Don't stop- Sakusa
You never meant to touch him the first time.
It was chaos—post-practice noise, teammates shouting over each other, towels snapping, someone spilling water across the gym floor. You were walking backward, laughing at something Komori said, not watching where you were going.
And then—
You tripped.
A sharp gasp left you as your balance disappeared, hands flying out on instinct.
You crashed straight into a solid chest.
Strong hands caught your arms before you could hit the floor.
The gym went quiet for half a second.
You froze.
Because of course it was Sakusa Kiyoomi.
The Sakusa Kiyoomi. The untouchable. The gloves-even-in-summer germaphobe. The guy who flinched when people stood too close in line.
Your palms were pressed flat against his chest.
His hands were wrapped around your wrists.
Your breath caught in your throat.
“I— I’m so sorry—” you rushed out, yanking your hands back like you’d been burned. “I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t looking— I—”
You expected him to recoil.
To jerk away.
To look disgusted.
Instead… he just stood there.
Staring at you.
His dark eyes flicked down to your hands. Then back to your face.
Slow.
Careful.
He loosened his grip but didn’t let go immediately.
“…You okay?” he asked quietly.
You blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He nodded once and finally released you.
You scurried away, mortified, heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.
You didn’t notice the way he stayed frozen for another three seconds, staring at his hands like they had betrayed him.
After that… something changed.
Not on purpose.
Not dramatically.
Just… slowly.
You started testing the waters.
A light pat on his shoulder when he did well in practice.
A brief touch on his back when you passed behind him.
Letting your fingers rest on his arm when you leaned over to show him something on your phone.
Every time, you waited for him to pull away.
He never did.
Sometimes he stiffened.
Sometimes his ears turned faintly red.
But he never told you to stop.
So you kept going.
Small things.
Careful things.
Touches that meant nothing to anyone else.
But to him…
They were everything.
He started standing closer to you without realizing it.
Letting his arm brush yours in hallways.
Sitting beside you instead of across from you.
He didn’t know how to ask for more.
So he just stayed where your hands could reach him.
And you didn’t even know you were doing it.
Then came the party.
You were both tipsy—laughing too loud, sitting too close. Music thumping in the background, lights low, voices blurred together.
You found him sitting on the couch, shoulders tense like always, hands folded in his lap.
You dropped beside him.
“You look stressed,” you said, words slightly slurred.
“I’m fine,” he murmured.
You frowned.
Without thinking, you reached up.
Your fingers slid into his hair.
Lightly.
Soft.
Careful.
You scratched gently at his scalp, playing with the strands like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sakusa’s entire body locked up.
Then—slowly—his shoulders dropped.
His breathing evened out.
His eyes fluttered shut for half a second.
He leaned into your touch.
Just barely.
You didn’t notice.
But Komori did.
So did a few others.
No one said anything.
But Sakusa didn’t sleep that night.
He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the feeling of your fingers in his hair over and over until his chest physically ached.
The next day, everything shattered.
You were walking down the hall when you heard his voice from the locker room.
“I hate it.”
You slowed.
“It’s disgusting. People just grabbing me like they’re entitled to it.”
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
He sounded irritated.
Uncomfortable.
Angry.
You didn’t hear the rest.
You couldn’t.
Your ears were ringing too loudly.
Your chest hurt.
You turned around before he could see you.
“There was this girl yesterday—she just came up and touched me. Didn’t even ask.”
From that day on, you changed.
No more touching.
No shoulder pats.
No arm brushes.
You kept your distance.
One foot.
Two.
Always just out of reach.
You nodded when he spoke.
Smiled politely.
Answered when necessary.
But you didn’t touch him again.
Sakusa noticed immediately.
The absence hit him like withdrawal.
His hands felt empty.
His chest tight.
He caught himself leaning toward you and stopping halfway.
He didn’t understand.
He thought he’d done something wrong.
Weeks later, you both ended up at the same bar for a mutual friend’s celebration.
Loud music.
Crowded space.
Low lights.
You were laughing with someone when Sakusa finally worked up the courage to approach you.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said quietly.
You stiffened.
“No, I haven’t.”
He stared at you.
“You don’t touch me anymore.”
"You can't word it like that."
Your throat tightened.
"Y/n."
“It's… probably for the best.”
He frowned. “Why?”
You hesitated. Then sighed.
“I heard what you said. About hating being touched.”
His eyes widened.
“…You think I meant you?”
You looked away.
He let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.
“No. No— I was talking about someone else. She grabbed me out of nowhere. It made my skin crawl.”
You stared at him.
“I would never say that about you.”
Your voice wavered. “You sounded serious.”
“I was. About her.”
He took a step closer.
“I miss it.”
Your heart skipped.
“…Miss what?”
He swallowed.
“Your hands. Your shoulder taps. The way you play with my hair.”
Your breath caught.
He looked embarrassed now. Vulnerable.
“I don’t let anyone touch me. You know that.”
He gently reached out.
Took your hand.
Placed it against his hair.
“I could never hate your touch,” he murmured.
“It’s the only one that doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin.”
Your fingers trembled.
“You… want me to?”
His voice was barely audible.
“Yes.”
So you did.
You slid your fingers into his hair again.
And this time—
He leaned into it fully.
Eyes closing.
Breathing steady.
Trusting you completely.
And you realized…
You were the only place he felt safe.
