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At night, the empty mission control room is a deep sea of stillness.
He’s the only one left, as usual. He can’t say he misses the hubbub of people milling about, but it’s always been a private kind of torture, to face this alone and be unable to do anything about it.
On the table in front of him is a once-thick legal pad, now down to its last few blank pages. In his hand is a black pen almost run out of ink, its nib worn down from years of use.
He twirls it distractedly. He’s hypnotised by the digital clock in front of him, its speckless chrome surface incandescent under the ceiling lights that bathe everything in harsh bright white. It makes no sound while it counts down to the moment he has been waiting for, oblivious to his mounting inner turmoil.
All is still and all is silent. He idly wonders if this is what purgatory feels like. If this is what the final few moments before certain death feels like. If this is what Atsumu felt before—
The neon numbers keeping track of the passage of time flicker to 23:00. As if on cue, the speakers jump to life in a burst of hisses and crackles, the spell of the mind-numbing silence that had thoroughly ensnared him broken by the sudden noise.
It’s time.
Sakusa takes a deep breath to steel himself.
“Tokyo… Tokyo, ‘rya there?” A voice calls out from within the maelstrom of static, so faint at first that Sakusa had to strain his ears to hear it.
He clears his throat and pushes the same button he has always pressed. It hasn’t failed him in transmitting his responses back yet, and he can only hope that it will continue to function until the day Space Command figures out how to… how to solve the problem.
(He can’t think too much about the problem. He can’t.)
Focus on the task at hand, he reminds himself.
“Tokyo here. Go ahead.” His voice is crisp, professional, even. It betrays nothing, a stark contrast to the two short vertical lines he inks deeply into the notepad; the paper almost tears from the pressure he applies.
It occurs to him that he should have moved on from the ‘emotionally compromised’ stage long ago. He should be used to hearing this particular transmission by now. So why does his heart still feel dangerously close to bursting out of his chest?
“God, ‘m so glad to hear that, I thought…” A buzz of static overtakes the transmission then, but Sakusa pays it no mind. It will resolve itself in a second.
“This is ‘Tsumu… uh, Flight Engineer Miya Atsumu, of the Inarizaki.” His voice wobbles with such characteristic fear that Sakusa doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not sure, I—I think something exploded.”
Sakusa doesn’t trust himself to say anything at that moment. Two more vertical lines and a diagonal that cuts across all four make their way onto the notepad; the motion of his right hand across the paper is almost instinctive at this point. While he continues to draw the pattern over and over again, gradually forming neat rows that fill out into blocks, he listens intently to what Atsumu is saying, committing to memory every millisecond of their interaction, hanging onto every last word.
“I don’t know how long I’ve been passed out for,” he continues shakily, words slurring occasionally. “I just woke up. Almost pulled off my glove ‘cause I thought it was an oven mitt… so my head prob’ly got hit pretty hard. I don’t know where I am, everything is fuzzy around the edges, like my vision’s swimming around… Not that I can see much out here, ’s all just debris and darkness… don’t know if I’m actually looking at anything, or if I burst a blood vessel or two in my eyes…and my back hurts like a bitch—actually, everything hurts, I can’t move much at all… and I’m cold.” His voice cracks as he whimpers, “I’m cold. I’m so cold.”
Sakusa has no comfort to give or platitudes to offer him. The last time he tried… no, he can’t think about that either.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The words fall so impartially from his tongue that if Motoya were to be around, he would be proud of how unaffected he seemed. “I can’t do much about that for you over here, but I need you to continue describing the situation. Can you do that for me?”
“Right, right, of course, the… the ship! Sunarin found something! I was… I—I don’t remember, but something exploded there, and now… I’m alone. Oh god, I’m all alone.” His rush of words are punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. “Oh god. Do you know where ‘Samu is? Flight Navigator Miya Osamu?” His voice becomes impossibly frail and childlike, and Sakusa feels like his heart is breaking all over again. “He’s my twin. Have you heard from him? Kita, Suna, the rest of the crew? And where’s the ship? Did it—was it the thing that blew up? I can’t even see anything like it from here. Oh god.”
