Chapter Text
There’s one thing that Atsumu would never admit and it was that he should have listened to his mother.
After high school ended, she told him that he should attend college classes just in case. Have a back up plan if going pro didn’t end up working.
Well, thankfully, it did end up working...at first.
Atsumu got recruited as soon as he walked across that stage, diploma in hand.
He had a glorious 5 years playing in the pro league. He was getting paid handsomely while having the time of his life.
Being in his early 20s and being able to play his favorite sport was a dream come true.
Well, until one particular game. One cursed, goddamn game, had ruined it all.
It was all going amazingly smooth, too smooth, he supposed.
Halfway through the second set, Atsumu jumped to dump the ball over the net. It was completely open and he knew he’d get the point as soon as his fingers touched the ball.
So, as he fell back to the ground, he celebrated a tad too early and when he fell, he fell hard.
His ankle twisted under him in the most disgusting angle and people claimed they heard the bone break across the gym. Correction: they heard the bone shatter from across the gym.
Atsumu knew his career would be over as soon as he saw how instant his ankle swelled and bruised.
A few days later, seven screws and one large plate, later. He was promised of never going pro again, and Miya Atsumu was completely fucked.
He had no plan, no higher education, and no job.
He should have listened to his mother, gods, he should have.
But again, he was never going to admit that.
So he went job hunting. While he was on bed rest he went on a deep dive.
He searched for days as Osamu came to and from his apartment, helping him get out of bed and cooking him food.
Osamu offered him a job at his restaurant, but Atsumu was anything but a cook. He lived on microwavable meals and ramen.
Osamu didn’t go to college, but he’s already opened his own restaurant. What a show off.
Atsumu sulked and pouted for days, weeks even.
Just when he thought it was hopeless, he found an ad deep on a website.
It was a fairly urgent ad, if he may add.
Apparently a marketing company was looking for a secretary for their CEO. A high school education was the only requirement.
It paid nicely, it was fairly close to his apartment, and it had nice benefits.
Why the hell was no one hopping on the offer?
Atsumu got his crutches and instantly went to the office.
They hired him on the spot.
That should have been another red flag. His mother told him so. But damnit, he was going to prove one day that she was wrong.
But she wasn’t wrong, unfortunately. She was very right.
Even though Atsumu has been working at the company for the past two years, he admits, it was miserable.
Again, pay and benefits were good, fantastic even.
But the hours had kept him here until well after midnight at times. All depending on what was asked of him.
Right, and his boss. He was the other thing
He was satan. He was the actual devil walking on earth and Atsumu was his personal bitch boy.
Lounging back in his chair, Atsumu sighed at the ceiling, biting into his apple. He tries to remember at least once a day how he ended up here, in hell, just to keep him sane.
“Miya,” he heard a demanding drone from across his desk. Conveniently his desk was sat directly across from the devil’s office. Which meant that if his door was open, Atsumu could see right in, and his boss could see right out.
Atsumu stands quickly, plucking the fruit from his lips and setting it on his desk.
The desk's surface was quite cluttered, he had to admit.
It’s not his fault satan requested that he reviewed three campaigns for any grammatical errors, or improvements that could be made. Atsumu was actively reviewing them on his desktop and taking arranged notes before his stomach growled.
He just needed one moment to finish his damn apple. One single second, that he didn't have.
Sighing, Atsumu adjusted his button up, tucking in the front that always seems to become misplaced throughout the day.
He checked the rest of his outfit to make sure it was orderly, smirking at his bright yellow socks before padding into the superior's office.
He always liked to have slightest pop of color as everything around him was quite drab. Including this damn office. It was so barren. Void of life and color. All monotone shades of black and white.
Atsumu just wanted to add one plant, just one. His skin itched to do so.
Well that was until he was motioned to sit.
Silently. He might add.
He used to have nerves when he was called into this office. But now he was numb. Conditioned to whatever was thrown his way. Especially as he crossed his leg, good ankle over knee.
His bad ankle still acted up sometimes.
“Afternoon, Mr. Sakusa,” Atsumu addressed because they had yet to speak today. Until now.
Sakusa’s eyes flicker up from the papers, a large breath filing his chest before he sat back.
Atsumu had to control the urge to swear as their eyes connected. It was just like the stories. Lucifer was the most flawless angel before he was cast down. Before he was exiled. And Atsumu believed that was the man who was sitting in front of him now.
Sakusa Kiyoomi. He was the prodigy of a long line of business-goers. Meaning, he has been filthy rich his whole life. All 35 years of it.
