Haikyuu // Oneshots

ˏˋ 'ˎSakuAtsu✦ ˚

summary: a historical au based on the film maurice. atsumu and kiyoomi attend a university in edwardian england. in a society that represses their love, they're forced to fall for each other in secret.

content warning: homophobia, biblical references

enjoy <3

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Atsumu sat in the Dean's hall, surrounded by chatter as they dined. He was a first-year studying English on a whim, trying his best to have fun without stirring up too much trouble. College, his mother had warned him, was less forgiving than the schools of his youth. They would kick him out without remorse and have someone else in his spot within the hour.

"Utter rubbish," said one of the boys beside him, cutting into his sirloin. "Fat women with horns on their heads singing at the tops of their voices..." he shook his head as he forked a bite into his mouth. "It's horrible noise. And it's unhealthy."

Another boy across the room made a show of yawning, stretching his arm over his head as he did so.

"But music is about death," continued the first one. "It always has been."

The other boy groaned as he leaned back against the wall, leaning to speak in another's ear. "Such dreadful conversation, don't you think?"

Atsumu clenched his jaw to keep the smile off his face.

"Oh, go on, then Motoya," said the boy, wiping his mouth as he stood up. "Enlighten us."

Motoya shrugged, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. "Superior minds wouldn't need enlightening. Music is the highest of the arts." He began to pace about the chairs as he spoke, his eyes wandering to the corners of the room. "It needs no reference or the corporeal."

In front of the table, he paused, deep in thought. His chestnut hair fell over his beaded eyes as he looked down to meet Atsumu's awestruck stare. "It is," he said, "therefore, of all the arts, the closest to death."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver through Atsumu. He talked about the subject the way one talked about a lover despite its morbidity. What had caused him to become so infatuated with music? What was seeing that no one else was?

"Can you pass the salt?" Asked someone beside Atsumu, breaking the spell. He looked away to grab the shaker and slid it down the table.

"I can't stand music. Or concert halls," said the boy who began the discussion. "And I don't go in for being superior."

"I do," said Motoya, a gentle smile painting his face.

"Anything for you?" Asked a third-year, coming around with plates stacked in his arms.

"That's quite alright, thanks," said Motoya, waving his hand.

"I've put him off with my low talk," snarled the boy, earning a laugh from one of his buddies.

"I simply can't think of a reply to that," said Motoya, continuing his pace around the room.

"How about nothing?"

"Nothing?" Motoya said, feigning horror. "You must be mad."

"What you do is more important than what you say," said Atsumu suddenly. He didn't know what came over him, the words had just slipped out.

His heart raced when he saw Motoya studying him with intrigue.

"Your deeds," Atsumu continued, desperate to keep his attention. "They're more important than your words."

"What's the difference?" Motoya challenged. "Words are deeds. Are you trying to say that these few minutes of talking in the dean's room have done nothing for you?" He crossed back to Atsumu's table, leaning on his elbows to be at his eye level.