Chapter Text
PRESENT DAY - FIVE YEARS AFTER BREAKUP
Boxes lay scattered around the apartment and piled high against the walls. Some are marked with scrawled writing of ‘kitchen’ or ‘bedroom’ and a few sport fragile stickers. Sakusa sits amongst the towering stacks as he methodically opens one box at a time, each with mounting frustration. He swears under his breath as yet another box opened and does not reveal the precious cleaning products that he had packed away specifically for the move.
“Damn it, Motoya” he hisses. He kicks at a box of towels; the last of the unlabelled boxes he has.
His phone bears the brunt of his frustration.
Sakusa: I told you to label the boxes! Where are my cleaning supplies?
Motoya: Uhhhhh
Sakusa: Do you have any idea?!
Motoya: Try the box with the towels?
Sakusa swears as he composes a carefully constructed text that explicitly details exactly how he will be using said towels the next time he sees his cousin.
He had planned out his whole moving process and this is throwing a wrench in the whole plan. First, he was to give the entire apartment a thorough deep clean to remove any possible remnants of the former owner. Then, and only then, would he feel comfortable to begin unpacking his belongings. Sakusa casts a glare at the mess. A sigh falls from his lips. He’d just have to go buy cleaning products instead.
The sound of Osaka, of cars driving by and the distant musical chime of pedestrian crossings, greets Sakusa as he exits his apartment building. It was the sound of city life, although distinct from his memories of Tokyo. Over the years he had been living in Osaka, these sounds had become part of the feeling of home.
He double-checks his pocket for the hand sanitiser and spare mask he always carries on him. There is an Ito Yokado store just a few blocks away that is within walking distance. His feet remember the way, even years later.
Within the hour, Sakusa is laden down with bags of cleaning supplies, gloves and band-aids (for the papercut he received trying to open a cardboard box earlier). He shuffles through crowds of people on the sidewalk. There are droves of business workers out for their lunch break, often huddled together in groups of black and navy suits, and parents with absent-minded children trolling behind.
As he passes a shop front, his stomach rumbles at the rich smell of ramen broth that drifts from the restaurant’s kitchen. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast that morning. He slows to a stop in the middle of the footpath, although not by the persuasion of his hunger. The storefront has a different awning and name, but remove the changes and Sakusa can see it from years past in his memory. Back then it was a sushi restaurant that boasted mouth-watering fatty tuna and an unforgettable umeboshi maki sushi Sakusa still often craved to this day.
They had spent one of their first dates here, during the limbo between alarming attraction and the humble beginnings of love. It was under that yellow incandescent light he learned that stolen kisses tasted sweeter than any dessert they sampled that night and he began to understand how life could be more than just volleyball.
There was a loud call of ‘Irasshaimase’ from the restaurant as an employee greets customers. Sakusa stumbles back as his reverie is broken. It is better to not remember. He turns away.
Sakusa doesn’t notice the businessman until his shoulder is barreled into. From his plastic shopping bag, the box of gloves and band-aids tumbles to the ground. The man shouts ‘watch it!’ from over his shoulder, but does not stop. Sakusa grumbles as he bends down to pick up the fallen items before they can be trampled on.
Crawling out from a distant memory, a whispered voice echoes within his mind. “Careful, Omi-Omi, bad things always come in threes."
He quickly gathers up his items.
He makes sure to leave the memory behind on the sidewalk.
Patience running thin, Sakusa elects to cross through the park on his way back to his apartment. It was a slight detour, but it was devoid of busy businessmen, and he can give a wide berth to any children and parents. He passes by a playground, conquered by a gaggle of children; parents watching on from the sidelines or lounging on benches with vending machine coffee. There are a few picnic blankets dotted around on the grass, each flaunting a delicious array of food for lunch. One family is setting out an array of sandwiches and fruit that is being made quick work of by three ravenous children. He spies another blanket that had plates of fruits, muffins and onigiri.
Sakusa’s stomach rumbles once more and then plummets ten meters as his eyes fall upon a face he could never forget.
Miya Osamu.
He looks the same as he did since Sakusa last saw him. Long gone is the grey box-dyed hair he sported in his youth, Osamu wore his hair naturally now. However, Sakusa surmises that the baseball cap he always used to wear hasn’t strayed far.
He isn’t aware that he was staring, but it is too late to flee and pretend he never saw the man when Osamu’s eyes meet his. Sakusa catches a moment of surprise flicker across his face before his expression cools back into a familiar composure he remembered all too well. Is it too late to pretend he didn’t recognise Osamu and flee?
Osamu approaches him.
Too late.
“Sakusa,” Osamu greets, cooly.
“Miya.”
Osamu’s eyes flicker down to the plastic bags in his hands. “Out shoppin’? Last I heard, yer were down Sakai way. Ain’t it a little far from yer place?”
Sakusa shifts his weight between feet. “I just moved back here.” He holds up the plastic bag containing his cleaning supplies. “Just this weekend. Went out to buy some supplies.”
Osamu looks as though he had sucked on a sour lemon. “Didn’t think I’d see yer back ‘round ‘ere.”
“It’s nice.”
Osamu sneers. “It is nice. Great place for families. But I guess yer wouldn’t know.”
