m*stly sh*t

Sakusa remembers the first day you came.

Bokuto leans much too close over Sakusa’s shoulder, seeing him swipe through an online ad of housekeepers and cleaners and says, “Omi-Omi, is your house dirty?”

“No, Bokuto.” Sakusa folds himself a little lower, but Bokuto merely follows. “Please stop hovering, you’re too close.”

“Oh!” His bubbly companion laughs and takes one large step back, allowing Sakusa to stand back up. “Why’re you looking for a housekeeper, then?”

“I need someone to look after my place when I’m gone. We don’t have any away games this month, so I’ll do a trial period and see if they’re worth the effort.”

Sakusa’s still scrolling through candidates while Bokuto scrunches his face up in thought.

“I have a friend-.”

“No.”

“Why not!?”

Sakusa shakes his head. “Akaashi already has a job, Bokuto.”

“I have more friends!” Bokuto protests, frowning. “Why does everyone think he’s my only friend?”

“You talk about him a lot.”

“Yeah, well,” he pulls out his phone and opens up his contacts. “We talk a lot.” Bokuto shows him a contact ID of a person he’s never seen before. “This is my childhood friend. They’re moving back here and needs a place to live.”

“Can they clean?”

“They used to clean my room for me whenever my mom would get mad because it was dirty.” A few taps to the screen and there are pictures of what Sakusa assumes is the childhood friend and Bokuto as children. He likes the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. “They’re also a killer cook, too.”

With a sigh, Sakusa squints at the picture. “Fine. If they’re comfortable living with one of your teammates, then I don’t see the issue. But I have high expectations, I—.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bokuto waves him off, already typing out the message to you. “They know about you.”

“Oh.”

“Mhmm.”

“Does,” Sakusa clears his throat. “They don’t think I’m…”

Sakusa doesn’t finish his sentence, awkwardly looking off elsewhere, but he can feel Bokuto watching him from over his phone.

“They don’t think you’re particularly anything, Kiyoomi.” He watches as Sakusa tugs his mask further up his nose. “They think your cleanliness is refreshing. Growing up with me and a younger brother was a messy experience for them.”

“I can imagine. I’ve seen how you keep your hotel rooms.”

Bokuto snorts and his phone dings. “Ah, They’re asking if they can take a look at your home before accepting.”

“Of course. I would’ve suggested it if they hadn’t.” Sakusa takes out his own phone to check his calendar.

“Maybe you’re made for each other.”

“What?”

“What?” Bokuto doesn’t look up from his screen, forwarding Sakusa the contact information. “Anyway, that’s their number. Hope everything works out, Omi-omi!”

When Sakusa opens his front door, he sees you, smiling and a tad bit bashful. “Hi, are you Bokuto’s friend?”

“I am, I am! And you’re Sakusa.” You’ve got a bag on your arm and a legal pad in hand. “I hope Kou didn’t push this on you? I know he can be pretty persistent.”

“Not at all.” He steps aside, welcoming you in. “You moving in would help me out. How much did he tell you?”

When you walk in, your eyes are already roaming around the walls, taking in the cozy, yet minimalistic decor of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s home.

“Well, he told me you had a potential room offer and said you needed someone to keep things clean.” You look over at him, and it hits Sakusa with how sweet you look; eyes sparkling and teeth gleaming. “I’m also a whiz in the kitchen if you’re ever hungry.”

He chuckles. “I like things clean, yes, but I was worried more about dust build up when I left for international tournaments with the team.”

Your mouth rounds into an ‘o’ as you nod. “I understand. Dust is an inconvenience normally, so I’m sure coming home to a dusty house after grueling matches isn’t relaxing.”

“Yes,” he sighs, glad someone gets it. “At least you know what I mean.”

“I grew up with Bokuto Koutarou. The man never cleaned and was often absent minded. I found a week-old sandwich in his desk drawer once.” You shiver at the memory. “After that, I checked his room every three days.”

Sakusa’s face is curled up in disgust.

“I’m glad he’s better as an adult. Though, his uniform needs to be washed more.”

You laugh, slapping your hand over your mouth, and Sakusa’s eyes light up at the sound.

“Earth to Sakusa,” you sing. “Hello~?”

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, letting the memory drift back into his head. “Sorry, I was thinking about smothering you with the pillow I just threw.”

