He's about to go home and call Osamu to have a screaming session

He reaches out, his hooked index brushing Atsumu's cheek, red expanding under his touch like watercolour.

"Go out with me?"

Atsumu leans into the touch as if it were second nature. He gulps, pupils blown wide.

"Sure" he breathes.

"Miya" he calls, voice slightly hoarse because of the alcohol and tiredness.

Atsumu's - because he'll always be Atsumu in his mind- full focus is now on him.

He feels bathed in sunlight, lighter than he's felt in years.

+

What's keeping him from reaching out to Atsumu right now? What's keeping him from sliding closer to him in the booth and just letting his chin fall on his stable shoulder?

Probably just his fear.

But oh, isn't it so infinitesimally miniscule when compared to the tidal wave that is Miya Atsumu?

+

hands up on his flushed cheeks, slowly trace his soft cupid bow with his index, smooth the creases on his shirt and lean impossibly close into his space, until his breath mixes with his, until his words melt right onto his tongue.

But he can't.

Wait, why?

+