Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Osamu. ‘Samu, I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” sprawled dramatically across an airport bench in London, Atsumu whines tiredly into his phone, “It’s like … what time is it? It’s like two in the morning and I’m still stuck here .” 

All the way over in Japan, Osamu sighs in audible exasperation, “It’s just a little waiting, ‘Tsumu. Ya always were the impatient one …” 

“Not true!” Atsumu sits up in indignation, but the area is so deserted he doesn’t disturb anyone, “I’m totally not. But either way , I’ve been here for hours ‘Samu. Hours . And at first, there were people around and it was okay but now I’m practically alone and my flight’s been delayed again and at this rate I could have driven home!” 

“Hyperbole.”

“Ya get my point!” The faux blonde is so frustrated he hisses into the phone instead of shouting, “I’m still stuck here ‘Samu and I’m tired and this place is really creepy.” 

Overhead, one of the industrial-sized lights flickers, eerily breaking the perpetual brightness of the airport. Atsumu winces in response, eyes flicking upwards in concern. God , if the lights go out right now he’ll genuinely throw himself off a cliff. When nothing else happens, the man untenses slowly but continues to bite his lip in worry. He’s really starting to hate this place. 

“... and if that doesn’t— hey!” Osamu’s indignant tone breaks through his brother’s distracted thoughts, “Are ya even listening to me ‘Tsumu?” 

“Um,” the older twin says eloquently, “yes?”

“Yer such a terrible liar. I said that if you’ve been there so long, ya should go talk to a hostess and request compensation. When was yer flight even supposed to take off?” 

Atsumu sighs, tapping his foot anxiously, “Like. Forever ago , ‘Samu. I think the original departure time was eight …” 

Reflexively, the faux blonde takes his phone from his ear and checks the time. 0213. It’s 0213, and not even the same day he was meant to leave London, and he’s still in this godforsaken airport . Atsumu thinks he might scream. But he’s not sure if the rest of the terminal is deserted, only the section he’s in right now; it really wouldn’t do to cause an international incident the day he flies home. So the man swallows his frustration down and settles for glaring at the empty seats around him and the basic carpet underneath his sneakers. 

“Listen, ‘Tsumu, the restaurant’s still recovering from the morning rush. I have to go soon, but ya really need to find a hostess and demand they set ya up with a hotel or something. Use that disgusting charm of yers or whatever, just get out of that airport before ya get even crazier.”

“Aww, ‘Samu thinks I’m charming,” Atsumu coos playfully, trying to hide his apprehension of being alone again.

“I’m hanging up.”

“Love ya!” 

“... love ya too.”

There’s a soft beep as the call disconnects, and then Atsumu is once again entirely alone. The emptiness of the airport presses in around him uncomfortably, the spacious waiting area suddenly growing too big. Whining to himself, the blonde musters his courage and stands slowly, tucking his phone into his pocket and muttering a soft curse in the general vicinity of the world. Slinging his carry-on duffle bag over his shoulder, Atsumu starts walking. 

Of course this happened to him. Flight delayed for upwards of eight hours, stranded in a deserted airport, stuck in London of all places … just his luck. Not that Atsumu truly dislikes the city, or even England itself. But after today, he’s pretty sure he’s going to hate this place with an irrational passion. With a groan, the faux blonde admits it to himself: this royal sucks and he’s nearly too tired to deal. 

Trudging through the ghost-town of an airport, Atsumu finally does happen upon a few poor souls. Each looks just as tired as he feels, so he doesn’t strike up conversation and he doesn’t ask for directions. The man isn’t too confident in his midnight English skills anyways. Continuing at a sleepy pace, he somehow quickly finds a help centre for his airline. Unfortunately, but at this rate unsurprisingly, the area is vacant and there’s no one behind the desk. 

Determined, and fueled mostly by exhausted irritation, Atsumu continues onwards. His carry-on is heavy where it’s slung over his shoulder, and his sneakers alternatively drag across carpet or squeak over polished tile. At least he doesn’t have luggage to haul along with him, that would make this whole experience even more miserable. The blonde’s pretty sure he would have abandoned any extra bags at this point, either due to forgetfulness or sheer annoyance. 

Atsumu’s distracted and muttering vague threats under his breath when someone suddenly calls out to him. The noise is too loud for the largely empty space, and it almost echos, startling the blonde into nearly dropping his duffle. It takes Atsumu a second to register that a stranger is approaching and that he was just asked a question in crisp Japanese. Another second after this first realisation, he notices that holy fuck this dude is hot , and his voice too, oh wow. Honestly, he might be hallucinating. 

“Pardon?” Atsumu asks dumbly instead of blurting out his litany of incriminating thoughts. 

“I asked what flight you were on,” the stranger repeats as he comes to a stop, glossy shoes tapping lightly on airport tiles, “You were speaking Japanese and I was wondering if we were scheduled for the same plane.” 

“Um,” the blonde says blankly as he registers an eyeful of neat suit and a white medical mask, “I … we’re probably not, my flight was supposed to take off at uh … eight, I think? It’s just really. Really. Late.”

A dark, manicured eyebrow raises in what Atsumu prays to god is interest and not insult, and then the stranger says, “Unfortunately we do share a flight. A gravely delayed one at that.” 

“Oh wow, really?” Hot hot hot, oh god this man is so attractive , “Sorry yer stuck here too.”

There’s an elegant nod, “I was just making my way to the help desk, would you like to accompany me? It’s only a corridor away, I believe.” 

Despite his fatigue, Atsumu immediately brightens. All he hears is ‘ would you like to accompany me ’ and his brain is doing cartwheels because the handsome stranger wants to walk with him and this means the blonde won’t be alone anymore. Agreeing in what hopefully isn’t too eager of a manner, he falls into step next to the masked man, stealing glances out of the corner of his eye on occasion. 

The pair walk in silence, but it’s more tired than awkward, and Atsumu has plenty of time to make mental notes about his companion. Firstly, the stranger is wearing not only a medical-grade mask, but also what appears to be a pair of very expensive black gloves. Maybe he’s an international spy who doesn’t want to be recognised. Or he really hates London and doesn’t want to touch anything. Idly, Atsumu generates theories, each one wilder than the next. Is this really what his brain wants to do when faced with a gorgeous stranger? Apparently so. 

Before they reach their destination, though, the blonde also has the opportunity to note that the suit is most definitely tailored. It fits neatly over defined shoulders and a trim waist, and if Atsumu had even a smidge less self-control, he would be drooling. Two AM does weird stuff to people, in his defence. Accompanying the suit is a tangle of endearingly rumpled dark curls and deep olive eyes. Maybe that airport was purgatory and now he’s being escorted to heaven by an angel … 

His musings are cut short as the man comes to a neat stop in front of a gloriously open desk. A young woman sits behind her computer, tapping away at the keys with a sort of concentration no one deserves to have this late at night. Her chestnut hair is pulled back into a refined ponytail, and it swings pleasantly as she directs a smile towards the tired duo. 

“Hullo!” her tone is cheery but quiet enough for the strange hour, “How may I help you two?”

Wordlessly, Atsumu defers to his companion. He’s not only stupidly attractive, but also dressed in a suit that can’t possibly be comfortable to spend this much time in. The blonde is completely at peace with waiting an extra five minutes before getting his own situation sorted out. Also, even though his brain is too scrambled for English, when the time comes he can simply say ‘I have the same issue as him, please help me’. Then boom, problem solved. 

The stranger steps forwards to discuss his situation more quietly, and Atsumu uses the opportunity to mildly zone out. If he’s being honest, the blonde is basically dead on his feet. He doesn’t have the healthiest sleep schedule so 2 AM is no stranger to him. He was expecting to sleep on the 12-hour flight to Tokyo, though, and instead he’s loitering in an English airport with only three brain cells left to his name. It’s a pretty bad situation. 

