusa… didn’t look away either.He just sat there. Frozen. Fists clenched around his glass, jaw locked. Lips twitching, once—then again. The corner of his mouth ticked like he was chewing down something sharp. Like it was taking everything in him not to say something.And that?That twisted something in Atsumu’s chest. Made him bite a little harder on Natsuki’s lip. Made him drag the kiss out even longer than he should’ve.Because he didn’t know what he wanted. He just wanted Sakusa to feel it.Wanted him to burn the way Atsumu had been burning for months.Natsuki finally pulled back, breathless, cheeks flushed. “God,” she giggled, tugging his hair. “You’re so into me tonight.”But Atsumu barely heard her. His eyes were still locked on Sakusa.And Sakusa?Yeah.He was p@ss@d.Not loudly. Not obviously. But in the twitch of his fingers. The sharpness in his eyes. The slow way he brought the drink to his mouth, even though it was still nearly full. Like he was trying to keep his hands busy. Like he needed something to hold or he’d rip the table apart.Atsumu’s stomach twisted.Because this wasn’t fun anymore.And yet, he couldn’t stop.He’d kissed plenty of people. But this one?This wasn’t about Natsuki.Eventually, Atsumu slipped a few bills from his wallet and handed them to Natsuki with a casual brush of her cheek and a murmured, “Go with yer friends to that next bar, yeah? I’ll call ya later.”She pouted, arms still loosely around his neck, but took the money all the same. “Promise?”“Mhm.” He didn’t. Not really. He was already looking past her shoulder, toward the bar, toward the hallway, toward the heavy buzz in his skull and the pressure curling under his ribs like a growing bruise. “Promise.”She kissed him one more time—messy, lipstick already smeared—and then was gone in a trail of perfume and giggling friends.Atsumu shoved his hands in his pockets, drifted toward the bathroom. The hallway was dim, quieter than the rest of the bar, but not by much. The thump of bass still vibrated faintly through the drywall. He leaned against it, waiting his turn, the alcohol finally catching up to him in waves that made his limbs feel loose, his head foggy. F@ck, he’d told himself he’d stop drinking like this. He didn’t handle it well. Never had.The door clicked open. A guy stepped out. Atsumu pushed off the wall and moved—But before he could reach for the handle, a hand caught the door from the other side.And Atsumu turned.
  Sakusa.
Neither of them said anything. The light above flickered slightly.Atsumu didn’t speak. Didn’t move to stop him either. Just… stepped back, barely, almost like he was making room. Like he was waiting.And Sakusa stepped forward into the bathroom. Closed the door behind him. Locked it.Their eyes locked. Silent. Breathing thick. The tension between them wasn’t tension anymore—it was a wire ready to snap.Atsumu’s fingers twitched.And then—They lunged.Mouths collided, teeth clacking, breath heavy and uneven. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t sweet. It was hungry. Brutal. Like they hadn’t touched each other in so long it physically hurt.Sakusa grabbed Atsumu’s face, kissed him so hard it made Atsumu stumble backward, knocking against the stall door. It rattled on its hinges, loud enough to echo. But they didn’t care.“You taste like her.” Sakusa muttered. “Then do somethin' about it.”Sakusa stared before he shoved Atsumu against the tiled wall, pressed in close, chest to chest, and kissed him again—messy, furious. Their teeth scraped. Their lips were slick with spit and heat. Atsumu’s hands were in Sakusa’s hair, nails scraping his scalp like he wanted to crawl under his skin.Then Sakusa hiked him up, grip bruising on the underside of his thigh, forcing Atsumu’s leg to hook around his hip.Atsumu gasped, tilted his head back as Sakusa’s mouth moved down his jaw, his throat. Sakusa didn’t say anything. Just kissed him harder, hands rough, guiding, grounding. His breath was ragged, his brows drawn tight in frustration, his mouth moving like he wanted to erase every trace of lip gloss from Atsumu’s tongue. And god, Atsumu let him.Because this?This was home.Even when it hurt.Even when it was wrong.Sakusa’s hand was down the back of Atsumu’s pants before Atsumu could even breathe a full thought. Just fingers—long and impatient—gripping the curve of his ass, squeezing, then pushing lower, between. Rude. Wet. Spit-slick from his own mouth, from the heat of their kiss still staining his chin. His fingers were there, greedy, seeking, already pressing in like he needed to stretch him open right now.And Atsumu didn’t even realize how far gone he was. How badly he wanted it. Needed it. He was throbbing in his pants, already leaking, already so wrecked it almost hurt. The idea that Sakusa would f@ck him here—here, in a disgusting one-stall bar bathroom, no condom, no prep, no lube except spit and desperation—should’ve been insane.But Sakusa was here. Sakusa was on him. Sakusa was groaning into his mouth while tugging at his belt like he couldn’t get it undone fast enough.And Atsumu wasn’t going to stop him.Until—
  Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Yo! Hurry the f@ck up! I gotta p@ss, man!”Neither of them moved.Not at first.Sakusa’s hand was still under Atsumu’s waistband. Atsumu’s leg still hooked around his hip. Their chests were brushing with every shallow breath, lips slick, eyes wide.The moment cracked in half. Not shattered—just splintered. Just enough to make them realize where they were. What they were doing. How g@dd@mn reckless it was.Sakusa’s fingers flexed once, reluctant. Like he didn’t want to break the connection, even if it had no business existing in the first place. Atsumu blinked hard, chest heaving, and let his leg slide down from Sakusa’s hip. Slowly. Like he was coming back into his own body.Still, they didn’t speak.Another bang on the door made them flinch. This one more impatient. Louder.Sakusa pulled back first. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at Atsumu right away—just slowly withdrew his hand and turned to fix his shirt, his buttons, his collar.Atsumu followed. Quiet. Almost shaky. His hands fumbled slightly with his zipper, then his belt, then the edge of his shirt.Eventually, he cleared his throat, eyes on the mirror as he tucked the hem of his shirt back in. His voice came out low, brittle.“We don’t gotta talk about this.”He paused. Watched Sakusa in the mirror. Watched the way his mouth pressed tight, unreadable.“We can just… pretend it didn’t happen.” Atsumu added, quieter now.Sakusa didn’t answer right away. Then he nodded. Once. Curt.“Okay.”He unlocked the door and left.Atsumu stayed behind for a beat too long. Just standing there. Heart pounding. Throat tight.He stared at himself in the mirror, at the bite marks on his neck and the redness around his mouth. Then he ran cold water over his hands, splashed his face once, twice—until the heat faded from his cheeks.Until he could breathe again.Then he left too.And neither of them looked at each other for the rest of the night.The laundry basket was half-sorted, socks in one pile, shirts in another, a few of Sakusa's old practice tees Atsumu forgot to give back still buried at the bottom. Atsumu was kneeling on the carpet, one earbud in, phone in his hoodie pocket, music just loud enough to drown out the hum of the AC but quiet enough he could still half-listen to Natsuki.She was lying sideways across his bed, ranting about a coworker who never rinsed her dishes in the office sink."—and I swear, if I see her leave another g@dd@mn mug in there, I’m gonna just take it and throw it out the window. Like, how hard is it to rinse it out?"Atsumu nodded vaguely. Tossed another pair of socks onto the floor.His mind wasn't really on her. He was thinking about their away match with the Alders. The travel schedule. What time they had to be at the station. If his serve stats were slipping. If Coach was going to adjust the rotation.And, of course, Sakusa.Back on the court now. Not full-time, not one-hundred percent, but enough. Enough to ruin Atsumu's ability to focus on anything else.And he still hadn’t figured out how to tell Natsuki he needed space. That it wasn’t fair to keep f@ck@ng her when all he could think about was someone else. He didn’t want to be cruel. Didn’t want to make her feel like a placeholder.But he also didn’t want to keep pretending this was something it wasn’t."—and then she had the nerve to say I take up too much space in the fridge. Like, girl, maybe if you didn’t store five-day-old rice in a mixing bowl—"He dropped a pair of boxers into the basket a little too hard."Are you even listening to me?"Atsumu blinked up. She was sitting now, arms folded."Yeah," he said. Then winced. "I mean—’m sorry. My head’s just... not here today."She exhaled through her nose. "It never really is.”That one landed.He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "I’m sorry," he said again. "I just... I dunno. I’ve been kind of f@ck@d up lately. And I feel like I dragged ya back into this when I probably shouldn’t have."She didn’t say anything for a second. Just looked at him. Then:"You can’t commit. I know."His throat bobbed. "It’s not that simple."She exhaled. “I just wish you’d admit who you’re really thinking about. Like who is she and why are you hung up on her?”His jaw tightened.She watched him for a second longer, then asked-"Or is it even a girl at all?"He looked up sharply. "It’s none of your business."Natsuki sighed, then stood. She walked over to the edge of the bed where her pants and top were draped across the footboard. Slipped them on without a word. Found her purse on the chair.Then the door clicked shut behind her.Atsumu sat in the silence for a long moment. Then slowly pulled out his phone, shoved his other earbud in, and turned the music up loud enough to stop thinking.She stopped staying the night after that.Her shampoo stayed on the counter, a few pairs of earrings still in his catch tray, but she didn’t text. Didn’t call. And Atsumu didn’t chase her.He tried to pretend it was fine. Tried to make it feel like relief.But even Osamu saw through it.They were closing up Onigiri Miya one night, chairs flipped onto tables, floor still damp from mopping. Osamu leaned against the register, arms folded."Ya gonna keep hookin’ up with her just because it’s easier?"Atsumu scoffed. "I haven't talked to her in like a week. It’s not that deep.""Maybe not for ya."A beat of silence.Then Osamu, calm but firm: "Look, Sakusa ain’t the only gay guy in Japan."Atsumu froze. "Jesus, ‘Samu.""What? I’m not wrong.""I’m not—" Atsumu started, then stopped. Exhaled. "Forget it."A couple days later, he texted his brother and Suna. Because Suna was trustworthy at this point.