Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

5 years later…

The last words of Kiyoomi's speech faded with the applause.

For a few seconds, he simply stood there. With the microphone still in his hand and the graduation certificate resting against his palm, the auditorium suddenly seemed much louder than it had been while he was speaking. 

Somewhere in the crowd, someone whistled. Another person shouted his name. A few rows ahead, one of his classmates was already crying hard enough to make it everyone else's problem.

Kiyoomi blinked, then he remembered he was supposed to leave the stage. He gave a small bow, stepped away from the podium, and walked back toward his seat.

That was it. After years of lectures, assignments, exams, practices, early mornings, late nights, and an unhealthy amount of coffee, he was officially done.

Well, almost.

There were still the photographs, other professors’ speeches, the obligatory congratulations from professors he barely remembered speaking to, and the next several hours of being surrounded by people.

Kiyoomi sat down and exhaled quietly, looking around the massive rows of graduates. All four of them—himself, Komori, Yachi, and Kiyoko—had spent these past four years navigating their respective departments, and today, they were all crossing the finish line together. Although, Kiyoomi still wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. 

Everyone around him seemed to have figured it out already. Some people were crying, some were laughing, others were hugging each other as if it was their last together. And maybe it was.

Kiyoomi looked down at the certificate in his hands. Graduation. It was strange how ordinary the word looked on paper. He had spent years thinking about this day as something distant, something that would eventually arrive after another semester, another exam, another volleyball season. Now it was sitting in his lap, printed neatly beneath his name. And somehow, nothing had changed.

His phone buzzed inside his pocket.

From: Komori

< where r u

< we're taking pics before everyone leaves 😭

Kiyoomi stared at the message. Then another one arrived.

< kiyoomi.

A third.

< don't make me come find u.

He sighed. Some things, on the other hand, haven’t changed at all. He stood as the ceremony continued around him and slipped out of the row, making his way towards the arena’s exit before Komori could actually come looking for him.

The hallway outside was quieter. Not dead silent of course, because nothing in a building full of graduating students could ever be quiet, but it was easier to breathe. Kiyoomi adjusted the collar of his graduation gown and checked his reflection briefly in the glass of a nearby door. His hair was slightly messier than it had been that morning, and the cap sat crooked on his head, so he fixed it.

Then someone threw an arm around his shoulders.

"There you are!"

Kiyoomi nearly jumped. "Komori."

"What?"

"You could've called me."

"I did."

"I mean without sending seventeen messages."

"It was four."

"Felt like seventeen."

Motoya laughed, pulling away before Kiyoomi could complain any further. "You looked good up there, by the way."

"I just read a speech."

"You gave a speech."

"That's what I said."

"No, it isn't."

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

They made their way outside together, where Yachi was already waiting near the front steps with her phone in one hand and her graduation cap in the other, her matching gown slightly rumpled from the crowded seating.

"There you are!" she said. "I thought Komori-kun was going to lose his mind."

"He already did," Kiyoomi replied.

"Hey."

Yachi laughed. A few seconds later, Kiyoko joined them, still wearing her gown and carrying a small bouquet someone had given her, probably that bald guy she’s always going out with. She looked between the three of them and immediately raised her phone.

"Pictures."

Kiyoomi frowned. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

"We have the entire afternoon."

"Exactly. Which means we have time for a lot of pictures."

He should have known better than to argue. The first photo was normal. The second was slightly less normal because Komori refused to stand still. The third was taken after Yachi threatened to leave him out entirely. By the sixth, Kiyoomi had stopped trying to understand what was happening.

"One more!" Yachi announced.

"You said that three pictures ago."

"This is actually the last one."

"That's what you said last time."

Kiyoko smiled behind the camera. "Just humor her."

Kiyoomi sighed. "Fine."

Komori immediately leaned into him, nearly knocking his cap off. "Smile!"

"I am smiling."

"You look constipated."

"I'm going to leave Komori."

"Okay, okay!"

The camera clicked.

For once, nobody moved immediately afterward. Kiyoomi looked at the three people beside him. There was something strange about seeing them all dressed like this, like graduation was supposed to turn them into different people overnight. 

