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Moment | sakuatsu, body-swap(ish), tw panic attack
Atsumu wakes before his alarm.
Their room is still completely dark. Their blankets are bundled around them in a warm cocoon, and in the night, as usual, Atsumu had wrapped himself around Omi's body. +
Atsumu wakes before his alarm.
Their room is still completely dark. Their blankets are bundled around them in a warm cocoon, and in the night, as usual, Atsumu had wrapped himself around Omi's body. +
He notices that Omi feels a bit thin. He reminds himself to stock up on the high-calorie bars Omi favors, to offer him on breaks at practice.
Then he notices that Omi's chest is hitching unevenly beneath his hands. He can hear his breath, wet and thick. So that's what woke him.+
Then he notices that Omi's chest is hitching unevenly beneath his hands. He can hear his breath, wet and thick. So that's what woke him.+
He squeezes his arms around him gently, rubbing a soothing circle over his erratic heart. "Bad dream, Omi?" he whispers.
Omi's whole body goes completely still. The skin of his neck where Atsumu's nose is pressed feels cool and clammy.
"Let me go," Omi says, voice sticky.+
Omi's whole body goes completely still. The skin of his neck where Atsumu's nose is pressed feels cool and clammy.
"Let me go," Omi says, voice sticky.+
Atsumu releases him at once, shocked both by the order and his tone. As soon as he's free, Omi throws himself from the blankets and lands on the floor with a clatter and a muted shuffle.
"Omi?" Atsumu sits up and reaches over to flip on their bedside light. +
"Omi?" Atsumu sits up and reaches over to flip on their bedside light. +
He leans to look over the edge of the bed.
Omi has scooted himself into the corner of the room, shoulders braced against the walls. His gangly legs are gathered to his chest, arms lifted over his head like he's protecting himself. Like the sky might fall on him at any moment.+
Omi has scooted himself into the corner of the room, shoulders braced against the walls. His gangly legs are gathered to his chest, arms lifted over his head like he's protecting himself. Like the sky might fall on him at any moment.+
Atsumu's heart is clattering in his chest. Any lingering drowsiness is gone, replaced by sympathetic panic.
"Kiyoomi?" he whispers.
Omi lifts his head. His face is- different. There's a softness to his cheeks and a pinched set to his mouth, at odds with his wide, wet eyes.+
"Kiyoomi?" he whispers.
Omi lifts his head. His face is- different. There's a softness to his cheeks and a pinched set to his mouth, at odds with his wide, wet eyes.+
Omi is sitting on their bedroom floor, all of sixteen years old.
"Miya?" he says. The name is forced through his teeth.
Atsumu doesn't understand. He has no idea what's happening, or why, or even how. His mind is racing to fill in the blanks. But he knows one thing.+
"Miya?" he says. The name is forced through his teeth.
Atsumu doesn't understand. He has no idea what's happening, or why, or even how. His mind is racing to fill in the blanks. But he knows one thing.+
Omi needs him. And he can't fuck it up.
He shifts from their bed and sits on the floor against the mattress. He leaves space between them, a wide chasm that his body is begging him to cross. He's not used to soothing Omi without touch, not anymore. But right now he has to.+
He shifts from their bed and sits on the floor against the mattress. He leaves space between them, a wide chasm that his body is begging him to cross. He's not used to soothing Omi without touch, not anymore. But right now he has to.+
"Hey, Sakusa," he says. He forces the anxiety out of his own voice; someone has to be calm and he's suddenly the only adult in the room.
He can still hear Omi's breathing and see the way he's trembling. But his words are forced steady when he speaks. "You're not Miya."+
He can still hear Omi's breathing and see the way he's trembling. But his words are forced steady when he speaks. "You're not Miya."+
"I am." He smiles a little, trying to project calm. He focuses on his breathing and lets his body show each inhale. "I'm Miya Atsumu. Just not the one you know."
Omi's eyes flicker towards his bare chest. His breathing is slowing, knowingly or unknowingly falling into sync.+
Omi's eyes flicker towards his bare chest. His breathing is slowing, knowingly or unknowingly falling into sync.+
"You're- older." Omi lowers his hands to his knees. His grip turns his knuckles white. "Miya is sixteen."
Atsumu nods. "I'm twenty-six. But I'm still Miya Atsumu."
Omi's brows crinkle together. His eyes turn around the room, taking in the setting in nervous flutters. "Oh." +
Atsumu nods. "I'm twenty-six. But I'm still Miya Atsumu."
Omi's brows crinkle together. His eyes turn around the room, taking in the setting in nervous flutters. "Oh." +
Atsumu takes the opportunity to really look at him. This is the Omi he remembers from camp, with longer, fluffy ringlets and faint, tired shadows beneath his eyes. His body hasn't filled out yet, hasn't caught up to the breadth of his shoulders.