His breathing has become increasingly ragged, Sakusa notes with a cool, clinical kind of detachment, something that Motoya would call the beginnings of a dissociative episode. He only has a limited window of opportunity left to prevent Atsumu from realising that panic is not the only reason he is gasping like he is struggling for air.
“Roger that, Miya. Calm down, you’re going to be alright.”
Sakusa closes his eyes briefly and takes another deep breath.
It’s time for the lie.
“I have contact with the Inarizaki.”
He drags a few more lines through the remaining blank space of the notepad; it’s almost half filled now. “Please stand by while I communicate with them. Help will get to you soon.”
Sakusa allows silence to reign for a few moments, just long enough for Atsumu to digest his words and feel a sense of relief, but not long enough for him to realise the bluff and start panicking again. It is a fine, delicate balance, but he had mastered it ages ago.
It’s all about timing, after all. As soon as the chrome clock marked the passing of the fifth second, Sakusa begins again.
“Miya, Tokyo speaking.” He knows that using strict radio protocol combined with a no-nonsense, business-like attitude works wonders to keep Atsumu calm. Well, as calm as he could possibly keep him in this strange state of limbo. “Inarizaki was hit by a small meteoroid—the usual minor space debris, nothing to worry about—while you were out performing maintenance during your spacewalk. That is the explosion that knocked you out cold. The pressurised blast of air from impact caused your tether to the ship to snap and sent you adrift.”
He pauses for half a line; almost ten have been added since the last time he counted them.
“Don’t worry, everyone else is safe and sound, but the ship needs some time to get back to you since it was catapulted some distance away owing to the impact. I repeat, Captain Kita has the Inarizaki under control and it is on its way back to you. They have your location pinged, so just sit tight and try to remain wherever you are with as little movement as possible. Won’t be long now, they’ll be with you in no time at all. Do you copy?”
Five more lines, one of them a diagonal.
“Really? I mean, copy that—that’s great, god, I’m so glad to hear that, I can’t believe it… Is ‘Samu there? Can I speak to him?” He hastily tacks on a ‘please’ at the end.
Good, at least he’s no longer scared, even if he’s asking for the impossible.
“Ah… he’s on the line listening in now. Unfortunately I am unable to connect you directly with him, so he won’t be able to reply. But feel free to say whatever it is you wish to say. He’ll be able to hear it regardless.”
He’s never had the heart to reject Atsumu’s wishes anyway.
“Uh huh, I’ll just go ahead now.” Sakusa hears a clearing of the throat.
Then Atsumu’s tone almost completely changes, the previously evident fear now tucked away so neatly that even Sakusa wouldn’t know it’s there unless he looked for it.
“‘Samu, ya scrub, I bet ya thought you could actually get rid of me this time ‘round…” He lets loose an almost hysterical cackle here, and Sakusa could almost visualise the scene in his mind: Miya Atsumu, a watery smile adorning his face, all laugh lines intersecting with frown wrinkles, insistent on a visage of bravery and nonchalance despite being terrified out of his wits.
Sakusa himself is the one who almost chokes out a hysterical laugh at the mental image this time. All these years, and he still remembers Atsumu as vividly as ever before.
He misses him. He really misses him.
“…unbelievable how boring it is out here. Just endless space rocks an’ shit. Hurry up, ‘kay? I wanna go back home to Omi as quickly as possible. He won’t believe it when he hears about how I almost died out here. Ya know I don’t get to see him every day, so ya better be here soon.” He adds another ‘scrub’ at the end of his message, as if for good measure, before announcing that he was done.
Sakusa swallows down the words that threaten to escape him.
I’m here. I’m listening. I believe you. (The nameless ground control staff you’re speaking to is actually the love of your life.)
Where are you? I’m still waiting for you to come home. (It’s been years. Has it been years for you?)