“Sir,” the brunette says politely, if a bit sharply, and Atsumu suddenly realises she’s addressing him. 

“Sorry, yes?” he asks in sleepy English, and a blush dusts his cheeks. 

The hostess taps at her keyboard for a second, and Atsumu’s stranger appraises him almost too intently, “Were you on the same flight as this gentleman? Eight o'clock for Tokyo?” 

“Yes, I was,” he responds, wondering why she’s addressing him if she hasn’t finished helping the other man. 

“Thank you, I’ll have things sorted out shortly,” with a crisp nod, she turns back to the dark-haired man and her monitor. 

Slightly confused but still tired enough to not care that much, Atsumu tunes out their conversation. He’s focused on tracing the whorls decorating the front of the help centre, but not single-mindedly enough to miss how the stranger turns back to him every once in a while. Every time the man glances over, it’s brief and not exactly negative, but Atsumu still feels deeply curious. For some reason, he feels as if he’s being judged and he desperately needs the stranger to like him. God, why does his insecure brain always play this game, especially when he’s sleepy? 

Mopey at the thought of the stranger finding him distasteful, Atsumu debates calling Osamu as soon as he’s out of the airport. Maybe whining will solve his mood. Especially if the whining annoys his twin — that’s always an added bonus. Lost in fantasies where he calls and antagonises Osamu to no end, the blonde nearly misses how his companion’s posture subtly tenses. There are a few clipped sentences in English, and then Atsumu’s being addressed again. 

“I’ve been told,” the stranger says in blessedly clear Japanese, “that the company will only provide us — as a collective — one hotel voucher and compensation for the ride there. I’ve requested alternatives but this is the most they can do. Eliza has assured me though, that the voucher is good for two days in a double-queen suite anywhere we choose—” 

“Two days?” Atsumu blurts out in a manner he knows is rude, but he’s too tired to maintain a filter.

The stranger doesn’t appear to mind, “Yes, that’s the soonest flight they can place us on. Apparently, we’ll be afforded first class for our troubles.” 

Huffing a light laugh at the dry tone of his companion, the blonde asks, “So … aside from the delay, this means that we have to share a room?” 

“If you don’t mind,” 

“Well I mean, as long as ya promise not to be a serial killer,” Atsumu jokes with a small smile. 

The dark-haired man raises an amused eyebrow, but turns back to the brunette — Eliza — instead of responding. At this point, Atsumu really is about to drop dead, and he’s impressed he isn’t swaying precariously where he stands. He probably looks stoned, or tired-drunk. The blonde would be surprised if he could walk more than three metres in a straight line. 

While he muses over his totally out-of-it-state, Atsumu registers his stranger wrapping things up with Eliza. A package exchanges hands, and then people are saying goodbyes and the blonde is being asked a question. Does he have any other luggage? He’s not sure. Suddenly, Atsumu remembers the hassle he went through to get his bags shipped ahead of himself, and he shakes his head.

“This is it,” he tells dark-hair cheerily, and pure exhaustion is the only way he manages to sound so upbeat.

The stranger nods his head in acknowledgement, before he’s leading the pair confidently through the airport. Atsumu’s honestly a little relieved he stumbled upon someone so competent, because he’s sure that security would find him passed out on some random benches otherwise. Especially since the blonde is far too tired to properly locate the exit to this labyrinth of an airport. 

God, he really hates this place. 

A few minutes into walking, Atsumu finally spots something familiar: the café he grabbed hot chocolate from when he arrived. The location is closed now, lights shut off with a thin metal grille pulled down to protect the espresso machines and pastry displays. Despite being abandoned, it’s more comforting than the brightly lit airport. The fact that this means they’re close to the exit greatly contributes to Atumu’s relief. 

The only sounds that fill the air are the measured tap of the stranger’s shoes, the background noise of his suitcase wheels on tile, and the jangle of keys as a janitor passes by. Atsumu’s so tired his steps have gone from notable but confident, to near-silent. His companion doesn’t comment, and the blonde’s almost glad they aren’t conversing. He might die of exhaustion if he has to focus on not making a fool of himself. 

Automatic doors woosh open softly, and then the pair is hit with a wall of balmy late spring air. Disgruntled, Atsumu blinks a few times as the humidity adds to his overall exhaustion; if he doesn’t find a bed soon, he might pass out on his stranger. At least the relief of finding the exit gives him a little shot of energy. The other man doesn’t seem to have any reservations about the weather, though, and he walks briskly to the right, suitcase rolling along smoothly. 

Atsumu drifts behind obediently for a few minutes, but he slows to a reluctant stop when he sees where the stranger is headed. A sleek black car idles next to the sidewalk, and the blonde doesn’t need to know anything about European companies to realise that it’s not a cab. It looks too clean and mildly expensive, but luckily not as ostentatious as a limousine. Either way though, it’s not a cab and Osamu would never let Atsumu live down the embarrassment of having to say ‘hi yes I was kidnapped in a foreign country because I willingly got into a stranger’s car’. In the older twin’s defence, the other man is hot enough to melt Atsumu’s last remaining higher brain functions. 

“Is there a problem?” Dark-hair has stopped just a meter shy of the car, looking back towards the blonde curiously. 

Um yea, I barely have enough self-preservation to prevent myself from hopping into that car, serial killers be damned , “Er. That’s not really a cab …” 

“It’s not,” the other man agrees simply, and Atsumu suddenly wishes he wasn’t wearing a mask because that matter-of-fact tone is really hard to read. 

“Weren’t we um … supposed to call one? Isn’t that what Eliza said?”

“Cabs are dirty,” there’s a careless shrug, “this is the rental I’ve been using while in town. I called the company to extend the period an extra few days.” 

“Cool, cool, that’s totally great and all but I uh,” oh wow , Atsumu’s really struggling right now, “I’m not really supposed to get into cars with strangers I don’t even know the name of?” 

The blonde winces as his uncertainty drags the statement up into a question. Surprisingly, whoever drove the car over hasn’t gotten out yet to question them about loitering, but it’s making Atsumu even more nervous having an unknown third party nearby. Exhaustion is warring with the adrenaline this situation has forced him to make. Maybe he should walk back inside and beg Eliza for a second voucher … 

“Sakusa.”

“Pardon?”

“Sakusa,” the stranger says again, “That’s my name. Now if you’ll be so kind as to get over your reservations, we really do need to be on our way.” 

“Oh,” Atsumu says smartly as he files the information away, “I’m Miya Atsumu. But this doesn’t really solve the issue?” 

Sakusa actually rolls his eyes , which is the strongest bit of emotion he’s shown all night, “I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi, a prominent Japanese lawyer: if you google me my Wikipedia page is the first link. I’m trustworthy and I don’t have time to stand outside the London airport and argue all night — you can get in the car, or not.”

With this, he turns sharply on his heel and walks to the driver’s side of the car. Atsumu’s stomach flip-flops with the unpleasant sensation of knowing he’s irritated the other man, and he runs a nervous hand through his hair. A chauffeur with salt-and-pepper hair exits the car smoothly when Sakusa reaches his door, handing over a pair of keys and exchanging a few words. Sakusa pointedly doesn’t look at Atsumu as he opens a side door and places his suitcase inside carefully, and the chauffeur walks off towards the closest airport entrance without a glance backwards. 

As Sakusa straightens neatly and shuts the side door, Atsumu holds his hands up in placating surrender, “Okay okay okay,” he says as he hurries towards the passenger side, “I’m coming please don’t leave me.” 

