Archive of Our Own ^beta

The last few customers linger near the table where the cafe keeps sugar and creamer. They’re bleary eyed zombies, catching their last hit of caffeine before they’re forced to amble back to the upper floors of the library to resume their studying. 

It’s not a fancy cafe by any means. Just a coffee shop built into the lower level of the main library on campus. It’s a place that Sakusa has spent more of his waking hours at than his own apartment, a fact that will piss him off if he spends too long thinking about it. 

He wipes coffee stains off the counter, cleans the milk frothers thoroughly, restocks the snacks. 

This is the only part of the process he enjoys: the part where he can turn his brain off and listen to the humming of the various machines around him while he does mindless tasks. 

Thoughts flit past his brain—drafts of building models due in two days, club meeting tomorrow at six, what the fuck am I supposed to feed myself tonight—but none of them linger for longer than a moment. Except for that last one. He truly has no idea what to feed himself. 

He’s been avoiding grocery shopping and has been pilfering food from the coffee shop for longer than he’d care to admit. 

By the time he’s done mopping the floor, the only other person left in the cafe, his coworker Atsumu, comes back from taking out the trash. 

“Hey Omi-kun, register’s cashed out, trash is taken out, and drinks are restocked. Anything else you need me to take care of?”

“No, that’s everything,” Sakusa says. 

On the days that Sakusa works with Atsumu, he can’t complain. He’s nice, with a great customer service smile that rakes in the tips. He always goes home with more money in his pocket the days Atsumu works the register. 

They have a decent time shit talking rude customers, and their manager, and their respectively annoying professors and classmates. Though they aren’t friends outside of work, they wave at each other when they pass each other on campus. 

Which is why Sakusa is mildly surprised when Atsumu asks, “Wanna smoke?”

“Right now?” 

“Yeah.” Atsumu takes off his stained apron and shoves it into the basket they keep for dirty uniforms. “I have a blunt on me.” 

Sakusa weighs his options. His buildings aren’t going to model themselves, but realistically, he knows he’s going to go home, shower, and watch Netflix until two in the morning. 

“Sure,” he says. “But I’m starving.” 

Atsumu grins. “Me too. We can pick up some food first.” 

Sakusa follows Atsumu out of the cafe and across the courtyard to his car. It’s a white SUV, an old enough model that Atsumu likely didn’t buy it new, but still nice and by the looks of it, freshly washed. 

They dump their backpacks into the backseat and climb into the front. 

The inside of the car is immaculate. Atsumu has a car scent hanging on the rearview mirror and a smiling flower bobbing on the dashboard. 

“It was a gift from my twin,” Atsumu explains, when Sakusa raises a brow. He slings an arm around the back of Sakusa’s headrest and backs out of the parking spot. Sakusa catches a hint of Atsumu’s cologne with the movement, which is surprising, considering they’ve been working with coffee since 2 p.m.

When they’re on the main road, Atsumu turns to him. “Whaddya wanna eat?”

“I’m good with whatever. My stomach feels like it’s eating itself.” 

Atsumu glances at the clock. It reads 10:42 p.m. in blinking letters.  “Everything good is probably closed right now. Wanna go to the drive through?” 

“Sure.” 

“Want the aux?” 

Sakusa shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Atsumu shrugs and puts his phone in the cup holder. 

The streets are quiet this late on a Tuesday. No one is out partying, and most people have gone home by now. Sakusa only counts three people walking on their drive. The silence is welcome. 

Atsumu pulls into the drive through. 

“Whaddya want?”

“A chicken sandwich, no pickles, and a six piece chicken nuggets with honey mustard.”

“What?” Sakusa asks, when Atsumu frowns at him. 

“Why wouldn’t you want pickles?”

“I don’t like them,” Sakusa shrugs. Atsumu’s frown deepens. “Ask for them on the side and you can have them.” 

At that, he brightens, and pulls up to order.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the person calls out. 

Atsumu shoots off their order and pulls up to the window. 