He was 10 years older than Atsumu, but the blonde swore years were catching more up to Sakusa than him. A white streak worked through the front of Sakusa’s inky, curly hair. It was well kept and tidy. His dark eyes were so devilishly consuming, Atsumu cursed that he was drawn in.
His hands were criminal. Gods, they shouldn’t be legal. Their mere size was enough to make Atsumu’s mind think of truly terrible things. The damn rings he kept on three of his fingers didn’t help. Even if his left ring finger was kept bare and open.
But unfortunately, Sakusa’s personality was his downfall. An irritable, hot headed, smug, cold, vain, and prickly asshole he was.
He commanded Atsumu to do whatever his bidding was and Atsumu agreed. He did everything and anything Sakusa commanded.
It was one of the reasons why he was hired on the spot. Sakusa screamed out the secretary before him and the poor girl ran out sobbing.
Atsumu came to learn that was also what happened to the four secretaries before the girl as well.
“Miya,” he addressed again in greeting and Atsumu raised his eyebrows expectantly.
“I’m sure you already have your hands full with the campaigns I sent you,” he starts and Atsumu takes a large breath sitting his chin on his palm. Here he goes. “But I need you to fill out some paperwork as well.”
“Paperwork?” Atsumu sits up, uncrossing his legs as Sakusa pushes forward the papers he was just examining.
He takes them, pulling them close so he can look at the type. “I have to attend a meeting with some clients in South America. I just need you to sign a waiver about attending.”
Atsumu’s eyebrows crease as he flips through the papers. A business trip? Why would he attend?
“There will be a lot of busy work, and I need someone else to shoulder the weight.”
Atsumu shakes his head reading over the specifics. Indicating Atsumu’s workload, how much he’d get paid, and when exactly the trip is.
It’s nice pay he has to admit.
But the amount of work he’ll take on…its ungodly.
“Sir…” he trails. The room goes deathly silent as he flicks his eyes back up to his boss. The fucking CEO. “I can’t do this.”
Sakusa frowns deeply. The lines on the corners of his mouth deepened. Becoming more harsh. “I don’t remember asking.”
There he is.
The Sakusa he knew and hate.
Atsumu wondered how long the docility would last. It lasted longer than usual today.
“With all due respect,” he tries as he double checks the dates. “It’s my brother’s birthday during this. I wouldn’t like to miss it. I’ve already requested the day off.”
Sakusa has never asked about Atsumu's personal life. So why would he tell him that it’s his and his brother’s birthday? It’s not like it would sway his decision anyway.
“I’ll just reschedule your day off for a different day. You can spend the time with your brother then.”
“Sakusa—” Atsumu scoots forward. Almost pleading.
Though he only narrows his eyes at the use of his name without a title. “You’re dismissed, paperwork and campaigns are due in the next 12 hours.”
It was instant how Sakusa's features turned ten degrees cooler. The way he stopped looking at Atsumu entirely. Ignoring Atsumu as the blonde stared at him expectantly. “You’re going to the meeting or I will begin looking for a new assistant. Understand?” He continues without looking up.
Atsumu rolls his jaw, the papers crinkling slightly in his hands as he holds them tightly. He hated when he was called just merely an assistant.
He sits there for a moment longer tapping his perfectly polished shoe against the ground.
Him and Osamu had so much planned. It’s only in a month after all. Their 26th birthday.
Atsumu gets up quickly, his body shaking with anger. “Close the door on your way out,” he adds.
It takes everything in Atsumu to not slam it.
“You look like shit.” Atsumu paused hopping onto the barstool to sneer. He just got done working on all the campaigns and paperwork. Given that it was currently 9 o’clock at night, he was indeed that last one in the office and he had nothing else to eat but a few bites of an apple. He wasn’t in the best shape.
But it’s not like it needed to be pointed out.
Atsumu hears a slap before he positions himself in the stool. Smiling faintly at the noise, “Ow! Suga, you’re so mean!” Oikawa squeals as he was indeed the one who had to make a comment about the blatantly obvious.
Atsumu laughs faintly, watching as the lean, brunette holds his shoulder, glaring knives at the one who slapped him.
Earlier in the week Atsumu promised that he’d go out tonight. He just didn’t know he’d be at the office this long. He felt like he was going to pass out as soon as he got one drink in him.
The man next to him was quiet as he sipped on his drink, his eyes humorously looking around the table. Akaashi never spoke up unless needed, just silently watched and judged.