The other man doesn’t deign to respond, but he also doesn’t drive away as Atsumu stores his duffle next to the suitcase. Fumbling with the handle, the blonde plops into the shotgun seat with an embarrassed huff, shutting the door behind him and quickly securing his seatbelt. He can’t bring himself to make eye contact with Sakusa, and the other man pulls smoothly away from the curb without a word. 

Stuck in the awkwardly charged silence, Astumu’s brain goes on autopilot: he pulls out his phone. There’s nothing he really needs to be working on though, and so he stares at it blankly for a second before queueing up google. In what he hopes is an inconspicuous manner, the blonde types “Sakusa Kiyoomi” into the search bar; he spells it wrong the first time, but autosuggest sends him to the right page either way. And wow , Sakusa really is legit, Atsumu is nearly impressed. He’s too tired to scroll down the Wikipedia rabbit hole, but the other man is definitely notable. 

“So um,” the blonde says absently into the silence, “Looks like ya really are a lawyer, huh?”

The curly-haired man doesn’t respond, doesn’t even turn to glance at his companion. 

“Pretty cool! Though, sometimes it’s the rich and uptight ones who are really crazy, ya know?” Atsumu continues to muse out loud. 

“In fact, ya could be a lawyer and a serial killer. Stress reliever or something. And you'd know the law well enough to get away with it. Maybe.”

“Actually, ya probably totally could get away with it.”

“And uh. Where are we going …?” 

“ Pleasedon’tkillme .”

Sakusa sighs heavily, flipping on the turn signal. He doesn’t otherwise respond.

Chapter Text

Atsumu’s nearly asleep when the pair pull up to a downtown hotel, but he’s not drowsy enough to miss how expensive the place looks. The blonde might not be an internationally-known lawyer, but he handles PR for Japan’s fastest-growing video-game company and even he wouldn’t stay somewhere this elite unless it was for vacation. Would an airline voucher really work here ? 

Mindful of the cramped downtown space, the hotel only had a drive-through front and space for valets. What it lacked in space though, it made up with tasteful decorations and gold accents; glass and marble filled Atsumu’s view when he glanced out his window, and everything was well-lit without casting sharp shadows. There are no other cars around, given the late hour, and the blonde was able to appreciate the intricate and subtle designs carved into marble details. It’s really pretty . 

Atsumu feels extremely outclassed, and suddenly wishes he were dressed in a suit like Sakusa, although he knows he would be incredibly uncomfortable. 

Before the blonde can say anything though, Sakusa kills the engine and says, “Wait here a moment.”

The other man slips out of the car with as much elegance as when he got in, and Atsumu watches as he casually walks towards the young man standing by the valet desk. They look comfortable talking with each other, as if it’s not — Atsumu checks the time — 0257 in front of an extremely expensive hotel. Despite the casual air, though, the blonde notes how Sakusa doesn’t stand too close to the other man, how he doesn’t extend his arm in greeting, and how the keys exchange hands without anyone touching the other. Interesting . 

But then the passenger door is being opened and Atsumu raises his startled gaze to meet Sakusa’s disinterested one. The blonde blurts out a confused ‘thanks’ as he walks away, sitting there stunned for a few seconds before quickly unbuckling. The two of them don’t say much as they gather their luggage, but once Atsumu has his stuff together, he realises how out of place he feels standing in front of the hotel. Grey sweats, a navy blue shirt … the twin can practically feel his outfit actively clashing with the background. 

Sakusa watches the valet drive away dispassionately, before turning towards the automatic double-doors. 

“Hey wait!” Atsumu whisper-shouts as cold air floods around the pair, “Where are we?” 

Without slowing down, Sakusa turns to level an unimpressed stare at the other, “A hotel. And you waited until you no longer had access to a car before asking this question?” 

“Yea, well …” the blonde eyes the expensive entrance warily, taking note of cream couches you probably aren’t supposed to sit on, “I didn’t want to seem rude in front of the valet. Why is this place so intense?”

The other man sighs, drawing to a slow stop, “This is one of three hotels within London that meet my standards. As it’s the closest to where we were, I decided to drive here. Do you have an issue with this? I can assure you its five-star rating is — for once — well deserved.” 

“St-standards?” Oh no , is he the snobbish kind of wealthy? That cancels out his looks for sure … “No, no, I don’t have an issue with the um. Quality. At all. It’s just, this doesn’t seem like the kind of place that accepts airline vouchers, if ya know what I mean …” 

Sakusa lets out a huff of air in what Atsumu swears is amusement, and starts walking again, “I’ll take care of that. Now stop dallying, it’s late and I need sleep.” 

Unable to think of any other arguments, the blonde follows Sakusa closely. He doesn’t want to be mistaken as a random person off the street, and he can’t deal with the embarrassment of having to explain that ‘oh I’m with the lawyer in a suit who’s barely tolerating my presence’. Actually, given a second thought, maybe that huff of amusement earlier was really derision … 

Atsumu nearly stumbles into Sakusa when they stop at the front desk, he’s so absent-minded. A blush heats up his face, but neither Sakusa nor the artificial redhead before them mentions it. The twin notes artificial because the pixie cut the woman is sporting is dyed a brilliant cranberry colour and wow it looks good on her. He really is tired, if everyone he meets looks so drop-dead gorgeous. Atsumu sighs softly, and tries to pay attention to the conversation taking place before him. 

He quickly gives up though, when Sakusa starts giving detailed and even-toned instructions to the woman. The blonde isn’t going to be humble: his English comprehension is immaculate and far better than his speaking skills, but at three in the morning and in an entirely exhausted state … he can’t keep up with the conversation. It doesn’t help that Sakusa is clearly using technical terms. Atsumu is extremely curious as to what they could possibly be negotiating, but he resigns himself to ignorance. 

That is, until Sakusa says something slightly clearer, and the blonde snaps to attention as much as physically possible. At this, the redhead looks at him as well, and Atsumu shifts from side to side under the scrutiny. Apparently, he passes some test because the other two turn to each other and seem to come to an agreement. Sakusa more reluctantly than the woman. Belatedly, Atsumu realises he should probably be more invested in what’s happening to him, as this now marks two conversations where Sakusa does everything and the blonde simply zones out. For all he knows, the dark-haired man could have just reported him as a stalker or something. 

But the woman at the front desk simply smiles, and hotel vouchers and plastic cards are exchanged for each other. Distantly, Atsumu wonders how on Earth standard pieces of plastic look so elegant and expensive. When everything is in its proper place, Sakusa hands Atsumu a card before turning towards in intimidating glass elevator, walking off neatly as if it isn’t three in the morning and as if he isn’t tired in the least. Kindly, the redhead calls out what Atsumu is conscious enough to recognise as a goodbye. 

When Sakusa doesn’t turn to acknowledge it, the blonde gives a sheepish, and what he hopes is charming, grin, “Sorry about him, he’s very … reserved. Thank ya so much for yer help.”

“Oh it’s no problem,” a manicured hand is waved placatingly, “You two seem really cute, it’s heartwarming. Have a great stay!” 

Atsumu waves goodbye and jogs lightly to Sakusa. They ‘seem really cute’? The blonde isn’t sure how that fits in the conversation, maybe he mistranslated … He doesn’t have too much time to dwell on the exchange, though, since the elevator arrives quickly and Atsumu has to hurry in for fear of being left behind. Not only is it too late to deal with irrational feelings of abandonment, the blonde totally wasn’t paying attention when the woman listed off their room number. 

