「 untold feelings 」━━━ sakuatsu

─ twelve

The house reeked of alcohol already.

"Good evening, Sakusa."

He gulped down his whisky, feeling stuck to the bar, the bite of cinnamon spice making the idea of the dance floor from far away sound a little less repellent. Maybe he could use a little disinhibition, after all.

The music growled in his ears, a small group of twenty-somethings screaming over the beat, almost completely drowning Bokuto's voice under its heavy bass and unintelligible babbling. God, it was headaching loud.

"Havin' a great time, aren't you?"

Sakusa rolled his eyes at the sarcastic comment, head throbbing. He wondered why he even came in the first place, perhaps to ensure control over a duality of sentiments, to shed the doubt that weighed on his shoulders - to make sure.

"Sure," he responded.

He sipped on the brown beverage, nocturnal eyes running over the mess of hormonal bodies, only a sliver of concern betraying his composure. He let his mind wander instead, accompanying heated guests in their dance, then stopping on a group of friends - familiar faces he last saw years ago, either from high school or opponent volleyball teams, almost hidden behind the smoke screen.

Not too far from them, Sakusa recognised the silhouettes of two young people, making out on the couch, caught in a youthful daydream. Something seared the back of Sakusa's eyes, though not sure whether to blame it on the smoke or the heat.

He then processed the feminine curves protruding from a tight dress and the ten sharp nails running through light blonde locks of hair, falling on the face of a greek god, ecstatic.

Bokuto sneered, "God, 'Tsumu's loving the attention, ain't he?

"For sure."

Something had, deep down, Sakusa's gut wrenching. He wanted to vanish before he relinquished his mind to fury, and did something he'd most certainly forever regret.

But oh, what left mattered at this state of their relationship ?

"Hey, why the long face, dude?" the other man teased in an aware-already voice. "You look pretty upset to see him like this."

Sakusa clicked his tongue at the remark, gulping down his third drink of the night, drowning unwanted evidence away. Furthermore, he had no control over Atsumu's every action - whether it be morally or contractually, except for his pristiness and extreme carefulness that would require for the both of them to be passing blood tests before they played again.

Still, knowing that the heart of the man he loved belonged to someone else burnt and stung him awfully.

"I know we're not even friends, but I gotta say," Bokuto pursued, pouring a last drink inside both their glasses. "When I first met Atsumu, I thought he was the typa guy that flirts with whatever got two legs and can't ever fall for one girl."

"Get to the point already."

"Then I got to know him," he continued, "And realized that the reason he couldn't sit with a single partner for more than a week was to bridge a gap. He's lonely."

Sakusa shrugged the thought off as fast as he could, forcing the bittersweet liquid down the walls throat. That couldn't be. Atsumu just happened to have anyone he craved or not at his feet.

But perhaps that was the reason the two young men found themselves in this deceptive game in the first place, both desperate to sew the gap in their sore hearts, sleek black leather and brittle stitches involved if needed. Bokuto patted his back in a friendly attempt to comfort him, which in return Sakusa furrowed his brows, looking away.

"C'mon, get his drunk ass home," the older man pleaded. "And don't hold a grudge against him. He wouldn't have let her touch him at all if he were any sober."

Sakusa stood, running slender fingers through damp, sleek curls, Bokuto punching him in the chest triumphantly, "Fine. Don't touch me."

He made his way through the smoky dance floor , all eyes on his skin like a thousand needles pricking at his envelope. Sakusa Kiyoomi knew he looked good. You would assume that, being a well-known athlete, unremittingly spied on through the red eye of cameras or blinded with the flash of smartphones, the crowd's gaze was something he would've gotten used to by this time - though anything remotely crowd-related wouldn't be Sakusa's cup of tea in the first place.

He bent at the couch's level, casting his shadow upon both lovers theatrically. Guttural laughter came from the most hellish depths of his lungs as he seized the young man by the chin , only to discover an enraptured face and that oh-so, so cocky look embedded in his solar irises.

"Good evening, Atsumu."

The latter froze, drunken pupils meeting ones with no sign of dawn anytime soon, as though Atsumu had leaned over an abyss. His one-night stand looked at Sakusa in disbelief, leaving the two men alone in the blink of an eye. Sakusa look as if he was about a kill a man.

"H-hey Sakusa, hum, h-how's it goin'? When'd ya grow that tall?"

A slap seared his underskin before he could get an ounce of an answer, astonished, pretty sure even his last tattoo hadn't gone so deep into his corium.

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

He had merely begun embracing a girl he would never seek out again. Why would Sakusa get mad about this ?

Though tonight the latter didn't feel like giving out a motive. The only thing coursing through his ichor beside wrath was the urge to make things clear with Miya Atsumu, his submissive.

He might have been set on a wildfire nothing would put out.

"You're coming with me."