They all were obnoxious in their own ways. Atsumu constantly wondered how they were all friends. But it worked. Which he was thankful for. If he only had Osamu to lean on his whole life he’d think he’d go insane.
This was a weekly thing. Going out, having fun. But they usually just tried to get together as often as possible. It was easy when they were together. Effortless.
But since they were adults, with adult things, it was getting more complicated to find a time.
Which is why they’re at a bar on a Thursday night. Oikawa had a date tomorrow, or something stupid Atsumu surely complained about.
And he had to work tomorrow.
He doesn’t even want to think about the aggravating, boar headed, asshole he’d be greeted with bright and early.
Atsumu scowled.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t quit,” Atsumu groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
It’s silent for a moment, too long of a moment, which makes Atsumu look around at his friends beside him.
Is it really that bad?
“Atsu—“ Akaashi finally speaks up and Atsumu takes a large breath before a server walks up and asks for Atsumu’s drink. In which he promptly responded with something strong. Something that’ll make him loosen up.
Along with the shots Suga decided to order as well.
As soon as she walks away Oikawa cringes. “Your boss is hot?” He speaks, trying to find a positive.
Atsumu chuckles humorously. Sakusa was very attractive and that was part of the problem. Atsumu didn’t feel inclined to punch his face, he didn’t want to mess it up. How fucked up is that?
Sakusa was so pretty, it pissed Atsumu off. Not only was his face flawless, but Atsumu caught himself staring at his hands from time to time. Or his thighs in those perfectly pressed slacks—okay he needed to stop.
“Don’t get me started on that bastard,” Atsumu mumbles.
“What did he do now?” Suga groans, thanking the server as she sets the drinks down.
Atsumu takes a shot and an echo of pained hisses leave the table. “First, he gives me three campaigns to have done by the time I wake up tomorrow. Whatever, fine—I can do that. But then he calls me into his office,” Atsumu takes Suga’s shot throwing it down his throat. Again, more hisses ring. “I’m to go on a business trip with him. To fucking South America.”
“It could be fun?” Oikawa tries. Atsumu takes his shot.
Hisses.
“It’s during Samu and I’s birthday.”
“You requested off?” Akaashi says before holding onto his own shot so Atsumu couldn’t take it. The blonde glares at him.
“I did. He said that I could spend time with Samu on a different day. That if I didn’t accept I’d be fired.”
“It’s your birthday,” Akaashi tries again, glaring right back at Atsumu, who tries and fails to pry his fingers off the shot glass.
Atsumu deflates against the table. “He doesn’t know that, why should I give him the knowledge it’s my birthday too?”
“Because he might be more lenient?” Suga then tries.
They don’t understand. He has worked with Sakusa for two years now and if that man didn’t get what he wanted there would be hell to pay. He has no remorse. Atsumu’s not sure if he has a soul at all. Maybe he traded his soul for eternal good looks. It would make sense.
“It wouldn’t change a thing,” Atsumu swirls the straw in his cup.
They’re quiet for a moment, letting Atsumu eye the swirling of his straw. Feeling his head becoming light all too early. But he paid no mind.
“You’ll figure something out, Tsum-Tsum,” Oikawa sings, raising his hand to signal for the waitress again. “But for now, let’s have fun! Forget about today.”
Forget, forgetting about today would be nice.
Atsumu was exhausted, he was sure his bed sounded like pure heaven right now. But he could never pass up his friends. Especially not when his blood was already swimming with alcohol. It thrummed and persuaded him to make questionable decisions.
So he smiled and agreed. Taking whatever drinks were offered to him.
His senses began blurring, the time began warping.
The bar was busy for a Thursday night and he reveled in the feeling. The way he laughed and threw his head back, feeling loose and stress free even if it was for just a moment.
He was happy like this. No worries. Just his friends.
Atsumu blinks heavily, not knowing how much time has passed, only now seeing a man in front of him. One he didn't know. Who was now feeling Atsumu's arms, his pecs, abs.
He still had the body of a pro athlete and it did him tremendous favors.
Though as cute as the guy was—Atsumu shakes his head, pushing away the hands feeling too far gone to hookup.
The last thing he needed was to forget a body was in his bed in the morning.
Where did his friends go?
Atsumu stumbles back to their table from before. He finds Suga and Oikawa talking animatedly to each other.
When Oikawa's eyes skim past his friend and watches as Atsumu physically struggles to walk there, he stands up. “Holy shit,” he laughs, putting an arm around Atsumu’s back.