He looks so small. +
He looks so small. +
"I don't understand," Omi says. His eyes have dried. He's still too tense, but his breathing is even and the panic has ebbed.
"Me neither," Atsumu says honestly, because this Omi is particularly prone to calling out bullshit. "You were twenty-five when I fell asleep, so."+
"Me neither," Atsumu says honestly, because this Omi is particularly prone to calling out bullshit. "You were twenty-five when I fell asleep, so."+
Omi's mouth compresses into a tight purse, eyes returning to Atsumu. "Where are we?"
Atsumu hesitates; he could lie. He wants to lie, if only to spare Omi from the potentially harrowing reveal of their relationship. But Omi's never been stupid.
"Our bedroom."+
Atsumu hesitates; he could lie. He wants to lie, if only to spare Omi from the potentially harrowing reveal of their relationship. But Omi's never been stupid.
"Our bedroom."+
His eyes widen a fraction and bounce to his chest and back again. "I don't understand," he repeats.
Atsumu ruffles a hand through his hair before he can stop the nervous impulse. He manages to swallow a frustrated whine. "Well, we're uh. We live together. As partners."+
Atsumu ruffles a hand through his hair before he can stop the nervous impulse. He manages to swallow a frustrated whine. "Well, we're uh. We live together. As partners."+
Omi's eyes narrow. "Why the fuck would I date you, Miya?"
Ouch. Ouch- but deserved. This Omi only knows him from volleyball. This Omi hasn't spent the time learning Atsumu's intricacies. It's not his fault.
"No idea," Atsumu says lightly. "Yer too good for me, for sure."+
Ouch. Ouch- but deserved. This Omi only knows him from volleyball. This Omi hasn't spent the time learning Atsumu's intricacies. It's not his fault.
"No idea," Atsumu says lightly. "Yer too good for me, for sure."+
Omi's jaw clenches, and his hands do too. His eyes move to the floor and stay there.
Atsumu waits.
After several long moments, he says, "I- I want to take a shower. Can I?"
"Sure thing, O-" Atsumu catches himself. Swallows. "Sakusa."+
Atsumu waits.
After several long moments, he says, "I- I want to take a shower. Can I?"
"Sure thing, O-" Atsumu catches himself. Swallows. "Sakusa."+
Atsumu shows him where the bathroom is. Shows him his half of the shower caddy. Tells him where to find fresh towels, spare tooth brushes. Promises to bring him clean clothes.
He keeps a careful distance the whole time, and leaves when he runs out of things to explain.+
He keeps a careful distance the whole time, and leaves when he runs out of things to explain.+
He finds fresh clothes for him and puts them on the stool by the sink, along with a mask and a pair of gloves- just in case.
He takes his own shower in the guest bathroom, puts on fresh clothes. Puts on a mask. The shower in the master bathroom is still running when he's done.+
He takes his own shower in the guest bathroom, puts on fresh clothes. Puts on a mask. The shower in the master bathroom is still running when he's done.+
He tidies up the rest of the apartment while he waits, getting rid of the clutter his Omi allows to make everything as sterile as possible.
Omi emerges from the bedroom with the clothes, mask, and gloves on. His hair has been rubbed dry in a way that would make his Omi cringe.+
Omi emerges from the bedroom with the clothes, mask, and gloves on. His hair has been rubbed dry in a way that would make his Omi cringe.+
The morning is painfully quiet.
It's obvious that neither of them know what to do. Atsumu does his best to make every accommodation he can think of; he offers individually packaged foods, he wipes surfaces with disinfectant before Omi sits, he keeps on the mask.
He stays away.+
It's obvious that neither of them know what to do. Atsumu does his best to make every accommodation he can think of; he offers individually packaged foods, he wipes surfaces with disinfectant before Omi sits, he keeps on the mask.
He stays away.+
He's cleaning up after a silent lunch when Omi speaks for the first time since his shower.
"Do I still play volleyball?"
Atsumu looks up. Omi is hovering in the doorway. His shirt hangs too large on his body and the waistband of his sweats are rolled so the heels don't drag.+
"Do I still play volleyball?"
Atsumu looks up. Omi is hovering in the doorway. His shirt hangs too large on his body and the waistband of his sweats are rolled so the heels don't drag.+
"Of course you do," he says simply. He watches the way Omi's shoulders roll back incrementally. "You're the best."
"You mean after you," Omi says. "My-" He frowns, briefly, and corrects himself. "Younger Miya thinks he's the best."
Atsumu smiles a little. "Changed my mind."+
"You mean after you," Omi says. "My-" He frowns, briefly, and corrects himself. "Younger Miya thinks he's the best."