They’re both subdued from the long day. Sakusa is sure Atsumu is feeling the same bone deep kind of tired he’s feeling, but he still musters up a bright smile for the person working the window and thanks them sincerely. 

Sakusa likes that about Atsumu; he isn’t nice if he’s not sincere about it.

Atsumu hands the bag to Sakusa, and Sakusa thinks he could fall asleep like this, with the motion of the car and the warmth of the chicken sandwiches in his lap lulling him. 

The thought reminds him of something startling. His eyes cut to Atsumu. 

“Where do you live?” 

Atsumu’s eyes meet his own for a brief moment before he turns his attention back to the road. “Why do ya ask?” 

“I don’t like people driving high.” 

“I’m not too far off campus.” 

Sakusa shakes his head. “You really shouldn’t.” 

“Okay, so what do you suggest?” 

“We can smoke in my apartment’s parking lot and you can spend the night.”

“You sure about that?” Atsumu asks. 

“Positive.” Sakusa says. “I live alone, so it’s not a problem.” 

Atsumu shrugs. “Then sure, I don’t mind. Beats tryin’ not to get a ticket.” 

Sakusa rattles off directions and Atsumu follows them until they pull into the parking lot of Sakusa’s apartment building. 

“There’s a giant wall at the end of the parking lot you can park behind.” 

Atsumu backs into the spot next to the wall and cuts the engine. 

“Okay, I have an idea,” Atsumu says, backing up his seat so his legs have more room. He turns so he’s facing Sakusa completely. “We smoke first, eat second.” 

“Good call. I don’t have any food in my apartment.” 

“Me either,” Atsumu says. “My brother and I usually grocery shop together, but he’s been swamped this week.” 

“You two live together?” 

“Yeah, but we have a two bedroom, thank god.” Atsumu reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls the blunt out. “Are you an only child?” 

“Yeah, but I grew up with my cousin. He goes here, but he lives on the other side of campus, since he’s a Comms major. Didn’t make sense for him to live with me.” 

“Remind me what you’re majoring in again?” 

“Architecture. You?” 

“Finance. I fucking hate it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu puts the blunt between his teeth and his next words come out muffled. “My classes are full of assholes. But I’m decent at the math involved and I’m graduating next year. So.” He shrugs and reaches for the lighter in the cup holder. 

“I get that,” Sakusa says. “I thought I was going to be pre-med, but then I barely passed chem. I got an A in Calc and I could draw, so.” 

“You should show me your art some time.” 

He flicks the lighter. The click it makes when it finally catches sounds loud in the silence of the car. Atsumu brings it to the end of the blunt. It takes a few tries, but he finally gets it lit.

He inhales deeply and when he exhales—away from Sakusa—curls of smoke fill the car. He takes another hit and passes it to Sakusa. 

Sakusa brings it to his lips—the tip is thankfully dry, Sakusa hates people who slobber all over blunts—and inhales. He coughs a little on the exhale. Atsumu reaches into the backseat and passes him a water bottle from a pack Sakusa hadn’t noticed he kept back there. 

They pass it back and forth until Sakusa’s eyes grow heavy and his limbs relax. He sinks into his seat and listens to the sound of his own breathing. 

He holds his hand out for the blunt, but it doesn’t come. 

“Hey,” Atsumu says, tapping him on the shoulder. Sakusa glances over at him, and his eyes are half-lidded as well. He’s looser than he was at the end of their shift. “Have you ever shotgunned before?”

That gets Sakusa’s attention. 

“No,” he says.

“No because yer not into it, or no ‘cause you’ve just never tried it?” 

“The second one.” 

“Wanna?” 

Sakusa nods. Atsumu gestures for him, and he sits up in his seat.

“I’m gonna inhale, and then I’m gonna blow the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale that, okay?”

“Sure,” Sakusa says. 

“C’mere.” Atsumu takes the bag out of sandwiches out of Sakusa’s lap and moves it to the backseat. Sakusa forgot he was even holding that. 

He moves closer and Atsumu cups his face with one hand. He isn’t expecting it, but Atsumu’s hand is large and warm and smooth. It’s not an unwelcome feeling, and if he leans into the touch just a little bit, well, who is Atsumu to judge him? 