Suga turns just in time to see a drunken smile appear on Atsumu’s face. Atsumu was gone, so obliterated he couldn’t feel his face as he portrayed, said, drunken smile.
The fact that he only ate that apple today was his downfall. Rookie mistake, truly. But he wanted to forget, and right now, he was.
“Aka—ak’shi,” Atsumu stumbles out when he doesn’t spot their other friend.
Suga laughs gently, “He’s flirting with the bartender. He was eyeing Akaashi as soon as we walked in.”
Atsumu glances behind him to see Akaashi, in fact, making eyes at the bartender who is trying to make drinks while also giving Akaashi his undivided attention. He was handsome, the bartender. Big, buff muscles. Slim waist. His hair was salt and peppered, but Atsumu couldn’t tell if it was natural or dyed with his eyes spinning.
Akaashi had always liked the big and muscular guys. His own frame was always lanky and slim. Elegantly small. It was a nice contrast.
Atsumu was always fairly slim, but he never lost his muscle mass from going pro. He’d sometimes be even bold and say that he was a knockout. He was pretty enough, but his body was anything but dainty and cute.
“Good fer ‘im,” Atsumu hiccups leaning further into Oikawa’s side.
Both of his friends laugh gently before having a hushed conversation between the two of them, making Atsumu frown.
“Just seeing who will take you home, Atsu,” Suga rolls his eyes when he sees a whine on the tip of Atsumu’s tongue.
“Don’t need’a esc—escort.”
Oikawa thumps him on the back of the head. “I got him, keep me updated on Keiji,” He tosses over his shoulder before Atsumu stumbles into step. “I love when your accent comes out full force when drunk,” Oikawa teases, pinching his cheek as they walk outside.
If Atsumu was any less drunk than he was right now, he would have thought Oikawa was distracting him so he wouldn’t whine about not telling his friends goodbye. But since he was indeed horribly intoxicated, he just slapped away Oikawa’s hand. Whining about how his cheeks hurt instead.
Atsumu lived fairly close to the bar, so even though it was torture getting there, they walked.
Oikawa thumped Atsumu on the head again when he said what he ate that day. A series of “you’re an idiot” and “eat more” strung from Oikawa’s lips.
“I have’ta work—tomorrow“ Atsumu moans a distraught sound as they make it to his apartment complex. Oikawa groans as he tries to open the door and also keep the drunk upright. Only sending a quiet thanks to the gods as they don’t have to bound up stairs and pushes the elevator button instead.
“We can look for things to eat before you sleep,” Oikawa claims before stepping into the lift as it dings quietly.
Atsumu didn’t know if food sounded all too good right now. Water didn’t even sound good. He grimaced, pressing his face into the crook of Oikawa’s neck.
Don’t get him wrong, Atsumu loves all his friends. They’re all there for him when needed. They’re natural, they’re home. But there was a deep connection between him and Oikawa. A connection with someone he’s never felt before.
It was so strictly and painfully platonic. They kissed once while both were heavily intoxicated and swore they’d never do that shit again.
Oikawa has been seriously seeing his childhood friend for the past few months when they both came to their senses that they were madly in love.
But Atsumu and him? They were platonic soulmates, twin flames. When they were together they were a force to reckon with.
Oikawa curses, fumbling with the keys after walking down the long hallway.
Of course Atsumu had the last apartment at the end of the hall.
“Remind me to babysit you next time we go out, your fucking heavy,” Oikawa laughs, pushing them through the door. Atsumu was cognitive enough to slip off his shoes as his friend does the same and escorts him to the couch where he’s left in a heap of muscle and mumbled thoughts.
Atsumu smiles gently, curling into himself as he snuggled deep into his couch pillow.
Atsumu lived in a fairly up and coming part of the city. He wasn’t in the middle of everything, but he always wasn’t too far from everything.
His job pays good, good enough to get him an apartment that he adores. But the pay isn't well enough to get him an apartment with more than one bathroom.
No, he lives in a two bedroom, one bath house. A kitchen as soon as you walk in and a living room adjoining. Walk down a small hallway to your left and both rooms are connected with a “jack and jill” bathroom.
That was pretty much it.
There were three communal washers and dryers on the main level where Atsumu would try to avoid as much as possible and just go to Oikawa’s house instead. Because yes, he owned a house. Not an apartment.
But Atsumu's apartment was nice, it was updated, and the decorations were something that Atsumu took pride in.
