sakusa wants to hold atsumuās hand.
itās easy. theyāre walking down the street, side by side, close enough that their shoulders could touch, far enough that they donāt. atsumu has a hand in his pocket, the other by his side. sakusa has a hand in his pocket, the other by his side. atsumuās hand swings with every stride. sakusaās remains still, stiff like a board, straight like itās the border between him and his partner, crossings closed indefinitely.
atsumuās love language is physical touch. sakusa knew this ever since their first youth training camp, observed how he high-fived his hitters after every spike, leaned on their shoulders when he chatted with the others, brushed their arms in passing. the first time he approached sakusa for a high-five, all he received was a scowl and turned back. he never attempted it again, not even when they reunited as professionals, not even when they started dating.
youād think that dating would embolden him to make contact, but instead, atsumu adopted every other love language instead. he gives him small, useless trinkets that remind him of his partner; he wipes down public surfaces for him before sitting down himself; he goes over to his apartment twice a week for dinner, movies, drinks, video games. and although they continue to insult each other, itās never with any heat, always with affection, much to their teammatesā bafflement.
heās still physical with everyone else ā sideways hugs, fist bumps, high-fives, the occasional slap on the ass when heās excited. but when it comes to sakusa, itās always a shared nod, a fond smile, a cocky grin.
is it selfish of him to want more? no. is it possible? yes. so, will he be able to do it? questionable. this is because, as he looks at atsumuās hand, his mind races. what was the last surface he touched? how many doors did he have to open before reaching their rendezvous point to walk to practice? did he sanitize after touching every surface? even if he sanitizes them now, would it be enough to eliminate those layers upon layers of germs, to eradicate the possibility of illness that clung to some other commuterās hand, who obviously does not use hand sanitizer, who couldāve touched another contaminated surface that could be cultivating disease, born from a sneeze, a cough aā
he jumps, startled. atsumu is half a step in front of him, turns toward him with concern on his face, lips pulled in a frown. āare ya okay?ā
āy-yeah.ā his breath stuttered. thatās all the evidence that atsumu needs.
āno, yer not. whatās wrong? ya can tell me.ā
sakusa takes a deep breath. heās learned a lot about atsumu since establishing their relationship, so he knows that something atsumu values as much as trust is honesty. āi want to hold your hand.ā
he watches his intense expression slide off his face ā eyes widening, mouth falling open, faint blush blossoming in his cheeks. ābut,ā sakusa says before atsumu can say something heāll regret, āi donāt know how.ā
the uninitiated might be screaming, just reach for his hand! how hard can it be? atsumu, however, is not one of them, seen by how his eyes flash, lips press together with a nod. āwhat can i do to make it easier?ā
sakusa stares at their hands, mere centimeters away from each other, both pairs dangling by their sides. in an alternate universe, heād grab one by the wrist and drag him all the way to practice. in this universe though, he justā¦stands there. āi donāt know.ā
atsumu is undeterred. āiāll sanitize my hands. would ya feel better if ya sanitized yers?ā
āi- yeah. maybe.ā sakusa didnāt touch anything, as his apartment lock uses a keypad, and the front entrance is automatic. he walks to the rendezvous point, fifteen minutes away. still, he lets atsumu squeeze some hand sanitizer on his palm, a brand that meets his cleanliness standards.
āokay.ā atsumu puts the sanitizer away. āya want me to reach fer ya, or do ya wanna do it?ā
he nods, then offers him his hand. sakusa takes a moment to admire his lithe fingers, faded callouses, uniformed nails. these hands have delivered countless tosses and service aces. they have provided support, encouragement, security. they are his to take.
and he does. sakusa brushes the back of his hand against his, reaches until their palms are together. atsumu wraps his fingers around his hand, and sakusa does the same. atsumu gives a little squeeze. sakusa squeezes back. they stay like that for a moment, eyes on each other. then, atsumu gives a small smile. āya good?ā
sakusa nods, doesnāt trust himself to speak. he takes the first step, and atsumu follows. they continue down the sidewalk, hand in hand. they donāt talk, donāt let go until they reach the training center and enter the locker room, where they have to break away to reach their respective lockers.
after practice, they find themselves together again, so they can head home. sakusa doesnāt think, just reaches for atsumuās hand. atsumu doesnāt comment, just asks what he wants for dinner. they talk the entire way, about the new drills that they have to do, the fitness goals they need to set, the upcoming interview for a talk show next week.
itās only when they reach the safety of sakusaās apartment that atsumu says, āi love ya.ā
āi love you, too.ā the reply is easy, quick. if he can say that without hesitation, surely he can hold his hand in the same way? itāll be something to work toward, an instinct that heāll hone, just as loving atsumu comes as easily as breathing.