Glass doors slide into place, and the ground lurches as the elevator starts to ascend. Fifty floors to this whole building, excluding a basement and a penthouse, and the pair has a room on floor 42. In his head, Atsumu makes a joke about 42 being the answer to life — this is how he knows he truly is at his wit’s end. Staring out the glass front of the elevator and watching floors speed by nearly makes the blonde dizzy, but closing his eyes is an even worse option so he focuses on staying conscious and upright. The outer glass wall goes opaque when they’re a few meters from the ceiling, and it remains that way until they clear the area and are greeted by another spacious expanse in the middle of the hotel. Atsumu supposes it makes sense that the building isn’t hollow for all 50 floors — this provides more walking space for patrons and prevents an awkwardly high ceiling. 

In almost no time, the elevator slows, stopping with a neat ding on floor 42. Atsumu wants to say something light and charming like, ‘here we are!’, but he honestly doesn’t really know where they are, and he’s a smidge too tired for charm. Sakusa doesn’t rise to the occasion for a witty remark either, and instead leads the pair out of the elevator and to the left. Carpeted floor muffles their steps, preventing any common noise factors like suitcase wheels from waking up sleeping guests. Despite how uneasy Atsumu feels with the evident luxury of the hotel, he really does appreciate the tasteful design. Neutrals surround his vision in a calming array, but the overall effect isn’t bland or boring. 

If the blonde is judging internal design, it’s too late for him. Why aren’t they at the room yet? 

Sakusa suddenly stops, and for a split second Atsumu is terrified he said that last part out loud. But the dark-haired man doesn’t comment on it and so the other relaxes slightly. The lawyer hesitates a moment, then extends his key and unlocks the door. 

“I call the couch. And the shower first,” that’s all he says, before stepping inside and leaving Atsumu to hurry after before the door closes in his face. 

“Hey, wait!” The door shuts softly, “What d’ya mean ya ‘call the couch’?” 

Atsumu blinks in surprise as Sakusa flicks on the lights. He’s greeted by the sight of a spacious and tastefully appointed suite. The room is designed to be open but private, and only a glimpse is visible from what the blonde assumes is essentially a foyer. He toes off his shoes quickly, stepping around the short corner, only to catch an eyeful of Sakusa elegantly shrugging off his suit jacket. 

And yep, wow, just like that Atsumu has died and ascended to heaven.

“This was the only opening they had,” Sakusa explains, as if he hasn’t just stepped straight out of some absurdly hot suit commercial, “It only has one bed, so I’m calling the couch. And, I don’t shower after others as that’s unsanitary.”

Well, that’s pretty noble of him , Atsumu is pleasantly surprised. And then he frowns. 

“What? No, I can’t make ya take the couch, ya sorted all this stuff out for us. I’ll sleep there. It’s only two nights.”

“I’m not letting a stranger sleep on the couch when there’s a perfectly suitable bed in the other room,” Sakusa’s tone is as level as before, but strangely firm. 

“I’m not either!” Atsumu argues, crossing his arms almost petulantly. This feels like a quarrel with Osamu, except by now the two of them would be brawling. The blonde is certainly not going to tackle this elegant stranger. Unless it’s in a sexy way. 

Sakusa narrows his eyes, but it’s more in exasperation than genuine annoyance. Belatedly, Atsumu realises he’s still in his mask and gloves, “Fine. This is a honeymoon suite anyways, so the bed is large enough to share if you’re so determined. Either way, you’re going to be on the bed.”

Honeymoon suite ? “Deal.” 

“Now that that’s settled,” the dark-haired man says pointedly but not rudely, “I’m going to shower.” 

Atsumu blinks at him tiredly, “Isn’t it a little um … late?” There’s nothing wrong with bathing but if the blonde had to stand under hot water for more than a minute, he would fall asleep on the spot. 

“Going to bed without showering is unsanitary,” Sakusa’s tone is sharper, and almost disapproving. 

“Okay yea, totally agree,” Atsumu raises his hands placatingly, “I’ll take one too.” 

That seems to resolve everything, and Sakusa lays his suitcase out on a coffee table. He quickly extracts a change of clothes and bottles of … shower stuff. Atsumu is too tired to take note of the specific bottles and brands, but he does take a second to admire the other’s organisational skills. Sakusa manages to locate the bathroom on his first go, which is rather impressive, and then the blonde is left alone in the suite. 

He pokes his head around a bit, taking note of which switches do what and where all the outlets are. Thick cream curtains obscure a window in what he’s dubbed the ‘living room’ area, and when Atsumu pulls them back, he’s greeted with the sight of a decently bright London. For now, the blonde tugs the curtains back into place, providing the pair with a bit of privacy from the large city. 

To the left of the main room is a locked door, behind which is the bathroom and a showering Sakusa. Atsumu suddenly has to clear away images of the lawyer shirtless, and he heavily plops his duffle bag on the couch to distract himself. Leaving his bag there in case the dark-haired man gets any ideas about sleeping on the couch (although, it doesn’t look too uncomfortable), Atsumu walks through an archway to the right. He’s immediately greeted by a large bed, which is definitely big enough to fit the two of them. It might even fit Osamu, if the twins were being ambitious. 

The bed is neatly made, with a cream-and-tawny patterned comforter and decorative pillows; the same design is repeated on two armchairs. Behind the decorative pieces are actual pillows, but Atsumu’s still impressed with the detail and the arrangement. There are nightstands and lamps on each side of the bed, as well as a TV and dresser directly opposite. The blonde peeks his head into an empty closet, noting an iron and a mid-sized safe. Useful, if he hadn’t already shipped all his valuable luggage off to his brother. 

Sighing softly at the thought of another two days spent in London (does today count, since it’s past midnight, or will Atsumu actually be stuck for three days?) he shuts the closet door and pads over to the curtains covering the left wall. They’re the same colour as in the other room, but their ends are embroidered with a navy accent that’s evident in the rest of the furniture. Atsumu pulls them to the side dramatically, but instead of being greeted by another window, he realises he’s standing in front of floor-to-ceiling glass. 

Blinking in pleasant surprise, Atsumu tucks the curtains behind a provided hook and kneels on the ground. He slumps against the wall to his left tiredly, but it’s nice to sit there and stare up at the — admittedly, light-polluted — night sky. While the stars are too faint to make it through the well-lit city, the moon is bright and heavy against a navy backdrop. The blonde loses track of how long he’s been sitting there, but he’s drowsy and his knees ache a bit when Sakusa finds him. 

There’s the gentle pad of bare feet on carpet, and then a softly cleared throat, “Shower’s open.” 

Atsumu’s startled out of his reverie, and he glances over his shoulder in surprise. His mouth opens to say something acceptable like ‘okay’, or ‘thank you’, but then he’s met by the sight of Sakusa’s bare face and he can’t breathe. If the dark-haired man really is a killer, Atsumu will die a happy man looking at that face. Because all of the sudden his eyes are drinking in a jawline and a perfect nose and lips that he really really really wants to kiss . 

The blonde’s brain is totally on board with this plan, because he finds himself thoughtlessly asking, “Can I kiss ya?” 

Then there’s a beat of silence, and Sakusa’s eyes widen in surprise, and Atsumu finally registers what he said in a comical split-second delay of realisation. Panicking, the blonde scrambles to his feet clumsily, blood flowing back into his legs. To the lawyer’s credit, Sakusa doesn’t run away or even flinch at the sudden movement. 

“That is sosososo not what I meant to say.” Atsumu explains, apologising profusely, “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go take that shower and um. Leave ya be. Bye!” 

Sakusa doesn’t say anything as the blonde rushes from the room, neither making eye contact. A blush so bright it’s probably neon settles itself solidly over Atsumu’s cheeks, and he scrambles to grab a spare shirt and underwear from his duffle. He shuts himself in the bathroom, not even taking the time to assess the amenities as he strips. The blonde quickly locates the shower handle, turning on the water and stepping in before it properly heats up. 