[Atsumu]: how r u supposed to meet another gay dude without makin it weird [Suna]: there’s a few bars in osaka that aren’t officially gay bars. lowkey scene. decent vibes.[Atsumu]: wonderful. i’ll pull up by myself like the loser i am.[Suna]: crybaby we’ll go with you.[Samu:} we??[Suna]: yeah we. might as well not make the idiot go alone[Atsumu]: f@ck it. fine. lemme know whenThey went on a Thursday. Suna made the trip to Osaka just for it.Masks up. Hoods on. Casual enough to not draw attention, but not sketchy. The place was dim, neon in a chill way, tables scattered between couches and booths. Not packed, but busy enough.They found a spot near the back, ordered drinks and food. Suna kicked his feet up. Osamu watched the crowd. Atsumu sipped nervously.Eventually, when he got up to grab another round, he started talking to someone at the bar.It wasn’t intentional. The guy said something about the bartender’s speed. Atsumu joked back. And then—it was easy. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was that gnawing emptiness still rattling inside him.The guy was cute, he guessed. A little taller. Lean. Shaggy dark hair and a dimple when he smiled. Soft voice. Casual.When Atsumu glanced over at their booth, Suna gave him a nod. Osamu raised an eyebrow.Atsumu came back with the drinks."I’m goin’ back to my place." He said casually.Suna gave him a lazy thumbs up. "Wear a condom."Osamu frowned. "Wait—Tsum, are ya sure? I didn’t mean hook up with the first—"Atsumu shrugged. "Who cares? It’s not that serious."He turned to go."Tsumu—wait—"But Suna caught Osamu’s sleeve and pulled him gently back into the booth."Let him figure it out.” He said.Osamu sighed, watching the door close behind his brother.Sakusa tugged at the collar of his button-up as he stood outside the restaurant, blinking against the warm Osaka evening. His shoulder didn’t ache—not really. Not anymore. The sling was gone. Finally. A small relief. He could move again. Stretch. Serve in practice, even if it was still half-strength. Sub in for matches, slow and cautious. He’d been doing better.Physically, at least.His heart and mind was another story.But tonight wasn’t about that.Tonight was for one of his cousins—baby on the way, glowing with it, surrounded by family and friends and flowers in soft pink and green. He was supposed to smile, make polite conversation, drink tea, and say congratulations.His sister spotted him first—thank god—and moved quickly through the crowd. She didn’t say anything at first, just reached up and brushed a loose curl behind his ear before slipping a hand onto his back and guiding him in like she could sense the tension already building under his skin.“Kiyoomi’s here.” She called lightly to a nearby table.A few cousins waved. A chorus of greetings followed. Komori popped up near the bar, grinning as he made his way over.“Finally!” Komori said, joining his side. “About time you showed up." Sakusa exhaled. The tightness in his spine eased the moment Komori’s hand settled between his shoulder blades. He let himself follow.He gave his pregnant cousin the small gift he’d brought—tiny socks, a cotton baby hat with a bear on it, soft and neutral. He didn’t know what babies needed. He just knew she smiled when she opened it and thanked him twice before reaching to hug him.He made the rounds, bowing, greeting aunts and uncles and great-aunts and distant cousins. And then—His parents.Dressed neatly. Elegantly. His father in a navy blazer. His mother in pale mauve, lipstick perfect. He bowed slightly, then hugged them both. His mother kissed both his cheeks, her hands cupping his jaw for a second longer than necessary.“You look healthy.” She said, pleased.“I’ve been cleared for light play,” he answered. “I’ll be back full-time soon.”His father nodded once, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting. “Good. They’ll need you for championships.”They made small talk—about his doctor, the team, the headlines. His mother commented on the way his posture had improved again now that the sling was gone. His father asked if the sponsors were lining up for post-season coverage.It was fine. Easy enough.But his father was looking at him. Not with disapproval, not outright. But with something… pointed. Measured. Something that made Sakusa shift slightly on his heels and glance around for the nearest exit.Before he could take a polite step back and disappear toward his seat—“Oh, Kiyoomi,” his mother said suddenly, turning slightly. “You remember Kanae, don’t you?”Sakusa’s stomach dropped. His pulse slowed, like his blood was thickening.She stepped forward, all politeness and perfectly ironed edges.Of course he remembered her.Kanae. A med student. Her parents had known his since they were ten. A long time family friend. They had vacationed together once, long ago. She’d been introduced to him twice before—once during a New Year’s temple visit, once at a wedding.His mother had been trying to arrange this since his second year of university.He nodded, voice low and even. “Good evening.”She smiled. “Hi, Sakusa-kun. It’s been a while.”