Atsumu smiles a little. "Changed my mind."+
Omi's eyes widen. His face colors, just a little, at the apex of his cheek bones. His gloved fingers twitch against the doorway, latex squeaking on wood. He walks away without another word.
Atsumu wants to chase him. He remembers wanting to chase this Omi.+
Atsumu wants to chase him. He remembers wanting to chase this Omi.+
They settle in the living room. Atsumu flips through the channels on the television and ignores the gap between them on the couch cushions.
He stops on a channel playing one of Omi's favorite movies and catches the way his shoulders relax from the corner of his eye. +
He stops on a channel playing one of Omi's favorite movies and catches the way his shoulders relax from the corner of his eye. +
Omi asks more questions.
"Am I in the division one league?" (Yeah, we both are.)
"Does Komori still play?" (He does.)
"Are we on the same team?" (You aren't. You like that.)
"Are my parents dead?" (Okay, that's fuckin' morbid, but no. We're havin' dinner with 'em Friday.) +
"Am I in the division one league?" (Yeah, we both are.)
"Does Komori still play?" (He does.)
"Are we on the same team?" (You aren't. You like that.)
"Are my parents dead?" (Okay, that's fuckin' morbid, but no. We're havin' dinner with 'em Friday.) +
It never leads to a conversation. It's like Omi's processing each tiny piece, little by little. The questions come at random, interspersed by long silences and a late dinner.
It's nearly ten and Atsumu's eyes are getting heavy, when Omi says, "Do you love me?" +
It's nearly ten and Atsumu's eyes are getting heavy, when Omi says, "Do you love me?" +
Atsumu drags his eyes away from the television. Omi is already staring back at him.
Atsumu hesitates.
"Ya want me to be honest?"
Omi's mouth purses and tips to the side. It's the look that is usually followed by him accusing Atsumu of being "purposefully obtuse."+
Atsumu hesitates.
"Ya want me to be honest?"
Omi's mouth purses and tips to the side. It's the look that is usually followed by him accusing Atsumu of being "purposefully obtuse."+
"Why," he says tersely, "would I ask a question I didn't want an accurate answer to?"
Atsumu can't help it- he laughs. It makes the constipated look on Omi's face worsen.
"Stop that."
"Fuck- sorry. Sorry, Sakusa." His family name still tastes strange on Atsumu's tongue.+
Atsumu can't help it- he laughs. It makes the constipated look on Omi's face worsen.
"Stop that."
"Fuck- sorry. Sorry, Sakusa." His family name still tastes strange on Atsumu's tongue.+
"Answer or don't," Omi snaps. He looks away, arms tightening across his stomach. "Don't mock me."
Atsumu's heart flips.
"Hey, come on. I'm not mockin' you, it just seems like a silly question from my perspective, ya know?"
Omi looks at him again, glaring. "Why."+
Atsumu's heart flips.
"Hey, come on. I'm not mockin' you, it just seems like a silly question from my perspective, ya know?"
Omi looks at him again, glaring. "Why."+
Atsumu smiles, relaxing his cheek against the couch. "Because it feels crazy that you don't know the answer."
"I don't know you at all," Omi snaps, but there's not much heat to it.
Atsumu shrugs a little. "I know. It's okay."
Omi glances away. "So do you, or not?"+
"I don't know you at all," Omi snaps, but there's not much heat to it.
Atsumu shrugs a little. "I know. It's okay."
Omi glances away. "So do you, or not?"+
"Of course I do," Atsumu says simply.
Omi sucks his lower lip between his teeth, chewing thoughtlessly at the meat of it. "Don't say it like it's easy to love me."
"It's easy for me."
Omi doesn't say anything else, chin tucking close to his chest. Atsumu doesn't push.+
Omi sucks his lower lip between his teeth, chewing thoughtlessly at the meat of it. "Don't say it like it's easy to love me."
"It's easy for me."
Omi doesn't say anything else, chin tucking close to his chest. Atsumu doesn't push.+
Ten minutes later, Omi breaks the silence again.
"I trust you."
This one isn't a question, but Atsumu provides an answer anyway.
"You do," he agrees.
Omi shifts, fingers twitching at his sides restlessly. "You- do things. That I need. All day, you've been doing things."+
"I trust you."
This one isn't a question, but Atsumu provides an answer anyway.
"You do," he agrees.
Omi shifts, fingers twitching at his sides restlessly. "You- do things. That I need. All day, you've been doing things."+
"Everybody has needs-"
"When we woke up-"
Omi's voice catches, stalls out, and he looks like he's holding his breath. Atsumu waits.
"I let you hold me," Omi finishes finally.
