always forever

you and me, always forever

sakuatsu
for TimeForTissues

it should be illegal for any human to wake up before eight am. sleep is an addicting drug, and the drag of waking up, standing up, and doing routinely things is slowly becoming more agonizing for sakusa. the gut-wrenching pain he feels from the viruses in each and every crevice and crack of the earth is enough to persuade him into a sempiternal sleep, never to awake.

but, alas, even as torturous life can turn out to be, there are some small things that dispel his doubts.

take volleyball for an example. to think that hitting a leather sphere filled with air can bring someone so much gratification. but it isn't just that, it's the horrified faces of his enemies after he completes his spike. in slamming that ball down onto the hard floor, sakusa finds miles of productivity. when it meets the palm of his hand, then-

except for the fact that the germs of all of his neighbors get a kick out of adjoining and connecting, to make the most unsanitary thing in existence.

fine, maybe volleyball isn't his one reason to soldier on.

another thing on sakusa's plus side is umeboshi. the pickled plums are sweet, yet still managing to be sour and salty. they can be made with honey, and are usually served as a side dish for rice or eaten on rice balls for breakfast and lunch. on occasion, they will be served boiled or seasoned for dinner. sakusa finds thrill in the smooth, wrinkled fruits.

but then, sakusa thinks that a food shouldn't really be your reason to subsist.

your light should make you happy, but also help you through your deepest times. it is probable that they will be the reason for some grief or mopery, or even fury. but overall, your avail will deliever a smile to your face.

it is rare that sakusa finds himself smiling at something for a long period of time. a lot of things put him through horrible, burning repugnance. it is most often that sakusa will be thinking about the revolting sensation one brings him, and he is no stranger to the feeling known as nausea.

and then sakusa pictures one person in his head. with his crooked smirk, poorly bleached hair, the light pink shade that takes his nose and upper cheeks when complimented; sakusa thinks almost perfectly of atsumu miya. he adores his determination, but despises his low-spirited thoughts.

he fell in love mere seconds after catching sight of atsumu at that training camp in high school. the adoration that he held for the resounding, hefty, and sickeningly yet charmingly grimy setter was just cryptic. sakusa watched as he forcefully striked the ball onto the ground, hearing the loud bam echo around the gymnasium. he stood there, as still as a statue with zero expression, but his mind was zooming about with information.