Atsumu brings the blunt to his lips and breathes in. When he moves it out of his mouth, he brings his other hand to cup Sakusa’s face and leans in so close Sakusa thinks Atsumu is going to kiss him. Instead, he blows a steady stream of smoke into Sakusa’s waiting mouth. 

Sakusa ignores the twinge of disappointment in his gut when Atsumu’s lips don’t meet his own in favor of breathing in the smoke. 

It hits him stronger than any of the previous hits of the blunt. 

“Fuck,” Sakusa groans, around a mouthful of smoke, head dropping onto Atsumu’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Atsumu says. “Something about it just hits different.” 

He can feel Atsumu’s breath against his hair, and the rumble of his chest when he speaks. Sakusa has always known that Atsumu was attractive. It’s just something he’s never paid much attention to, more an afterthought than something at the forefront of his mind. But the tip jar—and the countless people who leave the cafe blushing—don’t lie. And Sakusa isn’t one for denying facts. 

Long fingers brush through the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Wanna do it this time?” 

When Sakusa looks up, it’s into Atsumu’s eyes. They’re somewhere between brown and gold, and remind Sakusa of things trapped in amber. 

“Sorry?”

“Wanna do it?” He holds the half smoked blunt out and Sakusa finally gets the hint. 

Atsumu passes it to him and their fingers brush in more places than Sakusa thinks necessary for such a simple act. 

He brings it to his mouth, and his free hand finds purchase in Atsumu’s shirt. He exhales and pulls Atsumu in closer, watches his eyes slip shut as he breathes in the smoke.

They continue like this until Atsumu is puffing on the roach.

“Here, you can have the last one,” he says. Sakusa leans back in and Atsumu cups his jaw, blowing the last of the smoke into Sakusa’s mouth. 

Sakusa inhales, and then exhales downward, towards their laps. 

“Thanks,” Sakusa murmurs. His voice sounds far away to his own ears. 

“No problem,” Atsumu says. He straightens and his eyes meet Sakusa’s. “Wanna eat?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” Sakusa groans. He reaches into the back seat, fumbling around until his fingers brush against the bag. 

He pulls out Atsumu’s sandwiches and hands them to him, then goes to work on his own sandwich and nuggets. 

“God, this is so good,” Atsumu says around his first bite. 

Sakusa is too gone to even be disgusted by the fact that Atsumu is talking with his mouth full. 

“Can I have a nugget?” Atsumu asks. 

Sakusa holds out the container of nuggets for Atsumu. 

“I love the foot shaped ones,” he says. Sakusa offers him the honey mustard, but Atsumu shakes his head, popping it into his mouth dry. 

They eat mostly in silence, broken up only my small murmurs of “oh my god,” and “holy shit.” 

This is the best thing Sakusa has eaten in months. It’s as though the food is coating each one of his taste buds individually, which might just be the weed talking, but Sakusa is certainly listening.

“Can you pass me the pickles?” 

Sakusa rummages through the bag until he finds the container with the pickles. 

“Thank fucking god.” Atsumu pops the lid off and pops a pickle slice into his mouth. Sakusa pretends to retch and Atsumu pokes his tongue out.

Sakusa briefly wonders what that tongue might feel like against his own, but files the thought away as yet another thing to consider when he’s sober.  

When they finish eating, Atsumu gathers up all of the wrappers and crushes them together. Rather than chucking them into the backseat, he holds onto them. 

“I’ll throw them out when we leave. I hate when there’s garbage in my car.” 

Every new thing he learns about Atsumu makes Sakusa like him a little more. 

“We can go up to my place whenever you want.” 

Atsumu nods and cracks the windows open to let the car air out overnight. They climb, grab their backpacks, and head towards the entrance of Sakusa’s apartment building. 

Sakusa lets them in, and Atsumu watches Sakusa toe off his shoes and drops his backpack near the couch before he does the same. 