Perhaps if he was in a better mood, Sakusa could reply with some form of proprietary despite Osamu’s ire. But bad things came in threes and he does not care for pleasantries right now. His apartment still needs cleaning, he is still hungry and he really does not have the energy right now to be facing the mirror of a memory he has to re-bury each week.
Just as Sakusa is about to bid Osamu farewell and turn to leave, a voice behind him chimes in. “Well, would you look at that? What back alleyway did you drag this out of, Osamu?”
Sakusa can recognise that voice from anywhere, on or off the court. Suna Rintarou. EJP Raijin’s middle blocker. On the court he is a nuisance to spike past and off the court he is a headache that he can’t leave in the past. And Suna will never let him forget it.
Sakusa turns, a retort already perched on his tongue, but he is struck by the sight of a young boy cradled in Suna’s arms. The boy could be no older than five years. He has his head tucked under Suna’s chin, and he cautiously peered at Sakusa behind the wisps of his fringe that curled ever so slightly at the ends. The resemblance was uncanny, as though someone had taken Osamu’s DNA and hit copy-paste.
Memories came to him then, of nights where he had over-indulged in delicious food and one too many beers, spent pouring over childhood photos that the Miya matriarch had proudly presented to him, despite the embarrassed whines from her children. Someone could slot an image of this boy right next to any of the other photos and could easily convince Sakusa there was a triplet as well.
Suna puts the boy down. “Sakusa-san. It’s nice to see you again. Or I wish it was so.”
If it weren’t for the young boy, Sakusa would have a few choice words to say in return. “I share the same sentiments, Suna-san.”
Even during the years Sakusa had to play nice with Suna Rintarou, (back when he was the boyfriend of a brother of a boyfriend) their exchanges were a pleasant facade of thinly veiled insults. Volleyball was their only connection now, where they would exchange glares and sly remarks from across the net.
Perhaps bad things came in more than threes.
Then, giving Sakusa a wide berth and a wary look, the young boy runs to Osamu’s side, hiding behind the safety of his father’s legs. Osamu’s hand rests protectively on the back of the child’s head. “It’s ‘kay, Natsuki. Yer hungry?”
The boy, Natsuki, nods. Suna joins their side.
“I made some of yer favourite onigiri. How ‘bout we eat?” His eyes meet Sakusa’s once more. “This uncle was just leaving.”
Osamu’s words draw a very clear line in the ground; their family on one side and Sakusa on the other. Long ago, he may have been on that side of the line too, connected by a loose strand called love. But that was then, and in the now he is a stranger to this little family of three.
He should go.
A thought washes upon the shores of his mind then. ‘ How is your brother?’ he wants to ask, the question almost bubbling from his lips.
He clenches his fist. He has no right.
Natsuki peers around Osamu’s legs. His eyes meet Sakusa’s.
He has brown eyes.
They are chocolate brown. The colour of morning coffee served alongside a ‘good morning sleepy-head’. They are muddy brown under puddles of gathering tears and specks of honey gold in the morning light that stretched across white linen to wake sleeping lovers.
Osamu pushes Natsuki further behind him, breaking their eye contact. “I think yer should get going, Sakusa-san,” he says, his voice skewered with reproach.
Sakusa looks back at Osamu. He has grey eyes, cut from a slab of cold stone. Not that rich brown Sakusa dreamt about.
He looks at the child hidden behind Osamu. Now he looks less like Osamu and more like-
There is a thud behind them.
Sakusa turns and is met with a memory taken true form.
Miya Atsumu looks the same as he did the day Sakusa left him. Or perhaps not. His hair is dyed in a warmer shade now. He looks a little slimmer too, less toned than how Sakusa remembered him. But it is Atsumu, one and the same.
Sakusa is devoured, right then and there.
Atsumu is in a similar state of shock. A bottle of apple juice rolls at his feet where he had dropped it. His gaze is entirely on Sakusa.
“Daddy!”
Sakusa’s lungs steal back a breath. Daddy?
Natsuki pulls away from Osamu and runs towards Atsumu, his fear of Sakusa forgotten in the moment. His attention solely on Atsumu, Natsuki doesn’t notice the rocky ditch in the ground. The toe of his shoe catches the dip and he falls to his hands and knees with a thud that seems louder than it truly was.
“Natsuki!” Atsumu exclaims as he ran to his son. “Are ya okay?”
Natsuki rolls over to sit on his bottom, rivets of fat tears already streaming down his face. He has a streak of dirt across his chin and his blue checkered shirt is now stained with green smears of grass. When he takes a look at his knee, a sharp scream pierces the air as he is met with the sight of blood.
The sound feels like a needle to Sakusa’s heart.
Natsuki begins to sob, his chest heaving with heavy cries. Atsumu wraps into a hug only a second later, rocking the child back and forth, whispering comforting words.
“Natsuki, you okay?” Osamu asks, rushing to the child. He offers comfort by gently rubbing Natsuki’s back in an attempt to soothe his crying.
Sakusa has to hold himself back from rushing to Natsuki’s side as well, much to his surprise. Children have never inspired a paternal instinct to comfort them, but he has the urge to try to soothe Natsuki as well. Perhaps it was because he is the spitting image of Atsumu. He could never bear to see Atsumu cry, even when the tears had been brought forth by harsh words from his own tongue.