Because Sakusa just took a shower, the coldest the water gets is lukewarm, but it’s still infinitely cooler than Atsumu’s burning embarrassment. He shivers under the cascade until the temperature evens out, and then the blonde is burying his face in his hands. Did he really just say that? That whole exchange wasn’t a hallucination? 

Atsumu sighs, reaching for body wash. If he’s questioned, he’ll plead 3 AM insanity and the stress of being stuck in an airport for what felt like an eternity. Maybe now, Sakusa will let him sleep on the couch … Spending the rest of the brief shower moping, the blonde lathers himself up in soap and tries to calm down. The lemon scent certainly helps, and as he’s rinsing, Atsumu gives the hotel mental praise for the high-quality wash. 

Then he frowns because, wait, since when did hotels use large bottled products? Eyes widening in dread, Atsumu realises he probably just doused himself in Sakusa’s body wash. Because, apparently, he can’t do anything right tonight. Instead of breaking down into tears or doing something similarly pathetic, the blonde is so tired he simply shrugs and shuts off the water. He resolves to apologise to Sakusa and pray the lawyer doesn’t kick him out. 

It’s wonderfully easy to locate the towels, and Atsumu dries himself quickly. Now that he’s used to the warm shower water, the outside air feels frigid against his damp skin. The blonde debates thoroughly drying his hair, but decides to towel it down and leave it a little damp instead: he doesn’t want to spend any more time awake than strictly necessary. 

After tugging on a slightly oversized shirt and a pair of briefs, Atsumu steps into the living room. He glances at the couch in hope, but sighs to himself when he sees that Sakusa has added his own suitcase to the mix. The blonde definitely can’t sleep there tonight. Tiptoeing to his duffle bag just in case the lawyer is already asleep, Atsumu stores his dirty clothes and grabs his charger. 

He pivots, on his way to choose an outlet, and nearly collides with Sakusa. The scent of lemon verbena puffs faintly off the two of them, and Atsumu begs the other not to notice how it’s unusually strong. 

“Sorry!” the blonde blurts with a reflexive smile, “I’m almost done, just plugging in my phone.”

“That’s alright,” Sakusa says, and it’s all Atsumu can do to not stare at his perfect lips. 

Wow, the twin really needs to get his act together. Shaking his head lightly to himself, Atsumu steps around the other man and makes his way towards an outlet next to the dining table. It takes a second to slot everything into place, but then his phone is charging and he lays it on the table with relief. If Atsumu had to waste even a single brain cell doing that, he would’ve quit and gone to faceplant on the bed. 

Since everything has gone alright though, he cheerily announces, “All done!”

“You don’t want your phone to be in a more convenient location?” Sakusa asks curiously as the pair head into the bedroom. 

“Nope!” Atsumu flips a light switch and floods the main chamber of the room with darkness, “If I kept my phone next to my bed I’d never sleep. Bit of a social media addict, ya know?” 

Sakusa shrugs, but doesn’t otherwise comment, “Do you have a preferred side?”

“A what?” the blonde is caught off guard by the topic change, but quickly catches on, “Oh um. Not really, no.”

The bed is nearly big enough for it to not matter though, right? Despite his fatigue, Atsumu is suddenly hit with a wave of nerves as Sakusa walks elegantly to the left — from the archway’s perspective — nightstand, claiming it as his own. Seeing the other man so close to the bed is really driving home the fact that Atsumu has agreed to share a room with someone he’s known for less than two hours. At least Sakusa is very professional and neat. Not to mention hot. 

He’s really hot. Atsumu stands dumbly at the entrance to the bedroom, watching closely as the dark-haired man bends slightly to connect his own charger. A neat nightshirt draws tight over defined shoulders, highlighting muscles, and Atsumu knows he would be jealous if he wasn’t in good shape himself. The blonde really wants to run his hands down that back; his 3 AM brain is turning out to be remarkably horny … 

“Are you going to lay down?” Sakusa quirks a brow in his direction and suddenly the twin realises he’s just been standing there. 

“Yea! Yea, sorry,” Atsumu apologises awkwardly, hoping he hasn’t alarmed the other man with his staring. 

Sakusa’s posture is still refined and calm, but his voice softens a fraction, “You know, I could still sleep on the couch if it’s preferable.”

The blonde’s heart swoons because that’s the most gentlemanly thing he’s ever heard, “Nah, I’m fine with sharing.” 

Atsumu smiles brightly to drive his point home, and then walks to the bed with as much self-confidence as he can muster. Anxiety curls in his stomach because there are so many ways he can mess this up, but he brushes the feelings off quickly. All that matters is convincing Sakusa he’s okay, and that neither of them will be sleeping on the couch today. 

Picking up a decorative pillow in order to relocate it to a nearby chair, Atsumu is suddenly hit with the urge to spike it. The pillow is round. It’s firm. It’s in his hands and he could totally spike it, especially such a short distance. Sakusa might even be impressed. 

Yea right , the logical part of the twin’s mind says, he’d fall right in love with ya if ya caused damage to the hotel room via 3 AM spikes and an irresponsible volleyball hobby . Blushing, Atsumu quickly tosses the pillow onto the chair underhanded, as if it burned him. He needs sleep before he really does damage something. 

“Everything alright?” Atsumu whirls on his heel, and is greeted with the sight of an amused Sakusa. His side of the bed is noticeably free of decorative pillows as well. 

“Just fine!” the blonde’s voice pitches a bit high with embarrassment, and he quickly slips under the covers, tugging them up to his chin.

A bit petulantly, Atsumu lays on his side and refuses to make eye contact with Sakusa. The only light on in the room is the other’s nightstand, so there’s not much else the blonde is required to do. He lays in bed stiffly, trying to get over his nerves so he can go to sleep . It works, kind of. 

Sakusa is quiet as he situates himself, footsteps soft on thick carpet. The bed dips slightly as he joins Atsumu, and the sheets slide against each other as the pair gets comfortable. It’s simultaneously less and more awkward than the blonde was expecting, and he gradually manages to get his limbs to relax. His breathing has evened out by the time Sakusa leans over to shut off his own light. 

“You know,” there’s a click and the room goes dark, “it’s okay if you used my wash.”

Atsumu physically feels himself blanch, “M’sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, “was on autopilot.” 

“I said it’s okay. At least you’re clean now,” Sakusa says softly. Then, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Atsumu says in a sigh, sleep already tugging at the corners of his mind. 

━ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ━

“So Trish,” downstairs, manicured nails drum lightly against marble, “Guess what? I just checked in the cutest Japanese couple. You won’t even believe it. They walked in all tired and one was in a suit and the other was dressed way casual. I totally thought sweatpants was gonna fall asleep on Mr Suit, but he managed to make it through poor baby. Suit did all the talking, and he initially asked for two beds, which broke my heart; I mean, how terrible must it be having to hide your relationship like that? But we only had one room open and it only had one bed, which is what I told him. He glanced over at sweatpants before saying yes, and I swear my heart melted on the spot. I totally think that …”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Someone’s nudging Atsumu, and he’s not happy because he was just in the middle of a great dream and now he’s being interrupted. His whole body feels warm and fuzzy and well-rested, and the pleasant scent of lemons is filling his senses. Honestly, the blonde would be content to stay in this moment forever; he’s acutely aware that yesterday was unpleasant, but he can’t quite recall why. What’s more important is that he currently feels lovely.  Heedless to Atsumu’s wish for more sleep, a hand nudges his shoulder again. 

“Miya,” an unfamiliar voice says, “Miya, you need to wake up.”

Miya ? Atsumu doesn’t recognise who’s talking to him, the man must have the wrong twin. Sighing a bit in frustration, the blonde burrows deeper under the covers. After a moment, he gathers enough energy to respond.