“Thanks for having me,” Atsumu says, following Sakusa to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Let me grab you a change of clothes and some pillows and blankets and we can watch a movie or something.” 

“Want me to follow you?” 

“Sure.” 

Sakusa lets Atsumu into his room and pulls out a sweatshirt and an old pair of sweats. 

“Thanks,” Atsumu says. Sakusa doesn’t even have time to turn around before Atsumu is pulling his shirt off. His skin is darker than Sakusa’s, and his back is toned in a way that the oversized shirts he usually wears does no justice to. Enraptured, he watches the muscles in Atsumu’s back flex as he pulls Sakusa’s hoodie on. 

He steps out of his pants next and it isn’t until Sakusa has gotten an eyeful of Atsumu’s well-defined thighs that he has the sense to look away. 

Atsumu looks up just as Sakusa is turning around. “Sorry,” he says, sheepish. “I’m used to just changing whenever, because of the locker rooms, but I definitely should have gone to the bathroom.”

“No.” Sakusa shakes his head vigorously. “No, you’re good. What team do you play on?” 

“I’m on the soccer team.” That’s a stunning revelation, one that conjures up images of Atsumu panting harshly as he runs across the field, lifting the hem of his jersey to wipe the sweat off his brow. The Atsumu standing in his bedroom picks up his clothes and folds them into a neat stack. 

“I can wash those for you, if you want,” Sakusa says, before he has a chance to think better of it. He wants to kick his own ass for speaking, but now that the words are already out, he has no choice but to bulldoze ahead. “I mean, if you want to leave them in the hamper, I can wash them and give them back to you at work.”

“That would be great.” Atsumu smiles, and it’s a slow, syrupy thing that warms his whole face and turns Sakusa’s insides to mush. 

When they’re gathering all of the pillows and blankets off of Sakusa’s bed, Atsumu holds up a bunny plushie and shakes it at Sakusa. The stupid bastard’s ears just flop back and forth, the ultimate betrayal. 

“I wasn’t expecting guests,” Sakusa says, cheeks blazing. “Otherwise I would have put it away.”

“But we can’t leave Mr. Bunny alone,” Atsumu says, frowning down at the plushie, voice thick like molasses. “He’ll get lonely. He should come watch a movie with us.” 

Sakusa isn’t expecting that and it makes something in his heart squeeze. 

“Mr. Bunny can come with us,” Sakusa says softly. 

They set up the couch, but before they can settle in, Sakusa insists on them brushing their teeth. He finds a spare toothbrush for Atsumu, and files away the fact that his bathroom doesn’t feel as crowded as he thought it would with two bodies instead of one, for later consideration as well. 

They leave the light in the living room off and Atsumu shuffles under the blankets, holding Mr. Bunny close to his chest. Sakusa can’t even remember if it had a name before Mr. Bunny. 

“Can you put it on a space documentary?” Atsumu asks. “I love watching space documentaries when I’m high. It makes me feel like I understand how the universe was created.” 

That makes Sakusa laugh and he scrolls through documentaries until he finds one that Atsumu swears is the beginning and end of human knowledge. 

Sakusa puts it on and his eyes immediately glaze over. The music and the funny scientists they interview make Sakusa feel like he’s on another planet. 

He feels like he’s floating on the ceiling, watching himself watch tv.

At some point, Atsumu scoots closer, pressing himself to Sakusa’s side and that anchors Sakusa back to the moment. 

“Is it okay if I put my head in your lap?”

Sakusa nods, and moments later, the weight and heat of Atsumu’s head settles in his lap. His hand automatically finds Atsumu’s hair and he runs his fingers through the surprisingly soft strands. He really thought the bleach would have left it feeling more like straw. 

Atsumu hugs Mr. Bunny closer to his chest and sighs against Sakusa’s leg. 

“I’m not moving,” Atsumu says, eyes slipping shut. “Your lap is comfortable.”

“That’s fine,” Sakusa says, feeling his own eyelids droop. “Your head is warm.”

The light of the TV and the droning of the narration and the feeling of Atsumu’s hair between his fingers are what finally put Sakusa to sleep.