When Natsuki’s cries calm to whimpers, Sakusa fishes around in his plastic bag of groceries until he comes away with the box of band-aids. With the offering of a band-aid in hand, he crouches beside the father and son pair.
“Atsumu,” he murmurs, offering the bandaid. “Here, take this.”
Two pairs of eyes peer up at him, each an identical set of caramel swirled coffee. Sakusa feels a tightness in his chest like a hand has reached in and dug out a cavern in his flesh. The walls of that cavern crumble when Atsumu cautiously takes the offered bandaid and then averts his gaze quickly.
Osamu shifts, positioning his body between the father-son pair and Sakusa. Sakusa stands back.
“Na-chan,” Atsumu sweetly calls. “This uncle has a ban-aid for ya.”
Natsuki rubs at his eyes with a fist. “It does have dinosaurs on it?”
Atsumu chuckles. Sakusa’s hand tingles in the memory of how it felt to feel that laughter through bare flesh. Ten minutes ago, Sakusa would have the urge to burn that memory. But now, standing beside the man who had haunted his mind for years, he wants to tuck the memory behind his heart and bring it to bed where he could revisit it in his dreams.
“Just a plain ban-aid, Na-chan. We can put a dinosaur ban-aid on when we get home, ‘kay?”
“‘kay,” Natsuki pouts, watching Atsumu put the band-aid over the wound on his knee.
Band-aid firmly in place, Atsumu leans down and plants an audible kiss to the wound. “All better!”
Natsuki giggles.
Atsumu turns to Sakusa. Their eyes meet once more and Sakusa knows he could drown in their depths. Atsumu averts his gaze and Sakusa truly feels like he was drowning.
“Thanks, Sakusa,” Atsumu says..
Sakusa. Not Omi-kun or Omi-Omi. Just Sakusa.
Sakusa has to find his words to respond, and only then could he manage an “It’s okay.”
Atsumu picks Natsuki up in his arms and stands. The child wraps his arms around his father and holds him close in a hug. Beside him, Osamu keeps a careful eye on Sakusa.
“Want that onigiri now, Natsuki?” Osamu asks.
“We have some yummy cake as well!” Suna chimes in.
Natsuki brightens. “Cake!” he chimes, his injury seemingly already forgotten. “C’mon, Daddy! Uncle Samu has cake!”
Atsumu spares a last glance at Sakusa and then turns away to return to the picnic blanket. Sakusa is left unmoored, the rope that is supposed to anchor his ship to a rational shore was severed. Atsumu doesn’t have to do anything to throw Sakusa off. He never did. He is a siren that did not sing but tempted Sakusa over the railings nonetheless.
When Osamu makes no move to follow, Atsumu pauses. “‘Samu?” he calls.
“Go get started on lunch, ‘Tsumu. I’ll be right there.”
Atsumu hesitates. “Don’t be too long,” he says and then retreats. With each step Atsumu takes, Sakusa feels his heart squeeze tighter, as though it has been ensnared by fishing line.
“Don’t even try anything funny,” Osamu growls.
Sakusa regards him coolly, looking down his nose. “I don’t know what you are referring to.”
Osamu’s lip twitches. “He’s happy now, without you in his life. Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that mind of yers.”
He’s happy.
Those words are both the hands that strangle and soothes his heart. Five years and Sakusa has yet to rediscover the happiness that he once felt whilst in love with Atsumu. He has grown to know the taste of regret in his mouth. He had thrown love away, only to linger in the shadow of the memories ever since.
But he’s happy.
And that is all that matters.
Atsumu has clearly moved on, met someone else, and had a child…who looks to be at least four years old.
Sakusa’s eyes snap back to the child who was now happily munching on an onigiri, nestled between Atsumu and Suna.
It couldn’t possibly be. Could it?
And he has no true reason to believe it so, but his heart stirs at the thought. It isn’t entirely impossible.
“That child…” Sakusa begins, his thoughts trailing into words.
He is promptly stopped by Osamu. “Is none of yer business. And neither is Natsuki. I think it's best ya move on now.”
Natsuki chances another look over in their direction. He shies into his father’s side, curled in fright upon meeting Sakusa’s gaze.
“Sakusa,” Osamu warns once more, taking a step forward.
Sakusa takes a step back. “Okay,” falls from his lips in a whisper. “Okay, I’ll go.” He turns and withdraws.
But even as he parts with the happy family, his mind lingers on the boy that resembles Atsumu so much.
“Sakusa?! Is that really you?!” A cheery call comes through the phone. Sakusa winces as he pulls the phone back from his ear.
“Bokuto-san,” he greets after a moment.
“A-ha!” Bokuto cheers. “It is you Omi-Omi!”
Sakusa’s heart clenches at the sound of Omi-Omi from Bokuto’s lips. It was a point of irritation back when they played on the same team, but hearing that nickname after all these years. Especially when it comes from the wrong lips.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I had your number saved of course, silly!”
Guilt snakes around Sakusa’s chest. It had only taken a few months for Sakusa to delete all of his contacts from the Black Jackals since he had left the team. Deleting the numbers of his ex-team members was done under the assumption that he was the villain for what he had done to Atsumu: who would take his side after witnessing Atsumu’s tears after all? But despite that all, Bokuto still has his number saved after all these years of radio silence.