“What did he do now?” Atsumu slurs his words tiredly, but he’s pretty sure he’s coherent. 

“ He? ” The voice sounds confused and mildly alarmed, “Miya, I’m talking to you.”

Atsumu gives yet another sigh, too sleepy to function, “Look, I dunno where ‘Samu is. Find him yourself.”

He pointedly turns to lay on his stomach, thwarting any further attempt at conversation. Whatever mess Osamu got himself into, he can get himself out of as well. The stranger nudges Atsumu’s shoulder one last time, before retreating in defeat. The blonde curls up under the covers in self-satisfaction, quickly drifting back to sleep. 

━ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ━

“Atsumu,” someone gently cuffs him on the head, “get up.”

The blonde groans, waking up slowly. He feels lethargic but in a nice way, and he rolls onto his side in order to face the voice addressing him. It’s … someone he knows the name of, Atsumu is sure of it. But he can’t quite remember the exact thing … maybe it started with an ‘S’? Or a ‘K’, though both of those letters have completely different sounds, so he’s not sure why he’s mixing them up. If the blonde bothered to open his eyes, it might jog his memory, but he’s far too lazy. Why does he connect an ‘O’ sound to this man’s voice …

“Atsumu!” The mystery man doesn’t quite shout, but he raises his voice louder than Atsumu’s ever heard it. 

“‘Omi!” The blonde yelps in alarm, pushing himself up onto his forearms, “What’s wrong?”

“Omi?” The other man — Sakusa — parrots in confusion, “Actually, it doesn’t matter. Your phone has been ringing on and off for the past hour, and when I answered it I was promptly threatened with the police.”

Atsumu rubs a hand across his sleepy eyes, brain too tired to quite latch onto Sakusa’s tangent, “Oh my gosh, that’s the perfect nickname. I’m a genius .” 

There’s an irritated sigh, then, “Osamu, I do believe you’re the better twin.”

“Wait, what??” The blonde is wide awake now, and he quickly catches sight of his phone being held against Sakusa’s ear, “Omi that’s so mean of you! Give me the phone!” 

“I’m handing you over,” the lawyer’s tone is flat, but there’s a hint of amusement and it makes Atsumu feel slightly less bad about being the least favourite. 

The blonde snatches his phone from Sakuasa's gloved fingers, “ Even if Omi likes you better I’ve still scored way more service aces than you so hah .” 

Atsumu’s words are said in a rush, all in one breath, cutting off Osamu before he can so much as say ‘hi’. Off to the side, Sakusa snorts and seats himself in an armchair. The dark-haired man smoothly opens his laptop, appearing to ignore the conversation for the time being. 

“I take it you haven’t been murdered and buried behind the London airport,” Osamu says dryly, “And I’m the better spiker. Would it have really been that hard to text and let me know you were alive?”

Atsumu pouts, even though he knows it’s not noticeable over the phone, “Are not. And sorry, I meant to but forgot ...”

“You forgot,” the ash-blonde doesn’t sound impressed, “You almost gave me a heart attack. And Suna agrees I’m the better spiker.” 

Sighing lightly, Atsumu relaxes back into the pillows, “Aww, you do care ‘Samu. But Suna only agrees because he simps hardcore.” 

“Both claims are false. Tell me about how things are going over there, ‘Tsumu.” 

Atsumu, if he’s being honest, couldn’t tell a linear story even held at gunpoint. So for the next half hour, he rambles about how the airport was just as terrible as he claimed at 2 AM, how he’s going to be stuck in London for another two days, and how nice the hotel room is. At a certain point, Sakusa switches rooms to give the blonde some privacy, and Atsumu uses the opportunity to whisper about how unfairly hot the other man is. Because really, what good is a twin if not as a sounding board for distressed rants. 

It feels really nice to talk to Osamu, which is something the blonde will 100% not mention, ever. But the discussion helps him calm down, and by the end of it, he feels slightly more at peace with being stuck in Europe for a few more days. The conversation draws to a close naturally, and Atsumu reminds himself that it’s pretty late over in Japan; Osamu says goodbye first, and then the blonde is sitting alone in the bedroom. 

He sighs lightly, almost afraid to check the clock and see how long he slept. But he needs to let Kenma and Hinata know he won’t be back on time, and that means checking when to schedule an email … Flipping his phone over quickly so he doesn’t have an excuse to ignore it for the rest of the day, Atsumu glances at the time. 1304: not too shabby, if the blonde is being generous. Given how tired he was last night, he’s surprised he didn’t sleep entirely into the evening. 

Well, actually, there’s no telling how long he would have naturally slept if Sakusa hadn’t woken him up. But that doesn’t matter. The point is, it’s around 2100 in Japan right now, which means that Atsumu can shoot a quick text to both his friends as opposed to emailing. Kenma doesn’t reply, but that’s a bit expected. Hinata texts back within a minute, using no less than three emojis to express his dismay and concern. But the tangerine-haired man is quick to assure Atsumu he’s not missing anything and that the company will still be there whenever he gets back. 

Smiling at his friend’s cheerful outlook, Atsumu texts Hinata a hug and says he’ll chat later. For now, he needs to … well actually, what does the blonde need to do? He’s stuck in a hotel with a stranger and no work to do, although it’s been monumentally less awkward than it could be. In fact, Sakusa’s so ‘okay’ that he’s essentially like a college roommate. So … maybe Atsumu should just treat this as a mini-vacation? 

That actually sounds totally great to the blonde, and he rolls out of bed with a pleasant smile. Before he gets to relaxing though, he needs to wash his face and brush his teeth. Sakusa is sitting at the table with his computer, and he doesn’t even glance up as Atsumu walks by. The twin doesn’t mind too much though, since he definitely doesn’t want to have to talk to the other man before his breath smells like nothing but fresh mint. 

It doesn’t take Atsumu too long to brush his teeth, but he does pay extra attention to his skincare routine. Yesterday put a lot of stress on his face, and you don’t get as handsome as him without taking good care of yourself. Once satisfied with the health of his skin, Atsumu winks at himself in the mirror and shoots a few finger guns, feeling much more vibrant. Maybe he’ll go down to the gym, if this place has one. That’s a good pastime, and it gives Sakusa some privacy in case the other man isn’t taking too kindly to the blonde’s presence. 

Atsumu steps out of the bathroom, proposition on his lips, when he’s greeted by the sight of Sakusa and a stack of pancakes. The dark-haired man is sitting in the exact same spot as before, and he’s still typing away at his computer with complete dedication, so there’s literally no indication as to how the pancakes got there. Maybe Atsumu just didn’t see them before? Or maybe Sakusa is a totally cool pancake-conjuring magician because it’s not like he’s already hot as fuck , he also has to be completely epic. 

The man in question pauses his smooth typing, glancing up to catch an eyeful of confused Atsumu, “Room service,” he says by way of greeting. And then, “You seem like a pancake person.” 

“That’s probably because I definitely am,” Atsumu laughs lightly, “Thanks Omi-Omi, that was really nice of you.” 

“It’s no bother, you should eat. I’d hazard a guess and say you haven’t eaten since a late lunch for the flight.” 

Atsumu blinks, surprised, “Oh actually, you’re right. I appreciate it.”

The blonde slides into a seat across from Sakusa, pulling the stack of pancakes towards himself. Working out can wait: now that he has a meal in front of him, Atsumu is quickly realising he’s starving. Sakusa turns back to his computer as the blonde digs in, but he slides a manila envelope across the table before continuing his work. Atsumu reads as he eats; inside the folder is information on flight rescheduling and important dates. 