He adds a few more jagged lines to his notepad instead. He has actually done pretty well this time; everything’s going according to plan.
Atsumu’s satisfied. Check.
Atsumu knows he will be rescued. Check.
Atsumu feels safe. Check.
Objectives of the day achieved.
Still, his breaths are turning more and more into heaves by the minute, and Sakusa mentally readies himself for the last leg of their conversation.
“Miya, Tokyo speaking,” he says again, attempting to keep his voice from trembling.
This final part requires subtlety and finesse; he has to redirect Atsumu towards a far more palatable version of events before he realises the harrowing truth.
If he doesn’t… Atsumu will descend into a full-blown panic attack that he has never been able to pull him out of, and he will die afraid, agonised, alone. And he will have failed.
He can’t fail again.
“Listen, Miya, it seems that your suit is leaking oxygen, the concentration’s getting a bit too low to be normal. The explosion must have torn a valve somewhere.” He raps this information out, trying his best to keep Atsumu’s attention and prevent him from thinking about what happens when he runs out of oxygen.
His lines get sharper and cut deeper into the paper the more he speaks. “You might already be feeling slightly breathless, but don’t worry. The ship is almost there and will reach you in time. Estimated time of arrival is 28 seconds.”
“O-Okay.” The wobble has returned to his voice, but Atsumu is still with him, and that’s what matters. He’s still with him.
Six more lines.
“They’re nearby. Captain Kita says they have a visual of you now. Do you see them?”
Sakusa listens to him struggling to draw breath as he looks around and feels his own heart sit heavily like lead within his chest. Another block of five is finished by a diagonal line. He considers hurling the notepad at the framed photograph of himself and Atsumu on the wall.
“No… no… not yet…” Atsumu whispers between ebbing gasps.
“They are probably right behind you,” Sakusa reassures him, his scribbles becoming increasingly shaky, his vision becoming increasingly blurry. He has never quite mastered the art of letting go.
“All your vitals say you’re still doing great. I know you’re getting more and more dizzy, that’s okay, that’s normal, just relax, don’t worry. Whatever you do, don’t close your eyes. And don’t be too alarmed when they reel you in from behind. If you’re scared, just keep talking to me, alright?”
The dam cracks and out pours his anguish. “I’m still here. You can keep talking to me. Please. Talk to me.”
Radio silence greets him. Atsumu never says another word.
He slowly releases his pen from his white-knuckled grip.
As the hissing and crackling noises of static fade away, leaving as fast as they had arrived, the emotional and physical exhaustion that always accompanies his conversations with Atsumu returns with a vengeance. His previously stiff and unmoving posture collapses into something far more frayed and defeated in the wake of the complete silence that has blanketed the room once more. He would have no evidence that the conversation had even taken place, that it wasn’t a spontaneous hallucination or a product of his imagination, if it weren’t for the lines etched onto his notepad.
223 lines. One for each of Atsumu’s final breaths.
He sinks into his chair and cradles his head in his hands.
At least it’s over now, another job well done. Wherever Atsumu was, whatever he was going through, he was not alone in his final moments. And that was enough for him.
He glances over at the peculiar schedule he has spent the past few years working out. In 12 days, Atsumu’s voice will sound from the speakers again, calling out to him, to Tokyo, to anyone who’s there from the wretched dimension he is forever trapped in, from his infinite loop outside time and space.
Five years ago, the Inarizaki was sent out on what was supposed to be a quick trip, a short visit to the boundary between the heliosphere and interstellar space for research and data collection. The months-long expedition instead turned into one of the longest-running unsolved mysteries of modern day, with no plausible explanation in sight. Till this day, despite countless search and rescue missions, no one can quite fathom what exactly they found back then, or what had happened to them. Rumours are still abound everywhere, whispering of sabotage, of alien forces at work, of every conspiracy theory conceivable. No matter what they say, they all agree on one thing: a terrible fate had befallen the entire crew.
But maybe Atsumu was the lucky one, for Sakusa will never let him die alone.