The corner of Sakusa’s mouth curls in the slightest of smiles.
“It’s been far too long, Omi! I mean, I know we just saw each other on court a few weeks ago, but we really need to catch up sometime! Go get drinks! Akaashi is visiting from Tokyo, so maybe we can all—”
“Bokuto-san—” Sakusa tries to interrupt, already knowing that if he let him, Bokuto would begin to make plans for them both.
Bokuto laughs. “Have you forgotten already, Omi? Call me Koutarou!” Bokuto interjects.
“...Bokuto-kun,” Sakusa tries again. Bokuto makes a small grumbling sound on the other end, but doesn’t offer any other form of complaint, seemingly willing to settle on a silent compromise with Sakusa on this matter. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“You do?! Well, I’m your man! What do you need help with?”
“...It’s about Atsumu.”
Even over the phone, Sakusa can sense the joy drain from Bokuto. “Oh,” he simply murmurs.
“I ran into him yesterday,” Sakusa begins to explain. “He had a child with him. And I know it sounds ridiculous to ask this but… Bokuto-kun, do you know how old that child is?”
The knowledge that Atsumu was now a parent was confronting enough, but that child being the spitting image of his old flame churned feelings of regret. The image of the child had haunted Sakusa all night and kept his mind racing until exhaustion stole him into a deep slumber. But even in his sleep, visions of that child consumed his thoughts and appeared in the nonsense landscapes of his dreams.
He had awoken in a cold sweat that morning, heart racing, scared awake by the dream version of the child appearing before him and calling him Daddy.
It was impossible. Even despite how Sakusa had left Atsumu all those years ago, Atsumu would have told him if he had a child. Right?
It was impossible.
Yet, the haunting possibility stirred Sakusa.
He had texted Komori, asking for Bokuto’s number just hours later.
“About his child?” Bokuto asks, his tone coloured in a nervous unease that Sakusa was familiar with from days of hearing Bokuto lament about his lover, Akaashi Keiji.
“Yes, the child. Natsuki.”
Bokuto sighs. “I’m sorry, Sakusa, I can’t tell you anything about Natsuki.”
Sakusa jolts in his seat from the words. “Why not?” he probs.
“Because Tsum-Tsum made me promise not to tell anyone about the baby! I mean, I did kind of tell Keiji, but that was an accident! Please don’t tell Atsumu that I broke the promise!” Bokuto begs.
Atsumu didn’t want anyone to know about the baby.
Including him. It is a strike to his heart that left yet another bruise to his collection.
Sakusa pauses. “Why did he want to keep it a secret?”
And that was the whole mystery of it. If Atsumu had settled down with another and had Natsuki, why the need for secrecy? Why did he make Bokuto swear to secrecy?
“I don’t really know. I think he wanted to keep it a secret from the media. He took time off from the team a week after I found out.”
Sakusa remembers those headlines in Volleyball Monthly. Atsumu’s sudden break from the Black Jackals team made news around the volleyball circles. He had declined all interviews on the matter and his only released statement was provided through the official team site, citing he needed some personal time off.
He had personally found out on social media at the same time the news broke to the rest of the world.
Months later it was announced that Atsumu would be leaving the Black Jackals, and the professional volleyball league, all together. For good.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Sakusa was thus far removed from his ex, that he wouldn’t have to confront him across the net as rivals now. But knowing that Atsumu had left volleyball behind, his one true love and passion had hurt Sakusa as much as their break-up.
Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please, Bokuto, I need to know if…”
If I am that child’s father.
Bokuto reads into what was left unsaid. “I’m sorry, Kiyoomi. I promised…”
Sakusa sighs.
“... but you can do the math. I promise not to say anything, and I don’t really know much anyway, but Tsum-Tsum’s pregnancy lines up with… you know,” Bokuto says.
If he did the math…
Oh.
Memories come to him, ones that he only visited during nights where sleep evaded him and loneliness coiled around his heart. They were of moonlight painted sheets, of warm bodies entwined together and soft pleas whispered into the night as tears were shed. It was a reckless joining of their bodies, fueled by the desperation that it was their last time.
Perhaps then… it wasn’t impossible.
“I need to talk with him,” Sakusa says with conviction.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bokuto asks.
“Bokuto, do you still have Atsumu’s number?”
There is a pause on the other end of the line. “I can’t do that.”
Sakusa frowns. “Why not?”
“I promised, Tsum-Tsum—”
Sakusa interrupts him. “— you kept your promise. I already knew about the child and you didn’t say anything to me about Natsuki.”
“No, Omi, I promised Atsumu I wouldn’t ever give you his number…”
“What?”
Bokuto begins to fumble. “I think he had your number blocked already anyway.”
Sakusa slumps over, his head falling into his hands. Familiar exhaustion settles in his shoulder muscles, one he had come to know after every match.
Fuck.
He shouldn’t be surprised. Back when the pain of their breakup was still a fresh wound, Sakusa had half expected that even if he would have tried to reach out to Atsumu, his call would go straight to dial-tone anyway. Of course, Atsumu had blocked his number.
Sakusa had broken Atsumu’s heart after all.
“I need to talk to him…” Sakusa repeats, despondent.