“Too long,” his mother said sweetly, hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Kanae’s is in Osaka for her residency interviews. I thought it would be nice to catch up.”Sakusa cleared his throat, collar tight. “Of course.”“I’ll leave you to it,” his mother said, as though handing off a task. “Why don’t you join him and Komori for dinner?”And Komori—bless him—jumped in without missing a beat. “Yeah! Come sit with us.”Sakusa nodded mutely and let himself be guided toward the far table in the corner.He was polite. Because he’d been raised to be. He made her plate. Poured her a glass of water. Asked how her interviews were going. She answered with grace, explaining her rotations, her favorite hospitals so far, her goals.But Komori did most of the talking. He filled the silence with jokes and easy questions. Sakusa just sat beside her, back straight, hands clean, pretending the skin on his neck wasn’t burning.Because he couldn’t do this.Not just because it made his mother smile. Not just because Kanae was sweet and easy to talk to and objectively beautiful. Not when he could still feel the shape of Atsumu Miya’s name behind his teeth.The night wore on. Dishes cleared. Toasts raised. And his mother kept circling back to their table. Each time, her comments got sharper. More deliberate.“You two look lovely together.”“You’ve both matured so much.”“She’s such a smart girl, Kiyoomi. Thoughtful. A good listener.”At one point, she asked if he’d walk Kanae out for some dessert after dinner. There was a café down the street with those little matcha parfaits she likes. Sakusa’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened. “I have early training tomorrow.”His mother tilted her head, disappointed. “You could spare an hour. She came all this way.”Kanae smiled quickly. “It’s okay. No pressure. I totally understand.”Sakusa nodded at her, relieved and guilty all at once. “Thank you.”His mother pursed her lips. “Next time, then. And when you’re in Tokyo next month—you owe me a date. Understood?”“Understood.” Sakusa said quietly.He hugged his sister before leaving. Tighter than usual. Longer. Letting her warmth soak into him for a few extra seconds before stepping back. She gave his hand a squeeze.He kissed his mother’s cheek, bowed to Kanae, and turned to leave.But his father caught him by the elbow just past the coat rack.“Kiyoomi.”Sakusa stopped.His father looked at him like he was trying to pick the right words. Then he said, low and steady, “You need to start thinking seriously. About your future. About what kind of life you want….that reflect the values you were raised with.”Sakusa didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.His father’s voice stayed even. “Someone stable. Someone who looks right next to you.”Sakusa only nodded. “Goodnight.” He said quietly.And then he walked away.He made it down the stairs, through the lobby, and out into the street before the nausea hit him square in the gut. He breathed in through his nose, hard. Pressed his hand to his stomach. Bent slightly at the waist. His shoulder ached faintly from the tension.He walked home in silence, button-up clinging to the sweat on his back, and didn’t realize until he got inside that he’d been shaking the whole time.They made it back to Atsumu’s place fast. The kind of fast that doesn’t allow room for second-guessing.The guy didn’t ask many questions. Just complimented the apartment—said it was nice, clean, modern. Then, as he slid his shoes off by the door, he glanced over his shoulder and said, “You look kinda familiar. You on TV or something?”Atsumu shrugged. “Nah.”That was it.No name-drop. No team mention. No need to confirm if the guy actually knew who he was or if he just had a good memory. Atsumu didn’t need him knowing he was a pro athlete. Didn’t want to navigate that version of himself right now.He was just a guy trying not to be alone.They made it to the couch fast—hands already on each other, mouths clashing. It was messy. Hot. The guy kissed with tongue and teeth, open-mouthed and hungry, his hands sliding under Atsumu’s hoodie and dragging it up before Atsumu even registered the motion.The guy kissed like he meant it. Like he was trying to prove something. His mouth was warm, tongue eager, teeth nipping at Atsumu’s lower lip.It felt good—wet, hot, hard—but it wasn’t right. The guy didn’t kiss like Sakusa. Didn’t bite in the same rhythm. Didn’t drag his nails lightly over Atsumu’s ribs the way Sakusa always did right before he’d push him down to the mattress.He tried not to think about that. About him.The guy dropped to his knees without warning.Atsumu watched him from above, breathing heavy, pants already undone. The guy looked up like he wanted to be praised for it. Like getting on his knees was something special.Atsumu leaned back into the couch and let him tug his pants down. His c@ck slapped against his thigh, already hard, already leaking a little at the tip. The guy let out a soft hum and took him in his hand, jerking him twice before swallowing the head.Atsumu closed his eyes. Tilted his head back.And yeah—he pretended it was Sakusa’s mouth.Even though he f@ck@ng shouldn’t. Even though he knew better. Knew that Sakusa had never done it like this—sloppy and showy, using way too much spit, one hand wrapped tight around the base, other braced on Atsumu’s thigh like he thought he needed leverage.It wasn’t bad. It was actually… decent. He bobbed his head slow at first, then faster, like he’d done this enough to show off a little. And yeah—Atsumu’s c@ck throbbed. His fingers twitched against the cushions. A low grunt slipped from his mouth when the guy sucked around the head and tongued the slit like he was trying to taste every drop.He let it happen. Let himself feel it.Let himself use it.He slid a hand into the guy’s hair—short, damp with sweat—and guided him deeper, pushed just a little, until he heard the telltale gag, the wet click of throat and spit.