It didn't, not really. Komori was still leaning too far into his space. Yachi was already scrolling back through the pictures, unsatisfied with at least half of them. Kiyoko had her hand resting lightly on Yachi's shoulder, the way she always did when she wasn't sure what to do with her hands. Kiyoomi supposed he was still exactly where he'd always been, standing slightly apart even when he was right in the middle of them.

Maybe that was why the moment didn't feel as final as it should have.

"So," Yachi said, lowering her phone. "What now?"

Komori looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"We're done."

"Technically.”

"No, I mean today." She pointed toward the four of them. "We can't just take pictures and go home."

Kiyoomi glanced at the time. "Why not?"

"Because it's our graduation."

"That's usually when people go home."

"You're impossible."

"I know."

Komori laughed. "We should eat."

Yachi immediately nodded. "Obviously."

Kiyoko smiled. "Where?"

They started throwing suggestions around almost immediately, each one being rejected for one reason or another. 

Too far, too expensive, too crowded, too loud... Kiyoomi listened without contributing much, until Yachi finally turned towards him.

"What do you want, Kiyo-san?"

He thought about it. "Something quiet."

Komori groaned. "Of course."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You said it like there was something."

"There isn't."

"There clearly is."

Yachi laughed again. "Okayy, we'll find somewhere quiet."

Kiyoomi looked at them for another second before nodding. "Fine."

And just like that, they started walking. None of them knew exactly what came next, not in any real way. There were universities finished, careers half-planned, an apartment Kiyoomi still hadn't fully unpacked, a season that hadn't started yet. But none of that mattered right now.

For the moment, there was only lunch. One last afternoon together before everything finally changed.

By the time they reached the restaurant, the initial excitement of graduation had started to settle into something more like nostalgia. It wasn't an especially fancy place, just a small restaurant a few streets away from campus with enough tables to accommodate them without having to wait too long. 

It was busy, naturally, but not crowded enough to make Kiyoomi regret agreeing to come. They found a table near the window and sat down there, pulling off their graduation gowns and draping them over the back of their chairs.

Komori dropped into his seat with a dramatic sigh, stretching his arms out. "I'm starving."

"You said that ten minutes ago," Yachi pointed out, smoothing down her skirt.

"Yeah, and now I'm even more hungry."

"I don’t think that's not how hunger works."

"How would you know?" Komori shot back, grinning.

Yachi just stared at him. Watching them, Kiyoko laughed quietly as she picked up the menu from the center of the table. "Just let him eat."

Kiyoomi sat beside the window, skimming through the menu without really reading it. He already knew what he wanted, but apparently everyone else needed at least twenty minutes to make a decision.

"You always order the same thing," Komori noted, glancing over his cousin's shoulder.

"Because I like it," Kiyoomi replied flatly.

"You could try something different."

"I could..."

"But you won't."

"Exactly."

Komori grinned, leaning back against his chair. "Thought so."

Their conversation continued like that for a while, jumping from food to professors to graduation without ever settling on one subject for too long. 

Eventually, someone brought up their first year of university, and suddenly everyone had a story to tell. Yachi remembered the first time she'd gotten lost on campus despite having attended orientation twice, her cheeks flushing pink at the memory. Kiyoko was quick to remind her that she'd actually called them asking for directions while standing directly in front of the building she was looking for.

"I was nervous," Yachi defended herself, covering her burning face with both hands.

"You were holding a map," Kiyoko pointed out gently.

"I know."

"You were looking at the map upside down."

At that, Komori burst out laughing, and even Kiyoomi couldn't help a small smile from breaking through his usual stoic expression. It was strange, listening to them talk about those things now. At the time, those incidents felt so important, embarrassing even. Some of them had been problems that seemed completely impossible to solve, but now, they were just funny little anecdotes. They were small pieces of four years that had somehow become memories without any of them noticing when the shift happened.

"Do you remember that first volleyball tournament?" Komori asked suddenly, turning his attention back to Kiyoomi. "The one where we got back to the dorms at like two in the morning?"

Kiyoomi looked up from his water glass. "That wasn't our first tournament."