Once the twin has a gist of the content, he sets down the folder in favour of fully savouring his pancakes. He’ll have plenty of time later to do boring stuff like figure out how to leave this godforsaken city. Pancakes provide the perfect distraction: they’re fluffy and covered in butter and berries and the proper amount of syrup. Atsumu honestly isn’t a breakfast person, and he usually eats something light at the office with Hinata, but since he doesn’t have any work to do he’s happy to take advantage of the free food. 

Well, ‘free’ in a sense … “Hey Omi, how much do I owe you for this?”

Sakusa looks up from his computer, expression confused for a moment, “Nothing.”

“Okay but um … how much did they cost?” Atsumu’s thrown off by the matter-of-fact tone the other is using: who just answers a question like that with ‘nothing’? 

“They were free,” Sakusa says with a shrug, “Is there a problem?”

The blonde laughs a little nervously, “No no, just didn’t want you to waste any money on me you know?”

Sakusa frowns slightly, and Atsumu’s suddenly worried he said something offensive. But he didn’t, did he? Last time the blonde checked, it was totally normal and completely okay to reimburse strangers who kindly bought you pancakes. But if they were free, Atsumu guesses that’s fine. Must be a hotel perk, or something. 

After a moment, Sakusa goes back to his computer, and that’s the end of the conversation. Atsumu mentally shrugs to himself, finishing off his pancakes and standing to clear his plate. He’s plenty used to washing dishes (since Osamu always called cooking), and he rinses off his own efficiently. The blonde isn’t really sure what to do with everything now that it’s clean, but he assumes that the hotel will be around to collect them sooner or later. In the meantime, he gently places the plate on the countertop, along with his utensils.

Sakusa is still typing away at his computer, and Atsumu feels a momentary pang of sympathy — he must’ve needed to do a lot of work back in Japan, and is doing his best to catch up now. Which totally sucks. But it also means that the dark-haired man would likely really appreciate some peace and quiet. Walking over to his duffle and pulling out a pair of shorts and a tank-top, Atsumu thanks his past self for thinking to leave a spare set in his bag just in case. 

It doesn’t take long for him to change, and being in workout clothes is already making the blonde feel better. He always goes on runs when he’s feeling bad, as they help him relax and sort through his thoughts. That, or he holds a few planks and does squats because there’s no mood booster like knowing you’re making your ass look great. Distantly, Atsumu wonders how often Sakusa works out, because there’s no way he doesn’t. That man is far too muscular to never exercise. 

Atsumu is hesitant to interrupt the lawyer when he’s done changing, but he still wants to give the other man a heads up, “Hey Omi. I’m just gonna go- Oh frick wait, is there a gym here?” 

“You changed without knowing?” Sakusa’s tone is dry but good-natured, and Atsumu winces lightly. 

“Um,” he says eloquently, “Maybe. But these places always have gyms, you know? Right?” 

Sakusa sighs heavily, “Yes, there’s a gym. It’s in the basement if I recall correctly, but ask the front desk if it’s not there.”

“Okay great,” Atsumu sags in relief, “Thanks so much, I’ll be back later.”

“Sure,” Sakusa’s eyes dart to his computer, “I’ll still be here. Do you have water?”

The blonde shakes his head, already bending down to tug on sneakers, “Nah. But there are water stations. Usually.”

When Atsumu straightens, he notices an almost … uneasy look on the other man’s face, and for a moment he’s worried he said something offensive. But Sakusa merely goes back to typing on his computer, “If it suits you. Don’t forget your key.” 

“Got it right here.”

Atsumu waves a quick goodbye, slipping out the door and shutting it behind himself quietly. If his memory serves him correctly, the elevator should be to his … right. The blonde finds it after a short while of walking, and he grins at his own success. Once he steps in the glass contraption, he starts thinking about how he wants to spend his time working out. Usually, he goes to the gym with Bokuto and Kuroo, who each suggest exercises to add to the mix. 

Working out with friends definitely improves the experience, but it also means that Atsumu doesn’t have to think too hard about what he’s actually going to do that day. Alone now, he debates pulling up an online list in order to get a well-balanced workout. As the floors speed past him though, the blonde shrugs and decides to run a few kilometres to start off. Afterwards, he can figure out what else he should do. This is shaping up to be a decent break!

━ ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ━

This hotel has an even better gym than Atsumu’s last one, and he takes full advantage of the available equipment. Maybe honeymoon couples really enjoy working out? Whatever the reason, the gym is so well-stocked that Atsumu ends up spending just under two hours there. He leaves feeling pleasantly sore, and the blonde resolves to do stretches in the hotel. He normally does them immediately after working out, but he’s a bit sweaty and really wants to shower. 

So he towels down lightly with one of the towels provided in the gym, and then he makes his way to the elevator. Luckily, no one else gets in on his way to the room, and so they aren’t subjected to the light scent of post-workout sweat. Atsumu would find this a bit odd, except for the fact that five in the afternoon probably isn’t too high-traffic of a time. In fact, he doesn’t see anyone on his way to the room either, which only cements his theory. 

Giving a courtesy knock on the door before using his key, Atsumu slips inside, “Hey Omi! I’m back.” 

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says his name in greeting, sitting in the exact same spot as before, “Welcome back.” 

“Thanks, I’m gonna shower real quick. Have fun with your computer stuff!”

Atsumu toes off his sneakers quickly, hoping they don’t smell. He walks to his duffle, intending to pull out a change of clothes, but quickly realises he … doesn’t have one. In his defence, this bag was genuinely only meant to tide him over until he landed in Tokyo. The gym clothes were more of an extreme ‘just in case’. So … maybe Atsumu needs to do laundry. But for now, he can just rewear what he slept in. 

It’s not like he did much in those clothes, and he doesn’t really plan to leave the room now that he’s done working out. With a shrug, Atsumu grabs his nightshirt and turns towards the bathroom. He’s almost there when Sakusa makes an odd noise, and the blonde turns on his heel to see what’s wrong. 

“Are you … wearing that again?” Sakusa’s tone is entirely genuine and not noticeably judgemental, but Atsumu flushes a deep crimson at being questioned. 

“Yea so um actually,” god this is embarrassing, “the thing is, I shipped my suitcase ahead of me because I really didn’t think I’d be stuck here for another two days. So I don’t really have a lot of clothes. Just gonna rewear these until I can wash the others, you know …”

The lawyer frowns to himself for a moment, and Atsumu wants to melt into the centre of the Earth, “You could wear something of mine if you’d like. It’s not really sanitary to rewear sleep clothes.” 

“Oh thanks, um,” the way Sakusa phrases the offer is a little odd, but all Atsumu really hears is ‘you can wear my clothes’ and his brain is 100% on board with that, “Sure? That’d be cool, actually, thank you so much Omi.” 

“Don’t mention it,” the other says, sliding smoothly out of his chair, “What would you like?”

Atsumu shifts awkwardly out of his way as Sakusa goes to his own luggage, “Just a shirt maybe? I have underwear so …”

“You’re not going to wear pants?”

If it’s even physically possible, Atsumu blushes further, “Actually, I might have a pair myself, one second …”

The two men rummage through their respective bags, and Sakusa pulls out what looks like a very comfortable olive t-shirt, laying it aside for the blonde. After a few moments, Atsumu locates a pair of shorts. They’re a bit old, and he knows they’re too short for anything but sleepwear, but at least he doesn’t have to steal anything else from Sakusa. 

Clothes in hand, Atsumu runs into the bathroom before he can cause himself any more embarrassment. He showers quickly, sighing in relief as the warm water relaxes his muscles. He definitely needs to stretch when he’s done. Although the blonde is completely conscious this time, he still ends up using Sakusa’s wash. It smells nice, and it smells like Sakusa, and Atsumu is still nursing a stupid crush over the stranger. 