Bokuto clears his throat. “You know, Akaashi was telling me that there is a new Onigiri Miya in downtown Osaka. He often frequents it when he visits to catch up with Osamu to talk about onigiri.”
Osamu.
No. It’s impossible. From how Osamu was acting at the park yesterday, Sakusa is convinced the man would rather saw off his own arm before letting Sakusa anywhere near his twin.
But Atsumu could never ignore his brother. If he can somehow get Osamu to contact Atsumu on his behalf… Atsumu might possibly consider talking with him.
“Thanks, Bokuto.”
“Hey, we are friends, aren’t we? I can’t break my promise, but I still want to help you,” Bokuto teases, laughter caught in his voice.
Sakusa smiles. “Thanks, Koutaro.”
According to Google, Onigiri Miya has four locations across Japan; two in Osaka and two in Tokyo. The Osaka branch currently has an average of 4.5 stars and 256 reviews on google. The eighth search result on the second page of Google pulls up a fan blog post from 2018 detailing pictures of the MSBY Black Jackal’s setter, Miya Atsumu, at the grand opening of his brother’s store in Osaka.
The bell chimes as he walks in.
Onigiri Miya is a small and quaint restaurant. Towards the back of the restaurant is the register and a display case of onigiri showcasing various flavours. The back wall is decorated in various framed photos and newspaper clippings, including a photograph from the store’s grand opening.
“Welcome to Onigiri Miya! How may I- oh…” the employee at the cash register trails off once she notices Sakusa. “You again?”
“Is—” Sakusa begins. The employee cuts him off immediately.
“—Miya-san in today? That knowledge will cost you—”
“—three onigiri?” He slides a 1000 yen bill across the counter. “Make them umeboshi please.”
She sighs. “Aren’t you sick of umeboshi onigiri yet?” she asks as she takes the bills and gives Sakusa his change back.
He is starting to. Umeboshi was Sakusa’s favourite food, but even eating seventeen onigiri in the span of five days was starting to waver his undying love for it. Hopefully Osamu will make an appearance before the sight of umeboshi will make his stomach turn.
Instead of handing over the onigiri in a paper bag, the employee sets a plate of five onigiri on the counter. Sakusa gives her a strange look.
“I’ll go get Miya-san for you.”
Sakusa’s hand shakes slightly as he collects the plate. “Thank you.”
As he heads for a table, he hears her say “that weird man who has been looking for you is here!” through the fabric dividers that separate the restaurant and kitchen.
The umeboshi tastes especially sour today as he takes his first bite of the onigiri.
“I shoulda known that this “weird guy” was ya.”
Sakusa looks up and is met with an icy glare. “Miya-san,” he greets.
“Get out,” Osamu glowered.
Sakusa stops himself before a scowl settles upon his own features. The last thing that would help him now is antagonising Osamu. Well, any more than simply existing in his presence would. “I know you hate me—”
Osamu cuts him off. “—hate doesn't ev’n begin to describe it.”
Sakusa takes a steadying breath to calm himself. He has always struggled to get along with Osamu, even when he was on good terms with him. “I know. But I need to talk with Atsumu, so if you would just please help me to—”
“Absolutely not, ” Osamu growls, slamming his hands down onto the table. The plate full of onigiri rattles and out of the corner of his eye, he notices the employee at the register flinch.
“Osamu—”
“Ya need to leave, now.”
Sakusa does not.
Osamu drags a hand down his face. “Haven’t ya done enough already? Why do ya want to come crawlin’ back after all these years to hurt him again?”
Sakusa stands with a jerk, the legs of his chair screeching against the linoleum flooring. “Do not misunderstand me. I don’t want to hurt Atsumu, I never wanted to—” His throat constricts and he loses his words. He has to take a moment to loosen the vice of regret around his neck. “I only want to know if Natsuki is possibly my child.”
Osamu crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t care. ‘Tsumu and Natsuki are doing just fine on their own. They don’t need ya . ”
The bell above the door chimes as two women enter the store. They spare both the men in the corner a glance.
Osamu turns on his heel. “If ya won’t leave, then I will. It pays me no mind that ya are linin’ my pockets by buyin’ onigiri.”
“Osamu—” Sakusa calls after him, but Osamu has already disappeared through the fabric divider to the kitchen.
Defeated, Sakusa sinks back down into his seat. He picks up an onigiri and takes a bite. The sour umeboshi makes his tongue tingle.
Perhaps he should try salmon onigiri next time.
The next two times he visits, Osamu is not working at the store. Or if he is hiding in the restaurant’s back room, he doesn’t make an appearance.
On the third time, however, Sakusa is met with a surprising sight.
Suna Rintarou.
The man is happily munching down on his own onigiri when Sakusa enters the store. “And here he is, right on time,” he jeers as he catches sight of Sakusa.
Sakusa considers him with an apprehensive gaze. Suna pulls out the chair beside him and beckons Sakusa over with a pat to the chair. “Let’s talk.”
Sakusa spares a glance to the backroom divider, but Osamu does not appear. He takes the seat next to Suna.
Still bewildered by Suna’s appearance, Sakusa asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Were you expecting me?”
Suna answers through a mouthful of onigiri. “Yeah. I want to help you out.”