"You do," Atsumu agrees. His chest feels tight. "You hold me too, sometimes."+
"When we woke up-"
Omi's voice catches, stalls out, and he looks like he's holding his breath. Atsumu waits.
"I let you hold me," Omi finishes finally.
"You do," Atsumu agrees. His chest feels tight. "You hold me too, sometimes."+
"I don't... let people touch me."
"It gets easier," Atsumu promises. He's whispering, but he can't help it. The moment feels fragile, like he's holding a glass figurine in his palms. Atsumu isn't good with things that break. +
"It gets easier," Atsumu promises. He's whispering, but he can't help it. The moment feels fragile, like he's holding a glass figurine in his palms. Atsumu isn't good with things that break. +
Omi's chewing on his lip again. Atsumu's nervous he's going to bite right through it. This feels like the end of the conversation.
Omi releases his lip and mumbles, "I love you too."
Atsumu feels like he's the one that shatters.+
Omi releases his lip and mumbles, "I love you too."
Atsumu feels like he's the one that shatters.+
The distance is too much. He wants ardently to reach out, to hold him, to promise that things feel worse when you're young. That some things get harder, but so much gets easier.
"Okay," he says.
It's quiet again.+
"Okay," he says.
It's quiet again.+
This time Atsumu counts the minutes that pass until Omi speaks again. He can't pay attention to anything else.
"You can't-" Omi says, three minutes and forty-two seconds later. His voice is sticky again. "I can't-"
"It's okay," Atsumu says quietly. "You don't have to."+
"You can't-" Omi says, three minutes and forty-two seconds later. His voice is sticky again. "I can't-"
"It's okay," Atsumu says quietly. "You don't have to."+
When they settled after dinner, Omi had taken off his mask and his gloves. Atsumu had taken that as a sign that he'd at least convinced him there was nothing to be scared of in their home.
The hand that Omi reaches across the couch is bare.
"Only- if that's okay. I can't..."+
The hand that Omi reaches across the couch is bare.
"Only- if that's okay. I can't..."+
Atsumu reaches out. He threads their fingers together slowly, inch by inch, and when their palms meet, he keeps the pressure feather-light.
"You don't have to do anything."
Omi's hand clenches around his, squeezing so tightly it almost hurts.
"I'm confused," Omi whispers.+
"You don't have to do anything."
Omi's hand clenches around his, squeezing so tightly it almost hurts.
"I'm confused," Omi whispers.+
"Me too," Atsumu says, and squeezes back. "Does this make it better or worse?"
Omi doesn't answer and he doesn't let go. His fingers dig into the tendons at the back of Atsumu's hand so hard he's sure they'll leave bruises.+
Omi doesn't answer and he doesn't let go. His fingers dig into the tendons at the back of Atsumu's hand so hard he's sure they'll leave bruises.+
Omi's grip doesn't ease until he loses the fight to his heavy eyes. His head lulls to the side against the cushions and his breath evens into the peaceful rhythm of sleep.
Atsumu stays awake. He watches as the lines of stress that had marked Omi's face all day disappear. +
Atsumu stays awake. He watches as the lines of stress that had marked Omi's face all day disappear. +
He watches over him until he can't keep his eyes open any longer. He falls asleep wishing he could turn back time, find this Omi sooner, love him better.
He wakes up to a muttered curse. When he opens his eyes, his Omi is sitting at the opposite end of the couch.+
He wakes up to a muttered curse. When he opens his eyes, his Omi is sitting at the opposite end of the couch.+
Atsumu watches him sit up and rub at his shoulders, mouth gathered into an irritated pout.
"What the hell, Atsumu?" he mumbles. "Why the fuck are we on the couch?"
Atsumu sits up too, repressing the sudden urge to cry. "Omi, c'mere."
"Fuck you, my neck hurts."+
"What the hell, Atsumu?" he mumbles. "Why the fuck are we on the couch?"
Atsumu sits up too, repressing the sudden urge to cry. "Omi, c'mere."
"Fuck you, my neck hurts."+
Atsumu doesn't feel like wading through an argument. Instead, he closes the space himself and wraps his arms around Omi, burying his face in his neck.
Omi clicks his tongue and hugs him back half-heartedly. "What's the matter with-"
"I love you," Atsumu interrupts.+
Omi clicks his tongue and hugs him back half-heartedly. "What's the matter with-"
"I love you," Atsumu interrupts.+
There's a pause before Omi's arms tighten, drawing him closer. His chin drops against Atsumu's hair. "Love you too," he mumbles. "What's gotten into you? Too early for dramatics."
"Nothing. Just wanted you to know." Atsumu relaxes into him with a sigh.
What an odd dream.
//end
"Nothing. Just wanted you to know." Atsumu relaxes into him with a sigh.
What an odd dream.
//end