  F@ck.
His hips rolled up instinctively, chasing the heat, chasing the pressure. He didn’t say anything—just grunted low, jaw tight, breath ragged.And still—still—all he could f@ck@ng think about was Sakusa. How Sakusa would hum around his c@ck just to f@ck with him, how he’d look up through his lashes with that bored little expression that somehow got Atsumu off faster than anything else in his life.This guy didn’t look at him like that. This guy looked eager. Like he was hoping Atsumu would tell him he was good. Special. Worth the trouble.It made something twist in his stomach. Made it feel… wrong.His fingers curled tighter in the guy’s hair. “C’mere.” He muttered, voice low, flat.The guy pulled off with a wet pop, panting, lips shiny with spit. “Hm?”“Get undressed.” Atsumu said. Already standing. Already walking toward the hallway without looking back.He grabbed the lube from the drawer in his nightstand. It was the same bottle he and Sakusa always used—the one Sakusa once flipped over in his hand and said, “Really? This brand again?” before bending over the bed and letting Atsumu f@ck him anyway..He came back out and dropped it onto the couch with a soft thud. The guy was down to his briefs, waiting.“I’m a top,” Atsumu said, “Non-negotiable.”The guy nodded fast, eyes already roving down his chest. “Yeah. That’s fine.”Atsumu said nothing.He knelt on the couch, grabbed the guy by the hips, and yanked him closer, already unscrewing the cap of the lube. If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it. Rough. Fast. Enough to stop thinking.Enough to shut up the part of him that still missed Sakusa.The guy laid back willingly, spread out across the couch with his thighs parted. Atsumu knelt between his legs, slicked two fingers with lube, and didn’t say much as he pressed the first one in.The guy groaned, head tipping back against the armrest. “F@ck—you’ve got nice hands.”Atsumu just hummed.The second finger slid in easier. He curled them, slow and practiced, dragging along the spot that made the guy twitch and gasp.“Jesus—you know exactly where to—f@ck—”Atsumu didn’t grin. Didn’t preen. But it stroked his ego anyway. Of course he was good with his hands. Strong, calloused setter hands, built for control. Built to make things smooth, clean, efficient.He twisted his wrist a little, worked the stretch in patient strokes, until the guy was squirming under him, making messy little noises into his own bicep.Atsumu pulled back, rolled on a condom with one hand, then grabbed the guy by the hips and flipped him like it was nothing. Face down into the couch cushions, ass arched perfectly, his back already sheened with sweat.“Hold it.” Atsumu muttered.The guy did.Atsumu lined up and pushed in slow, just enough to get past the tight resistance. Then he bottomed out with one smooth, harsh thrust.“F@ck.” The guy gasped, voice muffled in the cushions.Atsumu didn’t wait long.He set a pace quick—dirty—gripping the guy’s waist with both hands and pounding into him with the kind of rhythm that made the couch creak with every thrust. It was hot, loud, filthy. Slick sounds and skin slapping skin. The guy’s moans were raw, unrestrained, half-sobs into the upholstery.And yeah, sure, it was nice—hot, even—to see a strong, muscled back arched under him. It was different. Good. The way his shoulders flexed, the way his hands dug into the couch cushions for balance. The view was solid. The body was tight and toned and built to take it.Atsumu adjusted his footing, one knee shifting to the floor for better leverage, and slammed his hips forward with more force. Felt his c@ck grind deep, all the way in, felt the guy clench hard around him.“F@ck@ng hell.” The guy whimpered, drool spilling from the side of his mouth, his cheek mashed into the cushion.Atsumu grunted. “Yer loud.”The guy just moaned louder.Something about it scratched at the wrong part of Atsumu's brain.Because Sakusa was never like this.Sakusa didn’t make all those sounds. Didn’t beg. Didn’t lose control so fast. He moaned quiet, measured, like Atsumu had to earn every sound with his mouth, his fingers, his c@ck. Like Atsumu had to work to pull it out of him.And f@ck—that always made it better. Made Atsumu harder, made the @rg@sm sharper, made it feel like a g@dd@mn prize.He growled under his breath, hips snapping faster, rougher, trying to get out of his own head. He gripped the guy harder, fingers digging into flesh like he could pound Sakusa out of his bloodstream.But it wasn’t working.Then—mid-thrust, sweat beading down his neck, breathing ragged—Atsumu’s eye caught the soft glow of his phone screen lighting up on the side table.He didn’t mean to look. But he did.