His couch was a plush deep and dark blue with cream decorative pillows. His rug was emerald with soft silver detailing that had him staring at it for hours at a time figuring out the pattern.
Walls were scattered with pictures and paintings, all colorful as well.
He adored the one corner of his living room that held a small greenhouse, littered with plants.
Gods, if only he could just put one plant in Sakusa’s office. It would make it look so much better—
“Fuck, I forgot you don’t cook a damn thing here,” Oikawa grumbled rummaging through his kitchen.
Atsumu pulls a large breath, knowing he was dosing off.
“Ramen,” Atsumu nods, pointing to the pantry. “Back,” he keeps it simple before collapsing against the pillow. The brunette only grumbles, shaking his head before fixing the packet.
“A pla—nt would’a been s’nice,” Atsumu mumbles sadly. Looking at all the different succulents that would be so cute in the other man’s office.
“A plant?” Oikawa questions glancing behind him as he begins boiling the water.
Atsumu pouts, rubbing his eyes. “Sakusa’s office is s’boring,” he starts. “A plant would be nice.”
Oikawa hums. It’s one of those knowing hums that piss off, sober Atsumu. But this time it goes straight over his head.
So Atsumu chooses to continue. “He’s terrible, Kawa,” he fishes out the nickname for emphasis. “I’m his lil’ bitch boy. Always. Doin’ shit fer him. Always. Do ya know I get his coffee every mornin'?”
“Really?” Oikawa encourages.
“There’s not one in ta buildin’ but there's one across’ta street. They know my name now,” Atsumu complains. Sakusa only gets black coffee with a minimal amount of cream. Sometimes Atsumu gets his own drink. Which is something sugary and will get him jittering at his desk.
“Do you at least have a company card?”
Atsumu moans, but nods his head. Even though he never pays for his own coffee with the card. He’s too scared that Sakusa will find the random charges. Too scared that as punishment Sakusa will make him pay out of pocket for his coffee as well.
“I can’t believe I’m missin’ Samu’s birthday,” he whispers.
“It’s your birthday too,” Oikawa claims, bringing over a bowl for Atsumu. How long was he talking about Sakusa?
The blonde sits up, swaying slightly. He would usually bitch about having food in the living room, but he’s too boneless to stand and go to the kitchen.
He takes the bowl thankfully, not knowing if his stomach is cramping because he’s hungry, or because the alcohol is kicking about.
“Doesn’t matter,” he whispers a response.
“Why don’t you quit?” Oikawa sits on the coffee table across from Atsumu. Urging the bowl up for Atsumu to eat when he just stares at it sadly. “I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”
Atsumu shrugs. As much as he claims he hates the job, it’s familiar. He knows how to do it and he knows he can do it good. He’d rather stay somewhere where he’s miserable, then go somewhere completely new.
He already had to do it once. Going from volleyball to a desk job. He doesn’t think he can handle much more change.
“Sometimes—“ Atsumu skips right over Oikawa’s question, making his friend frown. But his head was a tornado of thoughts and he was spewing out one of the random things passing through. “It pisses me off how attractive he is,” then Oikawa barks out a laugh. “He has no soul, but fuck—I would let him–“ he trails not wanting to admit the last fact.
Oikawa snickers watching as his friend takes large bites of the ramen, filling his stomach from its emptiness. “Are you going to be okay? I should start heading home.”
Atsumu nods his head, swallowing heavily and biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anymore about how attractive his boss is. His evil, no good, conniving, son-of-a-bitch boss.
“M’fine.”
Oikawa nods, patting his head lovingly before standing. “I’ll call you in the morning to make sure you’re awake for work. Drink water and take medicine,” he gives a stern point which makes Atsumu smile dumbly.
He thanks his friend, watching as his long legs gracefully walk out of his apartment, locking it behind him.
Atsumu finishes his ramen. His head feeling much more clear now, well, in his drunken opinion.
But then again, he can’t help but take another lap around the thought of work, his birthday, and Sakusa.
He just keeps thinking and thinking about everything, falling deeper into that hole.
He sits on his couch for a moment longer, wondering what he was going to tell Osamu. Wondering why he was in this situation at all. Why him? Why did Atsumu of all people have to go on this business trip? Sakusa had other employees, he had other people who worked under him.
It pissed Atsumu off.
It made his blood boil that he was specifically being treated like this. He was a damn pro athlete before this and now he’s stuck getting coffee for a man who looks like the devil walking. A man straight from the heavens who fell.
And it pisses him off.