"It was the first one I remember."

"You don't remember anything before that."

"I remember enough."

Kiyoko smiled, pouring some tea for Yachi. "You fell asleep on the bus, Motoya."

"I was tired," he complained.

"Yeah we noticed. You were snoring" she added.

"I do not snore!"

Yachi immediately nodded in agreement with Kiyoko, pointing a finger across the table. "You definitely do. I heard you from three rows up."

Komori pointed dramatically at Yachi. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You're all conspiring against me."

Kiyoomi watched them argue for another few seconds before looking back down at his drink. He'd spent four years with these people. Four years of classes, practices, exams, late-night conversations, terrible cafeteria food, long train rides, and enough shared memories to fill several lifetimes. And now, they have graduated. It was difficult to understand how something could feel so permanent while it was happening, yet so temporary the moment it was over.

"So," Yachi said after a while, resting her chin against her hand as the waiter set down their food. The sudden shift in tone quieted the table slightly. "What happens now?"

Komori looked at her, blinking. "What do you mean?"

"After today," she explained, looking around at all of them. "We've been talking about graduation for years, and now it's actually here."

Kiyoko nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "I was thinking about that too."

Komori leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Well, I guess we officially become working adults."

Kiyoomi looked up, his gaze deadpan. "That's not an answer."

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know what that means or implies."

"Neither do you," Komori countered with a smirk.

"I know."

Komori smiled, triumphant. "Exactly."

Yachi laughed softly at the exchange, breaking the brief tension. Kiyoomi looked out the window for a moment, watching the afternoon sun hit the campus gates from afar, before returning his attention to the table.

"I'm starting with the MSBY Black Jackals," he stated quietly.

Komori immediately looked at him, his teasing tone dropping into something more genuine. "I know."

"I know you know."

"I mean, you haven't stopped talking about it these past few weeks," Komori teased.

"I don't talk about it that much."

"You do."

Kiyoomi ignored him, focusing on his meal. "The season starts soon and training already begins next week."

"Are you nervous?" Yachi asked, her eyes full of genuine curiosity.

Kiyoomi thought about it for a beat. "Maybe, a little."

It was probably the most honest answer he could give. He'd spent years playing volleyball at the university level, but joining a first division professional team still felt entirely different. There was more expectation now. More attention. More people watching his every move. And unlike university, there was no clear next step after this one. He was already entering the real world; whatever came afterward would have to be figured out later.

"You're gonna be fine," Komori said, his voice casual but entirely firm.

Kiyoomi looked at him across the table. "You don't know that for sure."

"No, but I know you."

The answer was simple enough that Kiyoomi didn't argue. Yachi smiled warmly, leaning forward. "And I'll still be two hours away to bother you."

"You say that like it's supposed to reassure me."

"It is."

"It doesn't."

Kiyoko laughed at their bickering, taking a sip of her tea. "And what about you?" Komori asked, turning the question to Yachi. "What's next?"

She blinked, startled. "Me?"

"Yeah. What's next for you?"

Yachi hesitated for a moment before explaining what she'd been planning after graduation. She talked about the freelance graphic design work she'd been considering, the agency applications she'd already sent out, and how incredibly strange it felt to finally be making major decisions that weren't connected to exams or university requirements.

Kiyoomi listened quietly, realizing it was entirely different from what he'd imagined adulthood would look like when he was younger. None of them had a perfect plan. Not really. They just had ideas, places they wanted to go. For now, that was probably enough.

"What about you, Kiyoko-san?" Yachi asked, turning to her.

Kiyoko smiled before telling them about her own accepted position in sports administration, and the conversation immediately turned into another comfortable round of questions. Kiyoomi listened, occasionally answering when someone asked him something directly, but mostly letting the others talk. There was something comforting about it—not knowing exactly what came next, not having everything figured out. Maybe that was what being twenty-two was supposed to feel like. Not finished, just moving.

Eventually, as the plates were cleared, the conversation shifted again.

"Okay," Yachi said, looking between them with a spark of excitement in her eyes. "What are we doing tonight?"