  Omi.
His heart lurched.He kept thrusting. In. Out. Deep. Fast. But his eyes locked on that screen, the vibrating buzz like a siren in the back of his skull.Why was Sakusa calling?Now?Now, when Atsumu was b@lls deep in some other guy—when he was gripping someone else’s hips and rutting into them like it might fix something inside of him?
  What the f@ck.
Did he know?Was this some freak coincidence or some sixth sense Sakusa had always quietly weaponized against him?The guy under him whined—loud, desperate—and Atsumu blinked, looked away, grabbed the back of his neck, and f@ck@d harder.But his gaze wouldn’t leave the phone. It stayed black for a long moment—just the sound of panting and slick friction and the couch creaking under their weight. Then it lit up again.
  Omi.
Sakusa was calling him again.Twice now.Atsumu’s heart kicked up into his throat, hands tightening involuntarily where they gripped the guy’s waist.Was it an emergency?But why would Sakusa call him if it was? He wasn’t on any medical records. They hadn’t really spoken in two months. Just those brief moments during practice when Sakusa would rejoin for some light drills, barely making eye contact, both of them pretending the last few months didn’t happen. Pretending they weren’t still tangled up in each other in the worst f@ck@ng way.And now Sakusa was calling. Again.Atsumu grit his teeth, shut his eyes, and tried to shut it all out. Focused on the sensation—the stretch of thrusting into someone tight, the heat of it, the noise. He tried to imagine it was Sakusa. That it was him moaning into Atsumu’s couch. That it was Sakusa’s back arched beneath him, Sakusa’s nails digging into the cushions, Sakusa’s breath stuttering as he got split open with every thrust.The guy came first.Body tensing, ass clenching around Atsumu’s cock, whining as he spilled across the couch. Atsumu followed not long after, groaning low and sharp as he buried himself deep and filled the condom, chest heaving as the tension bled out of him in hot waves.Before the guy could say a word, Atsumu pulled out, tied off the condom, tossed it in the trash, and muttered, "I gotta take a call."He stepped into his briefs, grabbed his phone, and pushed the sliding door open to his balcony. The air was cool against his skin. He shut the door behind him, blocking out the view of the guy already scrolling on his phone, still naked on Atsumu’s couch like nothing happened.He stared at Sakusa’s name. Then he pressed call.It rang once. Twice.Three times.He almost hung up.Then—“Hello?”Atsumu’s breath caught.It was quiet for a beat. “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.” Sakusa said finally, his voice low and shaky.Atsumu let out a soft huff, rubbing a hand over his face. “Uh… it’s fine. I guess.”Another pause. Then—A wet sniffle. A tiny inhale, shaky and too loud in Atsumu’s ear.His heart clenched. Before he could ask—before he could even form the words Omi, what’s wrong?—Sakusa spoke again.“What’ve you been up to?”And Jesus. That was loaded.What had he been up to?Mentally: Well, I just f@ck@d some guy on my couch while thinking about you the whole time.Out loud: “Not much.”Silence stretched again. Not empty, but tense. Heavy like wet fabric clinging to skin.“I’m happy for you,” Atsumu added after a second, trying to change the subject. “That you’re gonna be back full-time soon.”A soft, dry laugh. “You don’t have to lie.” Sakusa said.Atsumu flinched. “I’m not,” he insisted. “I want you next to me.”He hesitated.“On the court,” he clarified, voice tighter. “I meant—on the court. Next to me. Playing.”There was a little sound on the other end. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sob. Something small. Wounded.“I miss you.” Sakusa whispered.Atsumu closed his eyes. His throat tightened.And f@ck.F@ck.His vision went blurry for a second, and he pressed his wrist against his eye, trying to stop it. His chest hurt. Literally hurt. Like his ribs couldn’t stretch far enough to hold it all.He’d just had sex with someone else. Some guy he didn’t even ask a first name for. And all he could think about—all he could think about—was wiping Sakusa’s tears away. Pulling him into his arms and letting him curl against his chest like he used to. Like they hadn’t let everything go to sh@t.“I miss ya too, Omi.” Atsumu said, voice rough.There was a pause. A breath.“Can I come over?” Sakusa asked, so soft it almost got swallowed by the wind. “Not for sex. Not to fight. I just—I want to be around you.”Atsumu exhaled shakily. He looked back at the sliding door. The guy was still there. Still scrolling. Still naked.He turned away again, closed his eyes. Then, “Come over in like an hour.” He said.