Dancing Around • Sakuatsu •

Easier

Sunday, the one day Sakusa could truly unwind. He strolled through his apartment in nothing but his underwear, wearing an oversized sweater that practically swallowed him whole. A cup of coffee in hand, he settled on the terrace, gazing out at the city. The wind stirred his curls, and the drizzle created a mist that lightly splashed his face. Gray and calm days like these made him wish never to get out of bed.

This particular day began unusually early, just before 4 a.m. Sakusa, despite barely getting any sleep, felt remarkably rested. He emerged from the tangle of blankets, hearing the soft drizzle outside. The balcony and doors leading to it were being gently knocked by the rain. It was still very dark, as if midnight hadn't yet relinquished its hold on the world.

Reluctantly, he rose and decided to do something productive, opting to clean his apartment. The silver lining, in Sakusa's mind, was that if he finished on time, he might be able to indulge in one of the many series and movies Atsumu had recommended. At 4:30 a.m., his phone began ringing.

Miya.

Sakusa furrowed his brow; Atsumu awake at this hour? He answered, hoping for a greeting from the other end. Instead, all he heard was a heavy breath, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. What did that sound mean? The breath lingered for a few more seconds before the call abruptly ended. A call from Akaashi followed.

"Akaashi?" Sakusa asked, confused.

"Sakusa, I'm relieved that you answered. Bokuto just called me. It seems he and Miya went out partying, and Atsumu got into a fight. It didn't amount to much, but now he can't be found anywhere," Akaashi explained, his keys jingling in the background. "Kou is calling the rest of the team to help, but..."

"I'll be right there," Sakusa interrupted, cutting the call without caring to hear more. He sent Akaashi a quick message asking for the address and left hastily, perhaps too much so, forgetting his mask. A small anxiety attack struck halfway when he realized, but he pushed forward, prioritizing Atsumu.

"Omi!" he heard, was it his imagination, or did he hear Miya's voice? He turned around, but there was nothing. "Omi, what are you doing here without your mask?" The words were drawn out, accentuated by a strong accent—Atsumu. "Behind you, OmiOmi." Kiyoomi turned to see, and indeed, it was the blonde calling him. He also noticed the unmistakable scent of alcohol and the disheveled appearance of his teammate—clothes in disarray, marks on his neck. "Don't ever disappear like that again; you worried us," he scolded, walking towards Sakusa with narrowed eyes and a challenging smile.

"'Us'? It sounds singular rather than plural, Omi," he approached, staying close to the tallest, making his heart race.

"Whatever," Sakusa muttered, blushing and looking away. "It's late; come on, I'll take you back to your apartment." He grabbed Atsumu's arm, pulling him towards him.

"You're unmasked," Atsumu murmured, making Sakusa shiver. He could feel the dragged words and alcohol-scented breath hitting his neck, causing chills. "You know, Omi? You're prettier than I thought." The comment caught him off guard, almost making him drop the setter.

"Shut up; you're drunk."

"They say drunkards and children tell the truth," Atsumu purred, resting his cheek on the taller man's shoulder.

"Not you," Sakusa murmured, feeling his face heat up. "Do me a favor and cooperate so I can take you to your house."

"Better take me to yours," Atsumu suggested, his face inches from Kiyoomi's. "I don't want to be alone, please, Omi." His tone was low and pleading, adorned with a hint of sadness.

He let out a heavy sigh. "It's okay..."

Sakusa called a taxi, the only way to get Atsumu home at this point. Although, he could say that he was already in his home—the warmth emanating from Atsumu made him feel so at ease, as if he belonged there. The blonde's arms clung to him, and his face was inches from the pale skin of his neck.