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Bokuto came back from his five-kilometer run to see Atsumu ass up in the living room. He frowned. Of course he appreciated the sight, even if he had a boyfriend, but Atsumu was nearly underneath the couch, which was not standard operating procedure.
“Whatcha doing there, Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto asked, his head cocking to the side in the way Keiji told him made him look even more like an owl. A horny owl was usually Bokuto’s reply, knowing his terrible joke would be rewarded with some very un-terrible kisses.
“Cleanin’,” was the muffled reply, since Atsumu was still mostly buried under the sofa. As Bokuto watched, his hand scooped out a used tissue, some mail they’d misplaced, and a single sock.
“My sock!” Bokuto chirped happily, retrieving it with glee. “Been looking for this one!”
“There’s no way,” Atsumu grunted, “y’been lookin’ for one specific sock,” he finally finished, as he pulled himself from out under the couch. His face was red and sweaty with exertion, his hair was stuck up in every direction, and as Bokuto watched, a dust bunny fluttered from the blonde strands to the ratty t-shirt that had more than just neck and arm holes.
“They’re my favorites,” Bokuto insisted, clutching the prodigal sock to his chest in appreciation. “Do you know how hard it is to find socks with good arch support?”
Atsumu wasn’t listening, because he’d already gotten to his feet to throw the assortment of sofa trash into the garbage can. Bokuto heard the hall closet door squeak open, before Atsumu began dragging out the vacuum in a clatter of plastic and curses.
“Tsum-Tsum,” Bokuto said, as he walked into the kitchen to fill a kettle with water, his wayward sock draped over his shoulder like a pirate’s favorite parrot, only deflated. He continued watching his roommate as he struggled mightily. Atsumu was trying to figure out how to detach the wand from the vacuum and how to attach the brush to the end. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you vacuum before.”
“I vacuum all the time,” Atsumu said, clicking the power button repeatedly and cursing when it didn’t turn on. Bokuto reached down and put the plug into the wall. The vacuum growled to life, and Atsumu jumped backward, nearly falling on his ass. To be fair, his face was right next to the thing when Bokuto plugged it in.
Bokuto knew Atsumu hadn’t vacuumed once, not in the nearly six months they’d lived together. They had hardwood floors and a broom was just fine, and Atsumu did do that at least, dutifully sweeping every Sunday, just like the chore chart commanded.
Not that Bokuto himself vacuumed often. But he’d at least vacuumed a few times. Okay, maybe three times. Fine, maybe it was just the once.
But it was fine, they never had anyone over except their teammates, and those guys were even bigger slobs than Bokuto and Atsumu were. There was no reason to worry about cleaning under the couch or vacuuming the one rug they had in the living room.
Wait, what was the reason for all this cleaning? And being up before ten on an off-day? What was going on?
Plunging deep into the recesses of his memory, Bokuto remembered that tomorrow was the day when new recruits were trying out. Hinata had told him he’d be there. Bokuto had followed his career in Brazil, and he was excited to show his disciple off to the rest of the V-League. If he’d had a tail, it would have been wagging.
“Tsum, is someone coming over?” he asked hopefully, as the kettle started to whistle. Bokuto turned off the fire and placed two mugs on the counter, plopping a tea bag in each. Not that he thought he could convince Atsumu to take a break. He was now vacuuming the rug like a man possessed, even though the vacuum was the one that sounded possessed, as it growled and ground the edge of the carpet, swallowing it into its gaping maw.
I gotta stop reading the books Keiji recommends right before I go to sleep, Bokuto realized with a shudder.
“Yeah,” Atsumu said, as he wrested the carpet’s edge from the vacuum with one foot, kicking at the vacuum with his other. Bokuto watched the free wrestling match as he blew on his tea. He stroked his newfound sock on his shoulder, realizing it was just as dusty as the clouds Atsumu was kicking up as he manhandled the couch off the rug. He still hadn’t turned off the vacuum for some reason, which was making even more of a feral sound as it masticated the carpet. Bokuto didn’t mind if the vacuum devoured the whole thing. He’d found it outside an apartment building his first year in university and had brought it along to the MSBY dorms. It was free, after all, just like the couch had been, when he’d found that bad boy in Osaka.
“I think we need a new couch,” Atsumu nearly bellowed, as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a black streak of wet dust behind. “D’ya think the furniture store’s open today?”
Bokuto hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t even know where the nearest furniture store is,” he said. “And we don’t have a truck or anything to pick it up.”
“We’re two strong guys,” Atsumu said, a tinge of desperation to his voice. He wasn’t yelling anymore, since he’d finally turned off the vacuum. Or it had overheated, thanks to all the carpet being wrapped around the turny-brush-part. “We can just carry it here.”
Bokuto had already abandoned his tea, and was looking up the nearest furniture store, after “couch store” had yielded zero results. “I dunno, Tsum-Tsum. The nearest one is seven kilometers from here. And I already ran five this morning. That’s kind of a lot, especially if I’m carrying a couch the whole time.”
“Half a couch.”
“Aw, man, and that one’s not even open right now,” Bokuto sighed, clicking on the next pin on the map. “Or this one.” He found one that was finally open on Sundays. “Oh, this one’s open—"
“Let’s go, then,” Atsumu said, walking to the front door.
“It’s a ways away.”
Atsumu was already shoving his feet into shoes, not even bothering to change out of his sweatpants and ratty t-shirt. “No problem.”
“We’d have to take a train,” Bokuto realized. He clicked on the map some more. “Two, actually.”
“We take trains all the time.”
“Not holding a couch, we don’t!” Boktuo finally said, throwing his arms out so emphatically that his sock buddy fell off his shoulder, and into his tea. Man down.