If Atsumu was in the correct mindset, he would have dropped it. If he was in a correct mindset his mind wouldn’t have wandered to Sakusa’s perfectly defined lips, his capable hands. If he was in the correct mindset, he wouldn’t have grabbed his laptop. He wouldn’t have opened up his email and he wouldn’t have started typing.
Atsumu faintly hears himself groaning as consciousness finds him. His mouth is so dry his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. His head feeling as if a compactor was continuously smashing his brains.
He doesn’t dare open his eyes, not yet, he doesn’t think he could. He felt as if he were floating, but also the heaviest material on earth.
How did he get home? Was he even home?
He swears to god that if he opens his eyes and finds another in bed with him, he is going to die. Truthfully, wholeheartedly, die.
He groans again, prying open his eyes. He silently thanks his past self that he remembered to close the curtains, his curtains. At least he wasn’t at someone’s house.
He was shirtless, but was wearing his work slacks. Weirdly enough. Maybe that was a good sign.
His eyes reluctantly look to the other side of the bed and when he finds it empty, he lets out a large breath of relief.
He didn’t go home with anyone, and no one came home with him. He could cry with how relieved he was.
Well until his phone started vibrating under his pillow. He jerks back at the loud noise, grumbling very unpleasant words, before grabbing the device and looking at the name with squinted eyes.
Looking at the time first, he knows he has plenty of time to get ready. He slept in a little bit, but he was right on time.
“‘Ello,” he mumbles, collapsing back on his pillow, eyes closed. He was so thirsty.
“Morning, Tsum-Tsumu,” Oikawa sings which makes the blonde grimace. “Just making sure you’re awake.”
“Unfortunately.” Oikawa laughs, which makes Atsumu hold the phone away from his ear. “What happened?” He continues, trying to jog his memory.
Oikawa’s laugh sobers before he suddenly bursts out again, making Atsumu hold the phone back, again.
“You blacked out?”
“Yes I blacked out,” Atsumu snaps.
“This is too funny,” Oikawa giggles. “I took you home, made you ramen, and left you a happy boy with a full belly.”
“That’s it?” Atsumu whimpers as he slowly gets up. His limbs are so stiff they’re painful.
“Akaashi went home with the bartender.”
Oh, Atsumu remembers him. Such a smiley big guy. He grins, he’s happy for his friend. Was he going to give Akaashi shit? Yes, but that’s what friends are for.
“He’ll be so fun to tease,” Atsumu voices before almost bursting into tears with how painful it is to stand. He needs to stop drinking.
“Very fun,” Oikawa agrees.
“I’m just glad I didn’t wake up with anyone next to me.”
“I could have stayed and you could have woke up next to me,” Oikawa purrs, which makes the blonde roll his eyes, padding to the shower, scratching his bare stomach.
“Ya wish.”
Oikawa snorts. “Not really, I’m very happy fucking Iwa—“
“Okay, okay, I do not want to hear this when I’m severely hung over.”
He slowly begins peeling off his slacks, and then briefs as switches Oikawa to speaker. Hearing his friend’s obnoxious laughs once again as he turns in the shower.
“Whatever. Go be grumpy somewhere else. I’m sure Sakusa would love the extra attitude.”
“Yer done. I’m done talking to ya,” Atsumu grabs the phone quickly.
“You love me.”
“Sometimes, but not right now.”
He begins to hear the laughter again before he hangs up.
He sets his phone down. Grumbling to himself.
But Oikawa was right, he needed to get his attitude in check before heading to work. If he brought it into work with him, he was scared for what he might say to his boss. Especially if he brings up that damned meeting.
So, Atsumu jumped in the shower, claiming that he was going to be a bag of smiles and joy when he went into the office. Act as if nothing was wrong. Because he’s Miya Atsumu. He’s always bubbly, laughing, and happy.
Atsumu was not happy.
He was just on his way out of the coffee shop that he stops at every morning. Happily getting himself a drink because of his damned headache.
Drink in each hand.
Well, until an idiot walked right into him outside of the cafe.
His own drink was knocked from his hands. Splattering all over the pavement.
Atsumu watched it sorrowfully, as it fell from his hands like it was some kind of movie. Slow motion. Watching how his salvation, the one thing that might get him through this morning, was destroyed on the dirty pavement.
He almost growled at the guy who merely mumbled an apology before he kept walking. Oh, Atsumu had murderous intent.
But dammit, he was going to be late.
So, he quickly picked up the plastic cup, throwing it away before continuing. He was pissed, but not pissed enough to litter.