Sakusa narrows his eyes. It was no secret that Suna disliked him, as made clear by the snide remarks they often exchanged across the net. That dislike had only intensified after his break-up with Atsumu. Sakusa was stumped as to why Suna would want to help Sakusa in his endeavour to get back into contact with Atsumu.
“Why would you—” he begins to ask but is interrupted as Suna holds up a finger to silence him, his attention completely devoted to his phone. Suna shuffles closer to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close until their cheeks touch.
“Say cheese,” Suna says as he takes a selfie of the both of them.
Before Sakusa can react, Suna has pulled away and is tapping away on his phone.
“What the fuck?” Sakusa asks as he scrambles for the hand sanitiser in his pocket. It makes a loud squelch sound as he squeezes a generous dollop onto his hand.
Suna shows him his phone. On the screen is the picture of them sent in a text message to Osamu along with the caption ‘ look who I found at the shop :P’.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I want Osamu back. He’s been complaining about you for days now, about how you won’t take a fucking clue to leave Atsumu alone, how you are bullheaded and a fucking prick, yadda yadda yadda. Simply, I am sick of it. So I’ll help you convince Osamu to let you talk to Atsumu and hopefully, he will shut up.”
Sakusa glares at Suna. “Why not just give me his phone number yourself then?”
Suna screws his face up and looks at Sakusa as though he had just proclaimed the sky was green and strawberries have started eating humans. “Huh? Do you think me to be stupid? If I do that myself, I will never hear the end of Osamu’s bitching. I don’t think I will have to suffer anything more than a spanking for attempted co-conspiracy this way.”
Not even the mask could hide the look of disgust on Sakusa’s face. Suna snorts at the expression in amusement before he goes back to eating his onigiri.
They wait in companionable silence for half an hour until there is a chime of the doorbell and a sinister call of “Rin!”
Suna turns to his partner with a smile. “You took long enough, ‘Samu! How long were you planning on making me sit with this boar?”
Osamu stands before them both, his hands on his hips. He considers Sakusa with a disgusted expression. Sakusa returns with an unimpressed stare. “What on earth are ya schemin’, Rin?”
Suna pulls up a chair beside him. “Nothing. I just want to have a nice little family chat.” Osamu grimaces. Suna grabs his wrist and drags him into the chair. “Act like a fucking adult already. I am sick of all this bullshit.”
“So am I,” Osamu spat. “He needs to stay out of our lives.”
Sakusa met his glare with his own. “I’m not asking to come back into your life, I’m just asking to talk with Atsumu.”
Osamu leans over the table, trying to get the height advantage on Sakusa. “How is that any different?”
He had wanted to do this civilly, but Osamu is an obtuse fool. But just as Sakusa is about to commit to a posturing contest against Osamu, Suna reaches up to flick Osamu on the forehead with a loud thwack. “Stop it.”
Osamu rubs his forehead as he sinks back down into his seat. “What the hell, Rin!”
Suna crosses his arms over his chest and leans back into his chair, clearly fed up. “I said to stop it. You need to stop all this bullshit. It’s not your problem.”
Osamu pauses, tension suspended in his shoulders. “Whatcha mean?”
Suna sighs. “Atsumu is his own person. You need to stop protecting him and let him deal with his own problems.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If Atsumu wants to talk with Sakusa, that can be his own choice. You can’t protect Atsumu from all the pain in the world, you need to let him make his own mistakes and fix his own problems.”
Osamu doesn’t look convinced.
“All of this has been going on for too long. Atsumu needs to pull his head out of his ass and resolve the mess he has been running from for all these years now. He owes it to Natsuki and himself,” Suna says.
A series of thoughts pass over Osamu’s face as expressions, ranging from anger to confusion. Despite his frustration at the twin, Sakusa feels a sympathetic pinch in his heart for Osamu. He could recognise that Osamu was only trying to protect Atsumu. Sakusa only grew more upset with himself knowing that he was the one from whom Osamu believed he had to protect his brother.
“Osamu… I’m not looking to hurt Atsumu again. But I need answers,” Sakusa says.
“It’s non’ of ya business,” Osamu dismisses, averting his gaze.
“If it is not my business… then is that child not my son?” Sakusa asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
Osamu levels him with a vehement glare. “Natsuki is ‘Tsumu’s son. He is the only parent Natsuki has ever known.”
Sakusa matches his glare. “Don’t try your wordplay with me, Osamu. Tell me. Am I that child — Natsuki’s — father?”
A silence settles on Osamu’s shoulders. Sakusa maintains a calm composure, but his mind turns, thoughts of him possibly being a father of all things jumps from one furrow to the next in his brain. Despite that he had been going to such lengths to discover the truth, he had yet to truly come to terms that he is, possibly and unknowingly, a father.
“Osamu…” Sakusa says, “I know you just want to protect your brother. But if I am the father, I have a right to know.”
Osamu drags a tired hand down his face and catches a frustrated sigh in the palm of his hand. His words are muffled behind his hand. “I don’t know.”
“What?”
Osamu fixes him with an icy gaze that pierces through Sakusa’s flesh and strikes him through the spine. “I don’t know who Natsuki’s father is. ‘Tsumu he…” Osamu’s gaze drifts as he trails off. Sakusa waits patiently, his stomach churning like the wild seas.