“An hour?”“I gotta tidy up first.”A pause. Then the faintest sound of a breath being released. “Okay. Thank you.”Then the line went quiet. Atsumu stood there, the cold biting at his bare skin, guilt curling deep in his gut. He pressed the phone to his forehead for a second. Then turned around, slid the door open.The room still smelled like sweat.The guy—still half-sunken into the couch cushions, legs spread—glanced up and said, “So… round two or are we ordering something?”Atsumu froze. Then awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh—actually… I was kinda just lookin’ for a hookup.”The guy blinked at him. “You’re not even gonna let me get comfortable?”Atsumu winced. “I can call ya a car…and pay for it.”The guy scoffed and stood up, not bothering to cover himself as he grabbed for his clothes. “Nah, it’s fine.”Atsumu stood off to the side, folding his arms across his bare chest. Trying not to flinch as the guy tugged on his jeans with the type of aggression that made it clear he was annoyed.Once the guy had his shirt halfway on, he grabbed his jacket and walked over. And then—unexpectedly—kissed Atsumu hard, tongue and teeth and a little too much spite.“Shame,” he muttered against Atsumu’s mouth, pulling back. “You’re hot. Should’ve known you’d be a douche.”Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.Atsumu exhaled. Ran both hands through his hair, pausing at the crown of his skull where it still felt damp. He glanced around the apartment. His mouth tasted like someone else.So he started cleaning.Couch cushions first—straightening them out, tossing the throw blanket back over the arm. He sniffed it. It smelled like sex. So he took it to the laundry pile. Then wiped down the coffee table, grabbed their empty cups from earlier, rinsed them in the sink, loaded the dishwasher. Took out the trash. Wiped the counters. Sprayed too much cleaner.Then he swept the floors. Then vacuumed—knowing full well his downstairs neighbor was gonna text him some passive aggressive sh@t later.He moved to his bedroom next, pulling the sheets off the bed, balling them up before tossing them in the washer. He planned to pull on clean sheets, the ones with the thread count Sakusa preferred.But when he opened the closet for them -
  Oh, f@ck.
Natsuki’s hoodie was still hanging on the inside hook. Her skincare bottles were still in the bathroom. Her shorts were in his hamper. Her earrings on the nightstand. Her perfume on his dresser.Atsumu froze.What the fuck was he supposed to do? Shove it all into the closet? Would Sakusa even notice? He said he wasn’t coming over for sex—just to be around Atsumu. But that made it worse somehow. Because Sakusa would notice the details. The scent. The subtle signs. He’d notice and he’d assume the worst. And fuck, maybe he wouldn’t be wrong.Atsumu felt like a f@ck@ng @ssh@l@.Still, he gathered everything he could find—scooping Natsuki’s hoodie, tucking her products into a drawer, burying her shorts under his gym clothes. He paused for a second at her perfume bottle, then shoved that in the back of his closet too.He made the bed with the fresh sheets. Changed the pillowcases.Then jumped in the shower. Scrubbed. Aggressively. Arms, chest, between his thighs. Rubbed himself raw trying to get rid of the smell of someone else. The taste of guilt. He toweled off, ran his fingers through his hair to flatten it down. When he heard the knock at the door, he padded barefoot to the door and opened it.Sakusa stood there, hoodie zipped up, hands tucked in his pocket. His curls were slightly frizzed from the humidity. His eyes looked tired.Atsumu swallowed. “Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “"M gonna go get dressed real quick.”Sakusa gave a quiet nod and slipped inside. He walked slowly—like he didn’t want to take up too much space—and settled into the couch with a heavy, careful exhale.Atsumu watched him sit. Watched his eyes scan the living room, soft and quiet and observant.And he winced.Because that was the same g@dd@mn couch he’d just f@ck@d another guy on. An hour ago.When he eventually came out of his bedroom, he cleared his throat. “Ya want water? Or like… tea or somethin’?”Sakusa’s eyes didn’t lift at first, but then he nodded. “Tea’s fine.” He flexed his fingers in his lap, thumb rubbing circles against his palm like he was trying to ground himself.Atsumu moved into the kitchen, grateful for something to do with his hands. He boiled water, pulled two mismatched mugs from the cupboard, steeped the tea longer than needed just to stall. When he returned, he set Sakusa’s mug down gently on the coffee table and took the far end of the couch, careful not to sit where that guy had been earlier.They drank in silence.Sakusa held the mug delicately. He always did—fingers wrapped high near the lip, careful not to spill.Then, quietly, like it had been sitting on the tip of his tongue the entire time:“So who did you have over?”Atsumu froze.