Atsumu went to collapse dramatically on the couch, but thought better of it, because he was filthy and the couch was, well, also filthy, but not as filthy. He flung himself to the floor instead.
Bokuto was confused. He had been confused since he’d come home. Atsumu was really going all out, and he still didn’t know why. Maybe he was a fan of Hinata, too, and wanted to invite Hinata over after tryouts. Then they could all go get some beers together, maybe?
“I’m sure Hinata doesn’t care if the room’s a little messy,” Bokuto said carefully, but the wild look on Atsumu’s face made him rush through the rest of his words. “Or that our couch is old!”
“Hinata?” Atsumu repeated, his voice incredulous.
“Hinata,” Bokuto said. “He’s trying out tomorrow.” Atsumu was still looking at him like he had two heads. “Ninja Shouyou?”
“Hinata…Shouyou,” Atsumu said, as if he finally knew who Bokuto was talking about.
“Yeah!” Bokuto said. Atsumu inviting Hinata over, and cleaning for him, was suddenly seeming like less of a possibility, the more Atsumu’s face cycled through various emotions. Bokuto recognized confusion, and annoyance, confusion again, and finally exasperation.
“None of this,” Atsumu said brokenly, as he motioned over his sprawled body, the vacuum—which was smoking slightly—and the couch, still askew at a rakish angle. He sounded as if he was on the edge of tears. “None of this is for Hinata.”
He said the last word almost like he was mad, and Bokuto felt a cold sweat drip down into the small of his back, and it wasn’t from running a brisk three miles. Had he said something wrong? But before he could figure out what to say next, how to defuse the situation with a blinding smile or a “hey, hey, hey,” Atsumu kept going.
“It’s for Omi,” Atsumu whispered with an air of finality, the concrete cover of a tomb replaced with an echoing scrape, infinite possibility cut short, sealed in a stale sepulcher. Man, Keiji’s books really are messing with me, Bokuto thought, shaking his head, physically trying to dislodge the off-topic thoughts from his brain as he attempted to focus.
“Omi?” Bokuto asked.
“Sakusa Kiyoomi,” Atsumu sighed, Bokuto realized these words weren’t digging a grave as much as they were resurrecting the dead. The blush stealing across Atsumu’s face was something Bokuto could definitely understand. How many times had he seen it on his own cheeks, in the corner of a FaceTime call with his Keiji? Oh, Bokuto thought. It’s like that.
“Didn’t know you had a crush,” Bokuto smiled, indulgent in his position of superiority. From where he stood, he was basically an expert. He’d been in a successful relationship for years now. He ignored the part where Keiji had been the first one to finally break and confess and kiss him. Maybe Atsumu could be his new disciple, not for volleyball, but for love.
“He’s not a crush,” Atsumu said, curling up from the floor so quickly Bokuto understood where his chiseled six-pack came from. “Old friend. Went to youth camp together.”
Bokuto nodded solemnly. “Just a friend.”
Atsumu sniffed pathetically, before pulling up the edge of his shirt and wiping it over his nose. “Just a friend.”
“Well,” Bokuto said. “I think you’re just a friend.”
Atsumu nodded. “Thanks, Bokkun.”
“And I don’t clean like this for you.”
Atsumu shrugged. “We’re roommates. Half of all this mess’s y’rs anyway.”
Bokuto tried for a cross when his straight didn’t land.
“Hinata’s my friend,” Bokuto tried.
“We’ve established that, yes.”
“I wouldn’t buy a new couch, from a store across town, and carry it on a train somehow for him.”
Atsumu bent down to disentangle the vacuum cleaner. “Maybe m’just a better friend than you are,” he said, as he attempted to wrench the rug out of the vacuum. Bokuto walked over and unplugged the thing before it turned on in his face and terrified him a second time.
“Or maybe you have a crush,” Bokuto said. He fully expected Atsumu to throw himself to the ground again, maybe sputter or turn colors. At the very least he thought he’d get some sort of explosion.
But Atsumu finished pulling out the rug from the vacuum, and thumped back on his butt silently. His shoulders curved inward, turning him into a comma of sadness. He drew his legs up to his chest and put his forehead down onto his knees.
“It’s more than that,” Atsumu said, nearly inaudible from where he’d tried to hide in plain sight.
Bokuto tried to imagine what could be more. He came up short, which was surprising, since he was over six feet tall. More than a crush? Like, a smash? Or would smash be a light crush, since crush seemed devastating? He looked at Atsumu, curled up on the floor. He looks pretty devastated.
“I’m in love with him,” Atsumu said. “And he’s tryin’ out for the Jackals, and I’m afraid our dirty ass couch’s gonna make him say ‘no thanks’.”
In love? This… this was a different type of devastation. Poor Atsumu, Bokuto thought. He tried to talk him down, the best he could.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not trying out for the couch,” Bokuto suggested. The Black Jackals were a highly-rated team, after all, and they’d only gotten better in the past few months, since he’d arrived. “If Sakusa wants to be on the best team, he’ll choose the Jackals. No matter how old and ugly our furniture is.”
Atsumu still seemed despondent. Bokuto’s logic hadn’t worked, it seemed. And now he was out of ideas. Maybe Keiji would know what to do, he thought, picking up his phone from the counter and ignoring the sopping sock still sitting in his teacup.
He unlocked his phone, and that’s when he noticed the furniture store, still pulled up on his map. And there was some small print that he hadn’t seen before. Same-Day Delivery.
“Tsum-Tsum, I’m about to make your day,” Bokuto said, pulling up the website. He glanced over to where Atsumu’s head had popped up from his knees, and smiled at his expression of tearful gratitude. He wanted to remember it forever.
Unlike the next night, where he walked in on the sight of Atsumu and Sakusa half-naked and passionately kissing, on the very couch he’d bought. He wanted to forget that immediately.