“Fuck, I can’t believe that I’m doing this,” Osamu murmurs under his breath. He meets Sakusa’s gaze once more, his eyes holding a promise of pain. “I make no promises that he’ll talk to you, but I’ll call ‘Tsumu.”
Sakusa's heart lifts as his stomach turns. “Thank you, Osamu.”
Osamu glares at him. “Don’t thank me. I’m not doin’ this for ya. I’m doin’ this for ‘Tsumu and Natsuki.”
As a famous ex-professional volleyball player and a current college team volleyball coach, Atsumu breathed in the world of volleyball. And Sakusa was a star who refused to be ignored. He was the eye-catching headlines that featured in Volleyball Monthly and an idol to many of the players on his college team. He was the form of nightmares that stoked tears from him at 3 am.
After all these years, Sakusa was always in the periphery of Atsumu’s life.
For Atsumu, it had felt weird seeing him for all his flesh and blood before him.
Sakusa hadn’t really changed. He wore his hair the same and still sported a mask in public. He still carried an air to him that was bold and unapologetic. He had resembled the man Atsumu once loved so dearly. Perhaps that is why it was so painful to see Sakusa stood before him after all these years.
Atsumu was trying to move on. But memories of how love felt burned into his skin through searing kisses, of late-night words that made his heart soar, of bearing one’s soul open to another’s… those memories made it so hard to move beyond what his heart yearned for.
“Daddy! Daddy!” Natsuki calls from his bedroom. He comes running from his room with a sheet of paper grasped in his hands. “Look at this!”
With a dazzling smile, he thrusts the paper in front of Atsumu’s eyes. It was a drawing done in a rainbow assortment of crayons featuring a series of squiggles that were probably people and what Atsumu was sure was a bright yellow sun drawn in the corner of the page.
“Oh my goodness!” Atsumu gasps. “This is an amazin’ drawin’, Na-chan! Ya are so very talented!”
“I am!” Natsuki boasts. He points at the sun he drew in the corner of the page. “Rio-kun does draws his sun in the corner like this.” Rio-kun was Natsuki’s best friend at kindergarten, a tall boy for his age, but terribly shy. Atsumu had gotten to know both him and his mother from times when he had conversations with teachers about Natsuki’s temper when he was protecting his friend from other children. Osamu would laugh and say it was karma for all the problems that Atsumu used to put their mother through. Atsumu would agree if not for that he believed that Natsuki inherited his protectiveness rather than his trouble-making behaviours.
Natsuki points to a blue squiggle in the middle of the page. “Look, this is me!” It looked like a person in the loosest sense of the word with a round head and five limbs.
“It looks just like ya!” Atsumu said. He points at a smaller figure drawn in orange. It had a concave head and the hair drawn in with lines of brown and yellow. “This one me?”
“Yeah! And this one is Uncle ‘Samu and Uncle Rin.” He points at two heads with legs coming out of their chins drawn in red and purple. They are holding hands.
Natsuki peers up at him. “Daddy?”
Atsumu hums. “Yeah?”
“Why do Uncle ‘Samu and Uncle Rin kiss and hold hands?”
“Because they love each other.”
Natsuki considers his fathers words with a frown. “I love Daddy,” he says matter of factly.
Atsumu can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yer do. But they love each other in a different kinda way.”
Natsuki cocks his head. “Why don’t Daddy has someone to kiss like Uncle ‘Samu and Uncle Rin?”
The question startles Atsumu, who flounders for an answer. As any inquisitive four year old who was beginning to understand the world, Natsuki was overflowing with ‘why’ questions. Why does he have to take his shoes off inside? Why does his father enjoy sour-smelling beer? Why can’t he pick the rose flowers out of their neighbour’s garden?
An answer would always spring from Atsumu’s mouth. ‘Because our shoes are dirty and we don’t want to muddy the clean floors inside’. ‘Because adults like the taste of beer, but only adults’. ‘Because Yoshioka-san next door would chase us down the street with a broom if we touched her prized rose bushes.’
But how does he explain why he was so blatantly single to his son?
“Uh,” he stumbles, as he tries to desperately find an age-appropriate answer for his child. Atsumu couldn’t exactly tell Natsuki he was still hung up on an ex-boyfriend from years ago.
“Rio-kun’s mommy and daddy kiss!” Natsuki interjects. “And Uncle Samu and Uncle Rin kiss. And the people kiss on the tv! So do you not have anyone to kiss you, Daddy?” Natsuki asks his voice becoming more increasingly more concerned. Atsumu’s heart lurches.
Unlike when Atsumu was a child, Natsuki is a sensitive boy. Despite Atsumu’s efforts to hide his worries from his son, Natsuki could see through his facade with a perception that was rather exceptional for a child so young.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He scoops Natsuki up in his arms and begins to bounce around the room. Natsuki shrieked in delight. “Why would I need yucky kisses from som’un else when I ‘ave Na-chan to give kisses to?” Atsumu asks as he peppers kisses across Natsuki’s face.
“Stop, Daddy! Stop!,” Natsuki squeals between peals of laughter as he tries to wriggle his way out of Atsumu’s embrace.
Atsumu lets him go with a laugh.
From across the room, his phone begins to ring. “Daddy, phone!” Natsuki calls. It’s Osamu.
“What’s up, ‘Samu?” Atsumu greets.