Hiking his backpack up further, as the strap fell over his shoulder, he took his now free hand, to roll up the sleeves of his white button up.
The September sun was beginning to be unbearable.
But just as he’s walking across the street, he spots something that makes this terrible day go even worse. “Yer fucking kidding me,” he says to himself which makes a passing woman frown deeply before pushing her kid along.
Right over his ribs was a coffee stain. It wasn’t the biggest stain in the world, an inch or two wide. But against his stark white shirt, it could have been the size of a damn elephant. So blatantly there.
Mumbling even more curse words as he steps into the building, his grimace was so deeply engraved on his face, he was sure he was developing wrinkles as the second passed.
He even took an extra couple minutes this morning to make sure his clothes were so precisely pressed.
Now he looked haggard, run down, tired, a mess.
Jogging out of the elevator, the phone calls are already active as he passes by all the different desks of people he barely talks to.
His keys jingling in his pocket as he hastily runs to his desk, just barely glancing at his watch. Right on time. At least he has that going for him.
He’s never been late to work. That was an accomplishment he was proud of. Punctual. He liked portraying an image of responsibility and respectability. So he was always early, or right on time.
Smiling a gentle gesture of relief, he takes a moment to put himself back together. Combing back his hair as it fell messily on his forehead. Flinging his large black backpack on the floor. It still had his number on it from volleyball. The zippers were gold which were the colors that represented his team.
It was nice to have a small piece of the past. It grounded him. Kept him on track.
“Miya?” He hears in which he quickly grabs the coffee. Walking, not running, but walking, towards the office across from his desk.
One time Atsumu jogged into Sakusa’s office and the man glared at him with the most disgusted look, he turned back around and tried again. At a slower pace the next time.
He was training a dog, is what Osamu told him later.
“Mornin’,” Atsumu breathes, plastering that smile on his face. The fake one that makes his eyes look vacant if someone was really looking at him. He leans over Sakusa’s desk as the man watches him walk in with predatory attentiveness and sets down the drink.
Atsumu used to be scared of that look, but then he realized that was his face most of the time. He had to get used to it.
“I apologize, I’m out of breath,” Atsumu laughs in the slightest when Sakusa doesn’t reply or return his gesture. “Some person decided to run into me outside of the coffee shop—“
“Sit.”
Atsumu stutters to a stop, his eyes trailing up. Right where Sakusa leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“Sorry?”
“Sit down.” Me motions with his finger for good measure.
Funnily enough, Atsumu sits. He really was like a trained puppy.
He blinks quickly, trying to figure out what has the man’s eyebrows furrowing, the knuckles of his hand turning white as he holds his biceps. Biceps that are straining against his suit jacket. He’s more formal today than usual. He looks nice, besides the eternal frown on his face.
“You have nothing to say?” He barks suddenly and Atsumu flinches in the slightest, leaning forward confusingly. What the fuck does that mean?
“Sorry—“
“You’ve already said that once.”
“Yes,” Atsumu let out an annoyed laugh. “I know, I’m just—“ he pauses searching for words. “I’m just lost, sir. What would I have to say?”
Then Sakusa smirks. His lip quirks up in a bitter, malevolent kind of way. It makes Atsumu gulp deeply. He stands suddenly, one hand tucked into his pocket, while the opposite grabs his computer monitor, swiveling it in Atsumu’s direction.
Atsumu didn't look at the screen immediately as his eyes were more focused (scared) by the way Sakusa walked to the door to his office. Closing it.
“Read.”
So, Atsumu turns and reads.
Dear Sakusa,
I am contacvting you on a night leik tonightt to tell ya that you suck. I am miserable. I am overwvked. I am tireeed. The only thing keeping me hear is because I’m scsred to laeve. Sometimes I wish I could punchh you in your unfairly pretty face. So prettyyy. But I feel like I’d be ruining ing art if I did that. So that is why I am telling you, no, writing you this. That you suck and I hate that you’re so insanely hot.
Love,
Miya Astumu.
By the time Atsumu was done reading, his hand was over his mouth, his breaths completely seized in his chest, and his face was flaming red. What the fuck did he do? What the fuck did he do?
He didn’t want to turn around to Sakusa. He never wanted to make eye contact with this man again. He couldn’t.
He must have written this after Oikawa left him last night. They were talking about everything before he drank. He must’ve continued talking or thinking about it, which coaxed him to write this.
The spelling errors.
The insults.
The admittance that Atsumu was attracted to him.