“Oh, ha-ha!” You push up on your knees and pout. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” He looks down at his book, trying to focus on the words. “You’re tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” You muse, standing and walking over to collapse on the couch next to him. “Is that what I am?” He hums, but doesn’t look up. “Would I be more tolerable if I told you I made a special trip over to Onigiri Miya for some Umeboshi Onigiri?”

Sakusa dog-ears the page of his book and shuts it, immediately standing up to head to the kitchen.

“You’re upgraded to a ‘moderate like’.”

You guffaw. “You’re obnoxious.”

Sakusa’s shoulders shake with the effort of holding back his own laugh.

“Miya, no, you-,” Sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “We’ve been snowed in for six hours now. How am I supposed to get your Christmas gift if I can’t walk out my front door?”

The phone call has been going on for an hour, the onigiri is long gone and you’ve preoccupied yourself with a random YouTube video on the television. The electric kettle nestled on the coffee table is ready to go and you decide, instead of pouring a cup for yourself, Kiyoomi needs a cup more than you.

You pull his hand away from his face gingerly, smiling when he looks up at you with confusion, and place the mug in his hand. His face relaxes instantly, and he mouths his gratitude silently.

“Miya,” he interrupts the rambling on the other end of the phone. “I have to go, alright? I have a roommate who’s absolutely beside themselves with boredom and I have to deal with it.”

You shake your head and stick your tongue out.

Sakusa tosses his phone on the couch and blows on his tea. “Thank you for the tea,” before he sips, he stops and looks at you over the cup. “Two-,”

“Sugars? Yes.”

“Is it-,”

“Hibiscus? Again, yes.” You wink at him from your spot on the floor in front of him. “Questioning me after living together for a year and a half? You wound me, Sakusa.”

His eyes soften when you giggle, a hand pressed to your chest for the dramatics. He can’t help but to shake his head and laugh.

“I love you,” he says, sipping his tea. Not at all registering the words that have left him.

You pause, smile falling ever so slightly as your mouth falls open slightly.

“What?”

His brow furrows, and he sets down his mug. “Huh?”

“Kiyoomi.” Goosebumps blanket over his arms when you say his name. “You said you loved me.”

“No, I didn’t.” Panic rises rapidly in his chest and his stomach does a disgusting amount of loop de loops. “I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did!” You shuffle over to him on your knees, eyes suddenly bright and a mouth full of teeth in a smile like the first time you walked through his front door. “Sakusa Kiyoomi, do you love me?”

With your hands carefully rested on his knees, you look up at him with absolute wonder. He can see in your eyes that if he confesses everything to you right now—tells you how much you’ve become such an integral part of his life, how instead of looking forward to his own clean bed he looks forward to coming home to you.

“Yes,” his hands are suddenly very sweaty. “I, yes, I do.” God, his heart is thundering against his chest and all you’re doing is looking at him like he’s given you the world. “I love you. A pretty stupid amount, actually.”

Bubbly laughter falls off of your lips as you nestle yourself further between his legs until your hips are flush with the couch cushions.

“A stupid amount?” You ask, pressing your ear to his chest. “Oh, your heart is beating quickly.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. Laying on him only makes his heart beat faster and his hands shake. Somehow, he’s able to wrap them around you, hands splayed across the planes of your back. “Are you, are you going to respond or are you just trying to tease me?”

“Sakusa,” you mutter, pulling away slightly to look at him. “Kiyoomi, you remember how I left that note in your bag before your last trip?”

His eyes narrow, trying to remember, but a lightbulb goes off, and he nods. “Yes, it was on a napkin.” You’re so close to him right now he could count your eyelashes. “It said: ‘come home as soon as possible so I don’t miss you too much.’”

“Did you ever open it?”

“No.”

You sigh, “Well, if you would’ve opened it all the way you would’ve seen at the very corner in tiny, tiny writing, I may have put a very discreet ‘I love you.’”

Sakusa lets his head fall back onto the couch. “How the hell was I supposed to see that?”

“You weren’t. That was the point of the placement, but if you had I was ready for the conversation.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I am a very nervous person when it comes to love and you’re my roommate. It could’ve gone south.”

Sakusa lifts his head up and frames your face in his hands. “Not with me. I don’t know how I wasn’t obvious. I clearly like you more than the average person.”

“Ok, yes, maybe I had an idea.”