“Huh?” he said too fast, blinking.Sakusa didn’t look at him. “It smells like sex.”Atsumu swallowed hard. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “Just some… person.”Sakusa nodded. He didn’t ask anything else. Then, still staring down into his tea: “I can leave you alone. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry.”“No—Omi.” Atsumu sat forward, cup clinking too loud on the table. “I missed ya. Stay.”They both looked up at the same time.Sakusa stared at him for a long beat. No expression. Just quiet. Then he nodded once, like he’d heard that a thousand times in his head already.They finished their tea in silence.After a while, Sakusa set his mug down too and stood up. “I don’t really want to sit here…on the couch. It’s weirding me out.” He admitted.Atsumu pushed up from his seat. “C’mon,” he said. “Balcony.”He grabbed a couple of spare blankets from the linen closet and slid open the glass door. The night was clear—stars faint but visible, sky cut open by the haze of the city’s light. They stepped outside, blanketed in the hush of traffic several stories down. At first they moved toward the chairs, folding-style, metal-framed and angled toward the skyline. But Atsumu paused and looked at the hammock strung up across the corner.Sakusa gave him a look. “Are you sure it’s not gonna snap under us?”Atsumu rolled his eyes. “I tested it with Bokkun once, and he’s basically built like a fridge.”That made Sakusa huff, almost a laugh. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”"C'mon, ya big baby.”Atsumu climbed in first, one leg swinging up and over until he was flat on his back. The hammock rocked slightly. He braced it.Sakusa eyed him, then carefully climbed in after—slow, cautious, and then all at once he was pressed half on top of Atsumu, one leg bracketing his thigh, his head settling just under Atsumu’s jaw.They didn’t speak.Atsumu wrapped both arms around him instinctively, one hand splayed between Sakusa’s shoulder blades, the other cupping his waist. Sakusa let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it since he got there.The breeze smelled faintly of someone else’s cigarette and something sweet wafting from the building across the street.“I’m sorry." Atsumu whispered eventually.Sakusa exhaled. “I’m sorry too.”Then the tears came—silent. Slow. Atsumu felt them before he heard them, the way Sakusa’s shoulders trembled faintly, the way his breath hitched once.Atsumu blinked hard, the burn behind his eyes sharp and sudden. He shifted slightly and reached up, fingers tipping Sakusa’s chin gently so they could see each other. And for a moment, they just looked. Then Atsumu leaned in and kissed the tears off Sakusa’s cheeks—salty on his lips, like punishment.Sakusa didn’t stop him. Just rested one hand at the back of Atsumu’s neck, thumb brushing the soft hair there, the way that always made Atsumu’s chest ache.“I know I shouldn’t kiss ya right now...but I want to.” Atsumu murmured, voice ragged.Sakusa’s eyes didn’t leave his. “You just f@ck@d someone else before I got here.”“I know.” Atsumu’s jaw tensed. “I know. And I’m sorry.”Sakusa shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”They stared at each other again. Eyes flicking to lips. Bodies too close to pretend.Just as they leaned in—barely brushing, breath warming skin—the hammock creaked. Shifted a little too hard.Sakusa pulled back instantly. “I told you this thing can’t handle us.”Atsumu burst out laughing, head tipping back. “Okay, okay. Y’were right.”They scrambled off—Sakusa with a grace that belied the tears still drying on his cheeks, Atsumu more awkwardly, his shirt riding up a little.They stood there for a second, just looking at each other.“My bedsheets are clean.” Atsumu said, softer now.Sakusa cleared his throat. “My place.”Atsumu nodded. “Okay.”
  
  

    
      
        
        
          to my loyal readers and commenters (i'm kissing ur foreheads)'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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