Chapter Text
The café smelled like roasted coffee beans and rain. Atsumu Miya sat near the window, fingers loosely wrapped around a mug that had long gone cold. Outside, the sky was dull and gray, clouds hanging low over the street while rain fell in soft, steady streaks against the glass. Atsumu watched the droplets race down the window, his eyes tracing their uneven paths as if the answer to something important might be hidden there. The café itself was quiet—just the low murmur of a couple talking near the counter and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. It was the kind of quiet that made every passing minute feel heavier.
Atsumu glanced at the door again, then at his phone on the table beside his drink. Still nothing. No message. No call. No Sakusa. He leaned back in his chair and sighed through his nose, dragging a hand through his blond hair. “Figures,” he muttered softly to himself.
Today was supposed to be, what society calls “closure”. That was the word they had used when they agreed to meet here. A simple conversation, long overdue, meant to tie up the loose ends of something that had once felt too big to end at all. Atsumu didn’t know who had suggested the word first—him or Sakusa—but it had sounded reasonable at the time.
Clean. Mature. Something adults did when relationships ran their course.
But sitting here now, staring at a cup of cold coffee while the rain painted the city gray, Atsumu realized that closure was a strange thing to expect from a story that had never really been simple. Because the truth was, Atsumu had been waiting for Sakusa Kiyoomi in one way or another for years. Waiting for texts that sometimes came late at night after practice. Waiting for weekends when their schedules lined up long enough for a visit. Waiting for the quiet moments between matches and long-distance exhaustion when Sakusa would say something that meant more than he usually allowed himself to show.
Atsumu tapped his fingers lightly against the ceramic mug, the sound dull against the tabletop. His gaze drifted back to the rain again, and before he could stop himself, his thoughts slid easily into the past. It happened often when Sakusa was involved. Memories had a way of creeping up on him without warning. The first time Atsumu had seen him was during their second year of high school at the Inter-High preliminaries. Inarizaki versus Itachiyama. Atsumu could still remember the way the gymnasium had felt that day—loud, packed, vibrating with the roar of the crowd.
The air had smelled like sweat and polished wood, and the sound of sneakers squeaking across the court echoed beneath the cheers. Atsumu stood behind the service line, the volleyball spinning slowly in his hands while he scanned the players across the net. That was when he noticed him–number ten. Dark curls that looked impossible to tame, long arms, and a face that seemed permanently unimpressed by everything around him. Sakusa Kiyoomi. Atsumu didn’t know his name yet. All he knew was that the guy carried himself differently from the other aces he had faced. Most hitters were loud, dramatic, constantly shouting encouragement to their teammates. Sakusa was quiet. Still. Almost detached from the chaos of the match.
The whistle blew, and Atsumu tossed the ball into the air, serving hard toward the back line. The rally that followed stretched longer than expected. Itachiyama’s receives were clean and disciplined, their defense frustratingly precise. The ball moved back and forth across the net until eventually their setter sent a high toss toward the left side. Sakusa approached the ball with smooth, controlled steps. Even years later, Atsumu remembered the moment he jumped. Not because of the power of the spike, but because Sakusa’s expression didn’t change at all. No grin. No shout. Just quiet focus. Then the ball slammed into the court like a crack of thunder, blasting past Inarizaki’s blockers before Atsumu could even react. The sound echoed through the gym as the crowd erupted. Atsumu landed from his attempted block a fraction too late and stared across the net. “…Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
Sakusa had already turned away, calmly returning to his position as if he hadn’t just delivered one of the most brutal spikes Atsumu had ever seen. That was the moment Atsumu first noticed him. Not love—not even close. But curiosity, sharp and persistent.
The next time Atsumu really paid attention to him was months later at the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. That place had been chaos from the moment Atsumu arrived. Dozens of the best high school players in the country were gathered in one gym, each of them trying to prove something.
Atsumu had barely been there ten minutes before introducing himself to half the roster and bragging about his serves to anyone who would listen. During the opening meeting, while the coaches explained the day’s schedule, Atsumu leaned casually against the wall and scanned the room. That was when he spotted Sakusa again, standing off to the side with his arms crossed while he listened to the instructions. He looked exactly the same as he had during their match—quiet, distant, focused on the coach while everyone else whispered among themselves. Atsumu nudged the player beside him.
“Oi,” he whispered, “That’s the Itachiyama ace, right?” The guy nodded “Yeah. Sakusa Kiyoomi.” Atsumu hummed thoughtfully. “Looks grumpy.”
“He always looks like that,” the player replied. Atsumu grinned to himself. Naturally, he decided immediately that he needed to talk to him.