Natsuki tugs on his hand. “Uncle ‘Samu! I wanta talk to Uncle ‘Samu!”
“Atsumu,” Osamu greets solemnly. No ‘Tsumu or wise-crack joke at his expense. “I need ta talk to ya.” Atsumu tenses. Osamu was never serious except when it was serious.
“Hold’a minute, ‘Samu.”
He turns to Natsuki. “Na-chan, Daddy needs to talk with Uncle ‘Samu for a bit. Can ya go do some drawin’ in yer room and then ya can talk with Uncle ‘Samu after.”
His blessed Natsuki, ever sensitive and understanding, gives him a nod and then runs off to his room. Atsumu retreats to his own room, closing the door with a soft click. Only then, sheltered in the dark of his room without the eyes and ears of a child he only wishes to protect from worry, does Atsumu feel prepared to face whatever shit his brother is about to unload on him.
“Why d’ya sound so down, ‘Samu?” Atsumu light-heartedly teases. There’s a smile in his voice, but his expression remains guarded. “What’s happened?”
Osamu clears his throat. “I’ve talked with Sakusa.”
Atsumu startles. Now… that was unexpected. “Sakusa? When?” Atsumu asks, caught in disbelief. For all Osamu would bitch about Sakusa, Atsumu was convinced Osamu would sooner punch Sakusa than talk with him.
“He’s been stalking me at the shop,” Osamu growls. “He wouldn’t stop coming until I talked with him.”
The ground under Atsumu was beginning to crumble. He attempts to chase his mounting fear off with humour. “Was he after yer secret onigiri recipe? I hope ya didn’t give it to ‘im, or Akaashi’ll have yer head for keepin’ it from him.”
Osamu’s sigh weighs heavily even over the phone. “Not the time fer this, ‘Tsumu.”
“Why didn’t ya chase him off then, ‘Samu? Don’t tell me yer really a dog with all bark and no bite? I thought—” I thought ya promised to protect me, ‘Samu. Shame doesn’t let him say it. But after years of hiding behind his younger brother, could he really lay claim to any honour that wasn’t painted by shame?
No, Atsumu thinks. I’m a coward.
“Rin made himself involved,” Osamu grumbles. “Made me talk to Sakusa.”
Atsumu reaches for amusement but falls short.
I thought Rin was on my side.
“Ah, ever the meddling schemer he is.” Atsumu’s frustration bleeds into his voice.
“‘Tsumu, Sakusa, he… he wants to talk to yer… about Natsuki,” Osamu says.
The foundation under Atsumu’s feet gives way. He finds his balance against the door. His head makes a loud thunk noise against the solid wood. The pain comes like headlights through the fog a second later.
Natsuki. He wants to talk to me about Natsuki.
“Fuck.”
Osamu sighs. “I only promised him I would ask ya if you wanta talk. Ya don’t really need to talk with him.”
Did he want to talk with Sakusa?
He doesn’t know.
“‘Samu…” Atsumu whispers. He hates how weak he sounds. When did he become so pathetic? “What do I do?”
“Sakusa is a scumbag. I would not give him a second thought, he doesn’t deserve ya or—” Osamu cuts off.
“‘Samu?”
There is a faint murmuring through the phone. “I mean, I think ya should talk ta Sakusa. It’s the adult thing ta do,” Osamu says, his voice more pitchy than before.
“Is Rin holding your balls hostage?”
“Yes,” Osamu hisses. Atsumu cackles, his stress shedding off him with each peal of laughter.
“Atsumu,” Suna greets. “Ignore, Osamu, he is just being overbearing.”
“Rintarou,” Atsumu greets him with some trepidation. “I heard ya been meddlin’.”
Suna huffs. “Osamu was being all pissy, I had to.”
Atsumu smirks. “Yea, ya can’t shut him up when he gets annoyed.” He hears a loud “oi!” over the phone. They both ignore Osamu. “So ya think I should talk ta Sakusa?”
“Yes,” Suna says. “I think it's time to stop running, Atsumu. You need to confront the truth sooner or later.”
Atsumu can’t bring himself to say anything. It’s a truth he has been ignoring for years now. But how could he let this admission pass beyond the safe corners of his mind when he was a coward?
Suna sighs. “Natsuki asked me a few weeks ago why he doesn’t have another parent.”
Atsumu lurches forward. “He did? Why didn’tcha tell me?”
“Because you would have beat yourself up about it and he’s a sensitive kid and would have picked up on it. But he’s almost five, Atsumu. He’s going to start questioning where his own parents are soon and he deserves to know who his other father is. I think you owe it to him.”
‘Do you not have anyone to kiss you, Daddy?’
Suna was right. Natsuki would start asking questions he would not know how to answer anymore. And how was he supposed to explain to his son that he himself didn’t know who his other father is?
Natsuki deserved to know.
And Sakusa… it is possible.
“Rin, can ya put ‘Samu back on?” Atsumu murmured.
Osamu’s worried voice came through the phone. “‘Tsumu?”
“‘Samu…” Atsumu hesitated, struck by how his voice sounded hollow, carved out by fear. He took a deep breath in. He thought of Natsuki, of himself, and every effort he had made to do right by his son.
He couldn’t falter here. Atsumu owed it to Natsuki to try.
“‘Samu, can ya do me a favour and give Sakusa my number?”