It doesn’t help that he’s attractive and not a creep and he’s nice enough to share clothes, and— Oh god. Atsumu leans his forehead against the shower wall, muffling a groan. Sakusa hasn’t mentioned the blonde’s lapse of judgement last night. And he hasn’t been awkward about it either — enough that Atsumu totally forgot he asked to kiss the other until just now. How is the lawyer even able to make eye contact? 

Hot water cascades around Atsumu as he sighs in exasperation. Why does he always manage to say the dumbest things to people he likes? At least Sakusa doesn’t seem to be put off … there’s no way that man is a good enough actor to hide discomfort this long. Or maybe he is. Atsumu’s thoughts keep running around in anxious circles, and he eventually shuts the water off in frustration. 

The blonde needs to stop worrying so much. The most important takeaway from this interaction is that Sakusa isn’t homophobic, and that’s that. In fact, the other man doesn’t even appear to buy into toxic masculinity, which is making him even more attractive to Atsumu by the second. The blonde needs to get his heart under control. 

Drying off and moisturising quickly — something he forgot to do last night — Atsumu tugs on his clothes with as little thought as possible. Maybe if he doesn’t pay too much attention to the fact that he’s in Sakusa’s shirt and that it’s comfortable as fuck , he won’t end up with an awkward boner. All things considered, he’s actually kept pretty good control over himself this past day, but sometimes there’s nothing you can do about pure biology. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the awkward train of thought, Atsumu steps out of the bathroom. Now, he could go do stretches in the bedroom, peaceful and alone. But the blonde really doesn’t like being alone, and he isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to flex at least a little . So he grabs his phone from where he left it on the coffee table, and he gracefully lowers himself to the carpeted ground in the main space. 

Sakusa spares him a curious glance, but otherwise doesn’t comment. Atsumu doesn’t feel like sustaining a conversation either, and despite his intention to mildly distract the lawyer in a good way, he’s not interested in frustrating the other. Unless it’s in a sexy way. Atsumu mentally glares at himself for that last thought. 

Underneath his freshly scrubbed limbs, the carpet feels a little abrasive, but it’s not bad enough to justify requesting a pair of pants. In fact, Atsumu just moisturised and so he probably won’t even get ashy knees. Satisfied with the current state of things, the blonde begins with a passive butterfly, simply sitting on the ground as his muscles sort themselves out. 

He scrolls through his phone idly, adjusting his position and changing stretches without a set timetable. Mostly, the blonde changes things up whenever he feels as if everything is properly stretched out. If he guesses wrong, he can always return to the position later. It’s kind of nice to have such a chill stretching period — it almost feels like low effort yoga. And it gives Sakusa plenty of time to glance over and catch glimpses of taut muscles. If he even bothers to look — Atsumu is so absorbed with his stretches and his phone to actually check if the lawyer pays him any mind. 

Easing himself into a front split with the right leg forwards, Atsumu nearly faceplants when he sees the notification he just received: Suggested by Google , it reads, ‘Is the Famous Lawyer Sakusa Mysophobic? What We Know’ . It’s clearly a sensationalist article, but Atsumu is freaked out by the fact that there’s literally an article about his stranger being recommended to him by Google . Was his search from last night really enough to trigger this kind of response from the algorithm? And more importantly … what’s the article about? 

Fully seated in his splits, Atsumu bites his lip in indecision. Would clicking the article be stalkerish? Or snoopy? Maybe it would, but curiosity starts to get the better of him, and he clicks the headline guiltily. If Sakusa never finds out, it won’t bother him. 

If Atsumu’s being honest, the article sort of sucks. It’s not a bad read, but it’s formatted in numbered sections with random shots of Sakusa as headers. The entire piece looks unprofessional, but it does make some good points. The author — who has apparently decided to remain anonymous behind the name of the newspaper — lists several things like Sakusa’s permanent white mask and black gloves as evidence. They also note how he stays away from crowds, and sometimes glares if people come too close. It’s almost an entertaining read for Atsumu, and he momentarily forgets how guilty he feels. 

Despite the fact that the article is … interesting, the blonde is still curious as to why something so sensationalist is being written about a lawyer of all people. No matter how good you are at your job, that doesn’t really seem like the kind of profession a newspaper like this would focus on. Atsumu is left in the dark until he reaches the very bottom. The article ends with a short, but revealing blurb: someone wrote this because Sakusa genuinely has fangirls . 

And Atsumu gets it, really. In fact, he made more of a show than necessary when switching to a front split with his left leg forwards; Sakusa is hot and the blonde wants his attention. But a fanbase ? For being a mysterious lawyer who always wears a mask? Actually, scratch that, it makes total sense. Sakusa seems very handsome and broody from afar, and he’s definitely not that bad close up. Atsumu himself is about to join this fan club. 

The blonde sighs a bit, feeling weird now that he knows Sakusa is in the public eye like that. He’s not judging at all though, he runs an Instagram that consists of 25% food, 15% selfies-with-friends, and 60% thirst traps. But he can’t really say that anyone’s written a faux-exposé of him yet so maybe he’s feeling a bit envious … 

Suddenly, Atsumu yelps and nearly tips sideways out of his splits (again): he just remembered why he clicked on the article, “Omi! Omi, are you mysophobic? I mean I know that’s a really weird question but like if you are I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything you know?”

Sakusa startles a bit at the sudden commotion, and he glares at Atsumu who is, impressively, still in his splits, “What are you even going on about?” 

“Okay, so this isn’t my fault because Google recommended the article,” wow, when Atsumu’s distressed he sounds like Bokuto almost, “but someone said you might be mysophobic and they made some pretty good points and it got me thinking: I’m already imposing, and I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if that’s the case! Like, I’m totally chill with sleeping on the couch or—” 

“Do you ever breathe?” Sakusa interrupts calmly, gaze softening from a glare into amusement. 

“Um,” the blonde doesn’t really know what to say now that his rant has been stemmed, “no?”

The lawyer sighs patiently, “You read a Buzzfeed article, didn’t you?” 

Atsumu glances at his phone curiously because, ‘oh, did he ?’ but Sakusa doesn’t wait for an answer, “I’m not medically diagnosed as mysophobic. I just don’t like germs. Or crowds. Or people, really. But I handle myself just fine and you’d better not even think about babying me.” 

“Oh,” the blonde says in a small voice, because Sakusa gives a pointed look when he finishes the announcement, “so that’s why the gloves and mask and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“But sharing a bed with me isn’t … bad for you or anything?” Inwardly, Atsumu cringes: great, he’s managed to direct the conversation towards himself and his need for validation already.  

“You’ve taken two showers in less than 24 hours,” the lawyer points out dryly, “I’m okay.” 

Atsumu blinks, and then sighs in relief, “Okay! Great. Glad that’s sorted out. Sorry for the intrusive question.” 

Sakusa shrugs, “It’s alright, I don’t mind you knowing. Although, speaking of intrusiveness …”

The blonde perks up curiously where he’s sitting, “What’s up?”

“You seem like the kind of person who needs to hear this, so” Atsumu feels his heartbeat kick up a few notches, “I don’t mind that you’re gay. In case you were worried.” 

“Oh,” Atsumu says. And then he corrects, “Pan, actually.” 

Sakusa raises an eyebrow, “Omni, myself.”

At that, the blonde really does fall out of his splits in shock. He laughs in surprise, scrambling up on his knees to put Sakusa within his line of sight. The lawyer looks mildly amused. 

“That’s so cool,” Atsumu says excitedly, and then, “you have no idea how much more comfortable I feel knowing that.” 

Sakusa gives a soft smile, “Glad to hear it.”