Kiyoomi frowned immediately. "Tonight?"

"Prom night," she clarified.

He paused, setting his tea down. "No."

Komori immediately burst out laughing. "You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I know enough."

"It's our graduation, Kiyoomi."

"I know."

"Then we're going."

Kiyoomi looked at his cousin. "Why?"

"Because it's our last night all together."

"We're going to see each other again."

"That's not the point," Komori insisted.

Yachi nodded enthusiastically, jumping into the argument. "He's right, Kiyoomi-kun!"

Kiyoomi looked at Kiyoko, silently pleading for some rational support. She simply smiled back at him, entirely unhelpful. "Don't look at me. I'm going."

"Of course you are," Kiyoomi mumbled.

"It's supposed to be fun," Kiyoko added.

"That's debatable."

Komori leaned forward across the table, lowering his voice dramatically. "Masquerade."

Kiyoomi stared at him, his brow furrowing. "...What?"

"That's the theme," Komori explained, grinning.

"I heard you."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because it's a masquerade."

"Exactly."

"That's worse."

Yachi laughed, clapping her hands. "Come on! It's elegant!"

"I don't even like parties," he reminded them, crossing his arms.

"You don't know that," Komori argued.

"I've been to parties."

"Not like this one."

Kiyoomi looked between the three of them. They had apparently already decided long before they even sat down for lunch. He could tell from the stubborn, expectant expressions on their faces that there was absolutely no point in arguing anymore.

He exhaled a long breath. "What time?"

Komori’s grin widened. "I knew you'd come."

"I didn't say yes."

"You asked what time."

Kiyoomi sighed, looking away towards the window to hide the small, faint trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Yachi immediately beamed. "That's basically a yes!"

Maybe one last night wouldn't hurt. After all, tomorrow everything would start changing, and tonight, at least, they were still all in the same place. So, when Komori started explaining the details of the venue and Yachi began excitedly discussing what kind of mask she wanted to wear, Kiyoomi simply listened. He didn't know where the night would take them, and he wasn't particularly interested in finding out. But for once, he supposed he could let someone else decide.

On the car ride back to the hotel they were staying at from the restaurant, Sakusa was rethinking whether to go or not to this big event after Komori told him even more details about it. To be more specific, about who were the people attending said event.

"So you're just now telling me there are going to be people from other universities?" Kiyoomi asked.

"Yeah," Komori replied.

"Like how many?"

Komori shrugged, keeping his eyes firmly on the road ahead. "I don't know. A lot."

"That's not a number."

"I know."

Kiyoomi turned his head to glare toward the driver's seat. "You made it sound like it was just some graduation party."

"Well, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"It kind of is."

"You said it was going to be relatively small."

"I said it was going to be relatively smaller than other university events," Motoya corrected defensively.

"That is not the same thing."

Komori laughed under his breath, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. "Okay, maybe I didn't explain it very well."

"You didn't explain it at all."

"Well, now you know."

Kiyoomi looked back out the window, already reconsidering his decision to go. He had agreed at lunch mostly because everyone else seemed excited about it, and because he had assumed they were talking about a gathering with people they already knew. Apparently, he had been entirely wrong. 

The event wasn't organized by their university alone. Several prestigious universities across Tokyo had decided to hold one massive, joint graduation celebration, which meant the guest list was much larger than Kiyoomi had originally imagined. Students from different schools had been invited, along with friends, alumni, and whatever other connections people had managed to make through an extensive chain of plus-ones that Komori apparently found far more amusing than Kiyoomi did.

"And you said there are even professional volleyball players coming?" Kiyoomi questioned, his brow furrowing.

"Some."

"How do you know?"

"Because one of the guys from EJP knows someone who knows someone and then told me."

Kiyoomi stared at him, utterly unimpressed.

Komori glanced over for half a second, catching his cousin's deadpan expression. "What?"

"That's ridiculous."

"That's how plus-ones work, Kiyoomi."

"That's not how invitations work."

"Apparently, it is, have you lived under a rock or something cuz?."