Practice started soon after, and Atsumu found himself setting during a scrimmage where Sakusa was one of his hitters. The first set he gave him was quick, a little faster than most players liked. Sakusa adjusted effortlessly and spiked it straight down. The second set was deliberately tricky, forcing the hitter to adjust midair. Sakusa twisted slightly and still scored. Atsumu blinked in surprise. That was interesting. During the water break afterward, Atsumu plopped down onto the bench beside him.
“Hey,” he said casually, Sakusa glanced at him. “What?” Atsumu tilted his head “Yer real quiet, ya know that?” Sakusa frowned slightly. “I’m not required to speak.”
Atsumu chuckled, “Fair enough.” They sat there in silence for a moment before Sakusa spoke again. “…Your sets are good.” Atsumu blinked in surprise, “Ya serious?” Sakusa nodded. “…Yes.”
Atsumu scratched the back of his neck with a crooked grin. “Well if ya keep spikin’ like that, I’ll keep settin’ ‘em for ya.” Sakusa didn’t respond, but later that afternoon when Atsumu delivered a perfect back set during scrimmage, Sakusa glanced at him afterward with something close to approval. That had been the first crack in Sakusa’s carefully built walls, and Atsumu noticed it immediately.
No one really knew when their relationship started after that—not their teammates, not their friends, not even Osamu. It happened somewhere between long practices and quiet nights outside the dorm building.
One evening they were sitting on a bench together after training, the warm summer air settling around them while the rest of the players filtered back inside. Atsumu had been talking, as usual, about volleyball and future plans—about going pro, about becoming the best setter in Japan. Sakusa listened quietly beside him. After a while he asked, “Do you ever stop talking?” Atsumu grinned, “Nope.” Sakusa sighed softly, “…I noticed.” They sat there in comfortable silence for a moment before Atsumu glanced sideways at him. “Hey, Sakusa.”
“Yes?”
“Ya ever think about stuff outside volleyball?” Sakusa thought for a moment, “…Rarely.” Atsumu laughed, “Figures.” Another pause followed then Atsumu spoke again, this time more quietly
“I like ya.”
Sakusa blinked. “…As a player?”
Atsumu rubbed the back of his neck “…Not exactly.”
Silence stretched between them as Atsumu felt his heart pounding in his chest. Finally Sakusa said simply, “I see.” And somehow, that had been the beginning of everything.
Back in the café, Atsumu smiled faintly at the memory before glancing at his phone again. Still nothing. Even Osamu hadn’t believed it at first. When Atsumu told him, his twin had stared at him like he’d just confessed to robbing a bank.
“Yer datin’ who?” Osamu had asked
“Sakusa.”
“The scary curly one?”
“Oi!” Osamu crossed his arms “…Tsumu, what the hell did ya do?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“Did ya trick him?”
“I DIDN’T TRICK HIM.” Osamu sighed deeply. “I need to meet this guy properly.”
Despite the disbelief, their relationship slowly became something people accepted. By their third year of high school it wasn’t really a secret anymore. They still went to different schools, still competed against each other in tournaments, but Atsumu always made time. Late-night calls. Messages after matches. Visits whenever their schedules allowed it. Whenever they met on the court, something electric passed between them. Once, during nationals, Sakusa blocked one of Inarizaki’s attacks and looked down at Atsumu across the net.
“You did that on purpose,” Atsumu accused
“Hmhp,” Sakusa replied calmly
“Rude!”
“Win the point next time.” Atsumu grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
Graduation came faster than either of them expected. Sakusa went to college while Atsumu jumped straight into the professional league.
The V-League schedule was brutal—constant travel, endless practices, matches stacked week after week—but Atsumu still visited whenever he could. Sometimes once a week. Sometimes more if his schedule allowed it. Sakusa’s dorm room slowly became familiar territory. Atsumu would show up late in the evening, still smelling like gym sweat and exhaustion, and collapse on the floor while Sakusa studied at his desk.
“Ya study too much,” Atsumu complained one night, "Someone has to,” Sakusa replied, “I’m smart too!”
“You once tried to microwave aluminum foil.”
“That was ONE TIME.” Sakusa sighed quietly “…You’re hopeless.”
But his voice was softer than usual, and Atsumu noticed the small warmth hidden beneath his usual calm tone. Loving Sakusa had never been loud or dramatic. It lived in small moments like that.
Atsumu checked the time again and chuckled quietly. Forty minutes late. Outside, the rain continued to fall in steady rhythms against the window. Somewhere along the way things had started to change—more distance, more missed calls, more quiet “I’m busy” replies that stretched into longer silences. But Atsumu kept trying, he kept visiting, kept calling, kept loving him in the same stubborn way he always had.
Because even before the distance, even before the arguments, even before this meeting that was supposed to end things cleanly, Miya Atsumu had already loved Sakusa Kiyoomi more than he probably should have.