He didn't even spell his fucking name right.
It was terrible.
Such an ungodly, unfairly, wrenchingly, humiliatingly written email.
“So, I’ll repeat, do you have nothing to say to me?” His voice was a warning in itself. So low and dangerously gentle. Like a trap waiting to be tripped.
But Atsumu took the bait. “I am—“ he pauses when he realizes his voice was trembling. “I am so terribly sorry, Sakusa, sir. I went out with friends last night, I was not in my right mind,” he rambled and Sakusa pushes off the door in the midst. “I was upset, drunk, irresponsible, and completely out of line,” Atsumu cuts himself off when Sakusa suddenly stands in front of him. Arms still crossed. Presence still unbearably intimidating.
Atsumu’s mouth doesn’t stop there. “I understand if ya want to fire me. Or if ya want to punch me. I wouldn’t tell anyone if ya did. Ya have every right to kick me out, report me—“
“You’re right,” Sakusa sighs, sitting on the edge of the desk as he tilts his head like a predator, watching his underling. “I have every right to fire you. I have every right to make sure you’re never hired anywhere else. Every right to throw your belongings on the street.”
Atsumu deflates, his eyes searching the palms of his hands. He was once grateful for the things his hands could do. Setter hands. They were magic in every way. But now he was truly betrayed by the appendages.
He called him hot.
He wants to be buried alive.
“But I’m not.”
Atsumu almost snaps his neck with how fast he looks up. Staring at his boss with wide eyes.
Sakusa’s eyebrow quirks at the movement before scanning Atsumu head to toe.
“Unfortunately for me, you’re good at what you do and I don't want to train another assistant,” Sakusa sighs. His head still tilted as his eyes snag on Atsumu’s figure. His shoe tapping Atsumu’s accidentally, purely by how close they're sat across from each other. “Doesn’t mean you won’t be punished—“ he trails weighing sadist options in his head, Atsumu’s sure.
“I still have my job?”
Sakusa sighs. “Yes.”
What the fuck?
“But—“ there it is. “I have a meeting today. You’re attending and annotating the entire thing. I wouldn’t wish to forget what’s discussed.”
He’s serious that Atsumu still has a job?
“It’s at one of the high-end bars across the city.”
Atsumu shakes his head. “I still have a job?”
He sighs again, “Do you want me to fire you?”
“No! No ‘course not.”
“Then shut up,” he hisses, leaning forward. “I am doing you a favor . I am choosing to forget most of what you said in your email for your benefit.” Atsumu gulps as their shoes touch now with how far he’s leaned in.
Atsumu can see the light freckles across Sakusa's nose. The moles decorating over his eyebrows, across his neck. He can smell how intoxicatingly alluring he is.
Atsumu fights the urge to lean in closer.
Well, that’s until he feels cold fingers stroke across his ribs. Atsumu pulls in a tight breath, eyes fluttering as his skin is caressed in the slightest. It’s a light pressure, but gods he can feel so much. Two fingers, just slightly callused, nothing like Atsumu’s, running past the thin material of his button up.
But it was merely a second and then it all slipped away. His shirt suddenly tugged over where the touch just was.
Atsumu looks down, his cheeks blazing.
“You have a stain on your shirt,” Sakusa mumbles thumbing at the browned fabric. “Go change. Be back here in an hour.” He stands, letting go of Atsumu’s shirt. “You have formal wear, correct?”
Atsumu stares at his side. Trying to burn the image of Sakusa’s hand gliding past his torso into his brain forever. The mere size of his hands. A setter’s wet dream.
“Miya.”
“Yes?” He squeaks looking up.
He looks bored.
“Formal attire,” he repeats. “You have some, yes?”
Atsumu blinks for a moment, and then another. Is he not wearing formal attire now? A button up, nice slacks and—well, today he’s wearing sneakers. But that’s besides the point. What’s more formal than this?
“I do,” he nods. Because why would he say he doesn’t? He’s already on the thinnest ice known to man. “I’ll be ready, no worries.”
Sakusa merely nods tucking his hands into his pockets expectantly. Watching as Atsumu takes that as his exit, bowing his head graciously. “Thank ya again, Mr. Sakusa. I couldn’t be more grateful.”
It was truthful. As much as Atsumu hated his job, he was comfortable. He was present. Plus, Sakusa has connections everywhere. If the man truly didn’t like you, he could ruin your whole life.
His superior hums, strolling around his desk. “Like I said, I did you a favor. You shouldn’t be thanking me yet.”