“Basically how I treat you should have been enough of a confession.”

You shake your head. “Kou told me I should just kiss you straight on the mouth and see how it went.”

“Do it, see how it goes.” You blink owlishly at him, unmoving. “Did you break?”

“A bit.”

He smiles softly and leans in slowly, warm breath fanning across your anxiously waiting lips. “I’ll take initiative then.”

“Oh,” you whisper. “Thank y-,”

He kisses you gently at first, then a hand slides to the back of your neck and pulls you in closer. You’re pushing yourself up, wanting there to be little to no space between the two of you as the kiss turns into something urgent and passionate.

When you can’t get closer from your position on the floor, you pull away for a quick breath. Kiyoomi’s eyes are heavy and his lips are a darker shade of pink. Your fingers twitch with the urge to trace their plushness and watch as the pad of your fingers drag across the blood rushed skin.

“You look good after getting kissed,” you say, licking your lips, eyes never leaving his.

His thumb drags across your cheekbone as he chuckles. “So do you.”

“We should do it again.” He agrees. “And much more often.”

“Well,” he looks out the window at the still piling snow. “I think we have a lot of time on our hands, don’t you?”

You’re crawling into his lap, nodding eagerly. “Most definitely.”

Kiyoomi’s hands settle on your lower back and his fingertips press into your skin. He calls your name, eyes holding so many things you’d missed before and you smile back at him, listening, waiting.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too.”

Ushijima is… so tall and so very large, and it’s hard not stare at him over the kitchen table when the both of you are sat for breakfast. He’s looking at his laptop, scrolling through emails from his team manager and possible sponsorship contacts. The way he sips his coffee is tranquil and it spreads warmth over your entire body.

“You’re staring, my love.” His voice is still sleep laden, deep and graveling to the ear. Heat flushes over you and you look away, but he reaches out after setting his mug down, silently asking for your hand. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you sigh, content and fold your hand in his. “Can’t I stare at my husband?”

“I don’t see an issue.” His thumb runs back and forth over your skin, dark olive eyes now boring into your own. There is a fond smile on his lips and a soft gentleness in his eyes that he saves only for you. “I like staring at you, too.”

You get up then, stepping around the small corner of the table separating you and stand at his side, hand no longer in his so you can frame his face and place a kiss to his lips. His hands come up to settle at your waist.

“Do you have a lot to do today?” He shakes his head. “Would you like to spend the day with me, then?”

Toshi stands, lifting you in the air as he goes and waits until your legs are wrapped around him to move away from the table. His strength never ceases to amaze you. He has carried you, picked you up, and thrown you over his shoulder more times than you can count but a nervous giggle always bubbles out of you.

Hanamaki Takahiro dorm room, 2016

2:39am

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

Makki’s dorm is a maze built of fallen clothes and priceless knicknacks collected from random concerts and festivals. Every day must be monsoon season because each time you visit, the confines are rearranged in a different direction. You trip over a poster of a D-list band (but they try really hard, you’ll give them that) until Makki reaches for your hand, saving you.

“Hey, watch our takeout!” Okay, maybe saving your late night dinner.

Giving up, you flop onto the floor. “Ugh, I am never going to drink again!”

“We just turned twenty-one. You can’t say that.” Makki plops himself onto the bed, two hefty bounces reverberate before he unravels a burger from its packaging. “We’ve got our whole life ahead of us.”

“Drinking legally isn’t as fun as when you do it illegally.”

“Oh gods,” Makki sits up so fast it almost triggers a visceral reaction from your esophagus, “who are you and what have you done to my goody two shoes significant other?”

“Shut up.” Your voice is muffled behind a palm because you can’t quite trust your body’s natural reflexes. “I’m no goody two shoes.”

“Straight A student who has never ditched a single college course in their life.” He shoves another bite of the burger before falling back against his bed. “You’ve shown up hungover in club clothes and still took notes.”

“It’s called being studious. I’m just trying to get my life together.”

It takes a crunch of lettuce for Makki to gather himself.

“What do you wanna do? For life, I mean.”

It’s a hefty question. The time it takes you to conjure an answer has Makki elaborating once more. “Like where do you see yourself in five years?”

“In a prominent company. Maybe mid-level position.” You have your life planned out; clear as day, every calculated step leads to the goals you have lying ahead. “I’d want to start soon, get my name out as quickly as possible, and then have children.”