Kiyoomi sighed and leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. The idea of spending an entire evening surrounded by hundreds of people he didn't know was already exhausting enough. Adding professional athletes, strangers from other universities, and an entire masquerade theme to the situation did not exactly make it more appealing to him.

"I don't understand why everyone is so excited about wearing masks," Kiyoomi muttered.

"Because the anonymity in these kinds of situations can be fun, you’ll never know who you’ll encounter."

"It's so inconvenient."

"It's literally just a formal event plus a mask."

"You have to keep track of it all night."

"You could just wear it," Komori points out simply.

"I know."

Komori laughed again, shaking his head. "You're still going."

Kiyoomi frowned. "I haven't decided."

"But you said yes before."

"I changed my mind."

"No, you didn't."

"I might."

"You won't."

Kiyoomi looked at him. "You seem very confident."

"I've known you for twenty-two years dear cousin."

"You're exaggerating."

"I'm literally not."

That answer made Kiyoomi pause. He looked at the road ahead, then back through the window at the passing streetlights. 

Twenty-two years.

It sounded like an incredibly long time when said aloud, even though it had somehow passed without either of them truly noticing the days bleeding into each other. They had grown up together, gone to the same schools, played volleyball together, complained about teachers together, and eventually ended up at the same university. Now they were both graduating, and tomorrow Kiyoomi would move into the MSBY training complex while Komori would be going to another team, in another prefecture. Everything seemed to be happening all at once out of the blue.

"We are still going to meet up at times, right?" Komori asked suddenly, his tone dropping into something unusually quiet and sincere.

Kiyoomi glanced at him. "Of course."

"Good."

There was a brief silence in the car before Kiyoomi cleared his throat. "I'm still not going to that party."

Komori groaned loudly. "Oh my God."

At that, Kiyoomi almost smiled.

By the time they reached the hotel, the sky had already begun to darken into a deep, heavy indigo. Their university residences had officially ended their housing contracts immediately after graduation, leaving them with nowhere to stay for the next few days before their respective moves, so the two cousins had booked a hotel room together to survive the transition. It was temporary, but since they had booked the hotel near the venue, it was also highly convenient.

They took the elevator upstairs, and the moment the door to their room clicked open, Komori threw his duffel bag onto one of the twin beds. "I'm taking this one."

Kiyoomi looked at him, closing the door behind them. "I wasn't going to fight you for it."

"Good."

Komori picked up the remote and turned on the television for some background noise while Kiyoomi placed his own things meticulously on the opposite bed. His suit was still hanging neatly inside its protective garment bag, untouched since he'd picked it up from the dry cleaners earlier that week, just in case.

Kiyoomi checked the time on his phone. They had less than two hours.

"Are we actually going?" he asked one last time.

Komori looked over his shoulder from the TV. "Yes of course."

"You said it was optional."

"It is."

"Then why are you saying yes?"

"Because I know you," Komori grinned, turning back to the screen. "And because Yachi will kill us if we don't show up, plus I actually want to go."

That was, unfortunately, a completely valid argument.

Kiyoomi unzipped the garment bag. The suit was simple, dark, and formal enough for the occasion. He changed quickly, fixing his collar and cuffs before checking himself in the full-length mirror. He had spent enough time getting ready for formal athletic banquets to know exactly what he wanted to look like: nothing too flashy, and absolutely nothing uncomfortable.

The mask, however, was another matter entirely. He picked it up from the vanity table and turned it over once in his hands. It was black, simple, and not particularly dramatic. But it was still entirely unnecessary.

"You're wearing it, right?" Komori asked, noticing him staring at it from across the room.

"I have to."

“But not right now.”

“It’s a masquerade”

Komori laughed, grabbing his own jacket. "Just put it on later."

Kiyoomi placed the black mask back on the table. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

From: Hitoka Yachi

are u guys ready ???

Kiyoomi glanced up at his cousin. "It’s Yachi."

"Already?"

"Apparently."

Komori grabbed his own phone and typed out a quick response to their group chat.

To: Yacchan :D

almost, we'll pick u guys up

The reply came almost immediately.

From: Yacchan :D

okay!! kiyoko-san says she has the address.

PLEASE don't forget your masks !!!

