he’s so pretty like this, you think as you watch him laugh. sakusa has a smile that could bring the sun to her knees, and he’s a pretty sight, and he’s yours. every moment with him, every word that’s spoken and every kiss he steals is like scripture you hold dearly.
“you have really cute dimples, you know,” you hum, poking the small indents of his cheeks. he gently swats your hand away, rolling his eyes. his cheeks are still flushed from the laughter from earlier, and you brush a few loose curls from his forehead.
“you don’t have to always bring that up,” he groans. and truth be told, sakusa loves when you point out little things about him, he loves the way your voice is always in awe, and he loves being the center of your attention.
“but they’re so cute, kiyo,” you pout, pinching his cheek delicately. “how was the party?”
“boring,” he mutters. “hate that they made me go.”
“well, your dad is really strict about these kinds of things,” you hum, threading your fingers through his hair as his head slumps onto your shoulder. it’s your last semester with sakusa, and then you’re both off into the real world, and you can’t help but hold onto these moments of peace a little bit longer.
“he was so annoying,” he grumbles, sinking further into your touch as you wrap an arm around him and pull him into your chest. and you should both go home soon—sakusa has practice and you have class, but you like the soft breeze kissing your skin as you lean against the trunk of a tree, and you like the weight of him in your arms as he settles into your embrace.
sakusa has never thought he’d be the type to like things like picnics in the middle of the night—but you make him live life a bit differently now, and he can’t say he minds it so much.
“tried to talk you out of volleyball again?” you murmur, and he nods, sighing. his family’s a little bit of a sore spot, but he trusts you enough to let you see those parts of him, even if they’re not his favorite.
“rambled on with my aunt about how i’m wasting my youth chasing something meaningless,” he rants, “and he said i was tainting the family name,” he spits bitterly. “you know she agreed with him? what a hag,” he spits, and you throw your head back and laugh.
“i think they’re just jealous they’ve never been on a news article,” you poke his nose, and he crinkles it lightly.
“can’t stand them,” sakusa mutters, but he relaxes a little when you press a soft kiss to his moles, making him hug you a little tighter.
“you shouldn’t listen to them, kiyo,” you say gently. “you love volleyball.”
“what if my dad’s right though?” he whispers, and there’s a small hint of doubt that’s always lingered in his mind, but you never let it surface for long.
“he’s not. you were the best player on the team as a freshman,” you remind him.
“wakatoshi played in the olympics,” he huffs. “and so did kageyama. i want to play in the olympics,” he pouts, and you run your thumb over his cheek as you cup it, smiling when he leans into your palm.
“you will,” you say, and sakusa feels his lips almost start to wobble at the confidence in your tone—no one’s ever been this confident in him. no one he’s needed it from, anyway.
“my dad’s trying to convince me to work with him in his office this summer,” he rolls his eyes. “says he thinks i’ve fooled around enough.”
“aw, kiyoomi my little business man,” you giggle, pinching his nose and making him scowl. “hope you wear a cute little tie that i can pull you into a kiss with.”
“i’m not doing it,” he scoffs.
“will you wear the suit for me then?”
“no,” he says flatly.
“at least a tie?”
“i’m having a crisis here,” he insists dramatically, and this time, it’s your turn to roll your eyes. sakusa’s always been one for theatrics, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy the show.
“oh, you poor thing,” you pout, and he huffs, shaking his head as you pepper kisses along his forehead in faux sympathy.
“you…you really think i can play pro?” he questions, and you snort, looking off to the distance as your hand rubs over his back slowly. sakusa has never been one to express himself, but if there’s one thing he does express, it’s way he loves volleyball—and lately, it’s the way he loves you.
you think you’re content with the late night rendezvous he lets you rope him into, and the evenings of waiting for him when he stays extra after practice, and the facetimes as you both study for midterms, and the way he sneaks out of family parties and you put off studying so you can have a picnic with him in the middle of the night.
“well duh,” you say as though it’s the most obvious thing on the planet, and his chest tightens. “if you don’t make it pro, then there’s no hope for japan to win the olympics.”
snorting, kiyoomi sprawls himself over your lap, grinning up at you and making his dimples surface once more. you poke them again, and he swats your hand away, and it’s routine by now.
“believe in me that much, huh?” he wriggles his brows, but there’s a soft hitch of his breath when you cup his cheeks gently and lean your forehead against his, pecking his lips delicately.
“even if no one else does, i will, kiyo,” you murmur, and this time, as sakusa really does fight off the wobble of his lips, he doesn’t think he wants to prove his father wrong anymore.