“Hmm.”

Silence manifests another question. You blame the alcohol for thinking this way, and the room darkens into a dreary overcast in fear of his answer.

“How do you feel about children?”

“They’re nice.”

“That’s it?”

Paper crumples as Makki rolls his garbage into a ball. “Maybe one day. Five years from now, but,” the ball arches over you and into the trash in a trajectory that can only be completed through many times of practice; like a pretty rainbow, “I’m just enjoying life. I still feel like a kid myself.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You sit up and grab a burger from the paper bag. “That’s a problem twenty-six year old us can handle.”

Hanamaki Takahiro apartment, 2017

11:08pm

You’ve been standing here for at least two minutes now with your arms crossed, waiting for Makki to feel the rage he’s conjuring within you. However, the stupid shouts and grunts he makes has your patience running thin.

“Babe, can you keep quiet. I need to get up early in the morning.”

Makki looks up with visible remorse forming on his face. “My bad, babe. I gotta go boys.”

He throws his headset to the side and makes his way towards you.

“My bad,” He rubs your arms and places a kiss on your forehead, “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“This is why I don’t like sleeping over sometimes.”

“I know, I know.” He grabs your hand, “Come on, let’s head to bed. I’ll cuddle you to sleep.”

“Are you not tired yet?”

“No.” Despite his words, he slots himself into your comfort with your back pressed against his chest.

You yawn. “Your sleeping schedule is so messed up.”

“Yours is too normal.”

“Because I have a job.”

“Right,” The bristle of your words has him disappear as quickly as he came, “And I do not.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” You sit up and reach for him, but a cold front passes between you two, rendering him unreachable.

“But you think it.”

“I guess I just don’t understand.” It’s a whispered admission that has Makki’s eyebrows twitch the smallest inch, “Even if you don’t like that job, why don’t you just keep it while you find another? Why do you have to quit?”

It’s never made sense to you, but you’ve never faulted Makki for it. People are different, you have to remind yourself when Makki makes a questionable decision in your eyes. He is fickle with his dreams, feathery and lighter than air. You are steadfast, anchored by the passions that you have carried since you were young.

Makki sits himself up, twisting his neck to take a good look at you. It feels like he’s gauging your worth.

Upon making a decision, he leans his back against the headboard. “I don’t want to waste my time doing something I hate. Because then I’ll get stuck in the capitalist trap. I’d go to work, get home and be too tired to do anything else because doing things you don’t love is draining. So you don’t have any hobbies. You work and sleep and do it all over again. There’s no joy in that.”

He expels a gust of wind from his chest, almost deflating into the cushioning of his bed.

“Okay, okay. I understand.” And snuggle yourself into the crevice of his arm and side. He relinquishes, morphs his body against your own.

You don’t quite get it, but you know you can’t push your ideals on others. You’ve known this about Makki ever since you’ve met him and accepted him for it from the get go. But the floor is raising. The sky is falling. Where does Hanamaki fit?

Hanamaki Takahiro apartment, 2019

12:40am

Flaky bits powder and snow onto your shirt, but thankfully most of it lands in your mouth. “You’ve got it down babe. This is way better than last week’s.”

“Right?” He reaches for his second creampuff. “The secret is in the cream. I added a bit of instant pudding in there.” A bite, he speaks with a mouth half full, “I saw it in a video.”

“Why don’t you become a baker?” You surprise yourself with your ingenuity. It perfectly aligns with his hobbies, “What are they called? Patissier?”

Makki pauses for a moment to give it some thought. It has you on the edge of your seat. Maybe the thought is so revolutionary you’ve paved the course of his future.

“In those white poofy hats?” Makki snorts. “Doesn’t sound like my thing.”

The same answer tests you once more. Today, you believe you might fail.

“Then what does? Where do you see yourself in five years?”

It’s a question you deliberately ask after being questioned it during your biannual performance review. Professionally, you know exactly what is going to happen. You see yourself staying with the same company. Halfway into year two, you visualize yourself overseeing a project which will then catalyze your promotion that should happen within year four. Personally? You know what you want, but your own future teeters on someone who seemingly lacks the foresight to even think two seconds ahead.

“Ideally? Living my best life out in Singapore. I hear the nightlife’s crazy out there.”

“Babe.” You’re not amused.

“What? A guy can dream.”