Komori laughed out loud at the screen. "She knows you too well."

Kiyoomi ignored him, pocketing his wallet.

They finished getting ready without much trouble, although Komori somehow managed to change his shirt twice because he couldn't decide which collar style looked better. Kiyoomi didn't comment on it. There was simply no point. 

Eventually, they left the hotel, grabbed their car from the garage, and drove toward Yachi and Kiyoko's shared apartment. Yachi was already waiting outside on the sidewalk when they pulled up, standing excitedly beside Kiyoko with her clutch in one hand and her gala mask carefully tucked away in the other.

"Sorry!" Yachi said breathlessly as she climbed into the back seat, adjusting her dress. "Did we take too long?"

"Yes," Kiyoomi answered immediately.

"No," Komori said at the exact same time.

Yachi frowned at the rearview mirror. "You said you were almost ready!"

"We were."

"Then why did you take another half hour?"

"Because I was deciding between two shirts," Komori defended himself.

Kiyoko got into the passenger seat, smoothing her gown and closing the door with a quiet chuckle. 

"He changed both of them."Kiyoomi looked at Komori through the mirror. 

"You changed your shirt twice?"

"Don't," Komori mumbled, putting the car in drive.

Yachi laughed softly as she settled into the seat beside Kiyoomi, the light tension evaporating instantly.

The car pulled away from the curb. For the first few minutes, the conversation stayed relatively casual as they navigated the Tokyo traffic. They talked about the venue, the absurd number of people expected to attend from the neighboring universities, and whether the catering staff had actually planned enough food for everyone. Yachi seemed particularly excited about the venue decorations, while Kiyoko mentioned she had already checked pictures of the ballroom location online.

"So, just to make sure," Yachi said, leaning forward slightly, "we're all wearing the masks the entire night?"

"That's what a masquerade means, Yacchan," Komori joked from the front.

"I know! I'm just asking."

Kiyoomi looked down at the sleek black mask resting right beside his leg. He still wasn't entirely convinced. "What happens if someone loses theirs?" he asked flatly.

"Then they lose it," Kiyoko replied from the passenger seat, turning back with a calm smile.

"Wow, so helpful."

"You're welcome."

Yachi laughed, the sound bright against the low hum of the car.

The city outside became increasingly vibrant as the night fully settled in, the neon signs flashing as the streets filled with people heading towards restaurants, bars, concerts, and parties of their own. Kiyoomi watched them pass by through the window, his mind tracing the heavy reality of the timing.

This was the last night before everything changed.

After tomorrow, he would wake up in a completely different place. He would start training with a brand-new team, meet legendary players he'd only ever heard about through volleyball broadcasts, and officially begin the professional career he'd spent years of blood and sweat working for. Komori would leave for his own future with EJP Raijin. Yachi would begin her creative career, and Kiyoko would do the same in sports administration. They had spent years talking about this specific moment as if it were a fantasy sitting somewhere far away, and now, there was absolutely nothing left between them and reality except this one single night.

"You okay?" Yachi asked softly, interrupting his thoughts.

Kiyoomi looked at her. "Yes."

"You've been quiet."

"I'm always quiet."

"True, but right now you’re quieter than normal" she smiled, leaning back.

Komori caught his eye in the mirror and smiled too, a quiet nod of understanding passing between the cousins.

Kiyoomi looked back out the window at the blurred city lights. The hotel, the university campus, the girl’s apartment he'd barely gotten used to, the familiar streets he'd walked for years… all of them were slowly disappearing behind them in the dark. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was ready to step across that line. But then again, maybe nobody ever was.

The massive venue came into view a few minutes later, already glowing with dramatic, elegant lights against the night sky. Long rows of cars were lined up along the grand entrance, with hundreds of people dressed in sharp suits and stunning formal gowns stepping out beneath the large illuminated sign.

Yachi leaned forward between the front seats, her breath catching. "Oh my God."

Komori laughed, pulling the car into the valet line. "Now you're excited."

"I've been excited!" she insisted.