“That’s all you do.” Just like that, a storm erupts. Makki’s words strike the precise lightning rod you’ve been trying to hide. “You’ve got your head in the clouds. When are you going to come down from up there and live in the real world like the rest of us?”

“Wait, you’re using that against me now? You said you understood.” It’s a pointed accusation that addresses more than offense. There’s hurt and ripples of betrayal at the way his voice emphasizes at the final word.

“For how much longer, babe?” It pains you to even look at him so you turn away. “I’ve been trying to be patient but I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“Not everyone does this at the same pace.” He sounds objectively stable, as if it’s rehearsed. It sounds as if he’s canted this song too many times. “I just need a bit more time.”

You can do that. You just need an answer. “But how much longer?”

“I don’t know. Until I figure it out.”

The tide is turning. Your eyes are burning.

Your apartment, 2021

3:56am

“I’m thirsty.”

“Of course you are.”

The handy glass of water on your nightstand is swallowed in large, desperate gulps. An exaggerated exhale, you note the way Makki’s heavy eyes trail. It bobbles its path up the same way a fly would when coursing upwind. You know you shouldn’t be disappointed at the distant look on his face, but you can’t help the turbulence that manifests within.

“You’re pretty.” He finally says when his gaze lands on you. “I’ve told you that right?”

“You’ve said it before. Once or twice.”

“Gods, I hope I said it more than that. You’re really pretty. Too pretty.”

“Yes, I’m kidding. You’ve said it plenty of times.”

“Good. You’re not sleeping though.” He pokes at the hollows underneath your eyes. “What did I say about getting caught in the capitalist trap?”

“It’s not the capitalists, Makki.” You brush his hand away and it falls to your lap. You let it linger. “You’re the one who showed up at my door at this stupid hour.”

“Right, right. My bad. I had to tell you something, that’s why.”

“At four am?”

“It’s actually three.”

You glance at your alarm clock, its red, bold letters an unwelcome reminder of how little sleep you’re going to get. “Not for long.”

Makki’s head lolls forward. “It was urgent, okay?”

“You don’t look very urgent, Makki.”

“Shh. Shh.” He lifts a hand in time with his head. “Wait a second. Let me talk.”

He takes his time, gathering traction with a large chest full of breath. You don’t know if he does it for courage or if it’s an effort to stall as he accumulates his drunken thoughts. Regardless, you wait for him to unleash whatever has been forming inside of him.

“It’s about my five year plan.” He starts with a smack of the lips. He’s still clearly intoxicated but the way his eyes hold yours reveals it’s the most lucid he’s been. “I can actually expedite it into a three year plan.”

Your stomach churns. Not like this, “Makki…”

“No, wait, wait, wait. Really, listen.” The hand in your lap pats your thighs reminiscent of a toddler begging for their parents’ attention. “I’ve got this all figured out. Remember Watari? He got me a job at the aquarium. It’s not much, but it’s cool. I get to see the fishes and stuff. And they’re super flexible with the hours. I asked them and they told me they’d be willing to work with my school schedule. I’ll go back to school next semester and get my masters so I can actually do something with it. You know, like a good paying job that can afford a house and a family and all that. It’s just two years. I called the admissions office.”

You don’t fail to notice how that detail was particularly slipped in because he knows you. It even means more because he’s drunk. “And then I’ll give myself a year to get situated and then I promise, I’ll be ready.”

Your own heart hurts to hear him this way. Even if this is what you’ve wanted, you never wanted it to be like this. You wanted to share the joy with him rather than feel like the bad guy that has been tugging him along from the other side. It’s why you let him go two years ago.

It takes all of Makki’s strength to lean himself closer to you.

“I want to give you what I cannot do right now.” Small puffs of his breath kiss your face. “I want this. Me. This is what I want for myself.”

He looks at you, straight at you, so that his eyes may speak more than his tongue can procure. Rigid in tone, you understand him clearly. I want this because of you. Only with you. You.

The gravity of his statement pulls tears down your cheeks. Sorrow must be what Makki reads because he speaks without even letting you.

“Don’t say anything.” And he pulls you down on the bed with him. “Let’s not ruin this. Let me have this, for now.”

When Makki wakes, it is 2pm. Sunlight replaces the space you shared last night, keeping it warm despite it being empty. On the nightstand, he finds you left a note.