Kiyoko smiled warmly as she looked out at the glamorous crowd. Kiyoomi didn't say anything. He simply reached down, his fingers wrapping around the cool fabric of his black mask.

Maybe, he thought, it wouldn't be so bad.

By the time the four of them arrived at the venue, Kiyoomi was already questioning why he had agreed to come. The ballroom venue was considerably larger than he had expected, but don’t get it wrong, he understood the basic concept of a joint-university celebration, it’s just that he hadn't expected this many people packed into a single space.

"See?" Komori said as they stepped through the heavy glass entrance, offering a quick wave of their entrance passes to the staff. "I told you it was gonna be fun."

"There are probably hundreds of people here,” Kiyoomi countered, his voice sounding flat.

Komori laughed and adjusted his own mask. "You'll survive."

Kiyoomi wasn't convinced. The room was already deeply crowded, a swirling sea of graduates dressed in formal clothes and wearing masks of all shapes and styles. Some were covering only the immediate area around their eyes, while others were elaborate enough to make half of someone's face disappear entirely. The music thumping from the speakers was loud, but not unbearable, and the ambient lights had been dimmed enough that everything felt slightly blurred and unreal.

Yachi looked around the grand space with wide eyes. "Oh my God."

Beside her, Kiyoko smiled warmly. "It's way bigger than I thought."

"See?" Kiyoomi murmured.

Yachi turned toward him, a playful look on her face. "Don't start."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"I wasn't."

Komori looked between the two of them with an amused sigh. "Can we at least get inside before Kiyoomi decides to turn around and leave?"

Kiyoomi exhaled a long breath but followed them into the hall anyway. They spent the first few minutes simply figuring out where everything was located. There were long tables arranged along the walls, a massive dance floor in the middle of the ballroom, a bar towards the back, and several smaller lounge areas where different groups of graduates had already started gathering.

It didn't take long for them to run into people they knew. Yachi recognized a few design friends of hers from another university and stopped to talk to them, while Komori spotted someone he'd met during an old volleyball tournament and immediately disappeared into another conversation. Even Kiyoko seemed to know more people than any of them, greeting several familiar faces with an ease that made Kiyoomi wonder how she'd managed to collect so many acquaintances over the years without him ever noticing.

He recognized a few people too, mostly former opponents or classmates from high school. Some faces took a second longer than others to place behind their masquerade disguises, and a few names never came back to him at all.

"Wait," one of them said, stopping short and staring at him through a silver eye-piece. "Sakusa?"

Kiyoomi gave a stiff nod. "Yes."

"No way. It's been forever."

"Four years," Kiyoomi clarified.

"That's like forever in college time," the guy laughed. "You look different."

"So do you."

"Fair enough."

They exchanged a few more surface-level words before someone called the guy's name from across the room, and the brief high school reunion ended just as quickly as it had started. Kiyoomi watched him leave for a moment before returning to his friends.

"Who was that?" Komori asked, suddenly reappearing by his side.

"I don't remember," Kiyoomi admitted.

"You just talked to him."

"I just remember his face."

"That's not what I asked."

Kiyoomi ignored him.

The night itself was surprisingly easy to settle into, perhaps because everyone in the room seemed to be sharing the exact same lighter mood. They had all spent years preparing for this specific moment of graduation, and now there was suddenly nothing left to prepare for. There were no exams looming on Monday, no frantic presentations to practice for, and no professors waiting around the corner. There was absolutely no reason to wake up early the next morning (well, at least not for a while.)

Because of that, they took pictures. Too many pictures in Kiyoomi's opinion. Yachi enthusiastically convinced everyone to take several group photos, then decided they needed individual ones with their masks securely on. Komori complained dramatically about every single pose while somehow managing to be the most enthusiastic person in front of the lens.

Kiyoomi didn't even remember the exact moment they finally stopped taking pictures and started talking to other circles of people. He only remembered that, at some point during the blur of the evening, Komori handed him a glass.

He looked down at the liquid suspiciously. "What is this?"

"Try it."

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes. "I said what's in this."

"Just drink it."

He took a small sip. It was a little too sweet, completely masking the trace of alcohol underneath. He made a slight face.

Komori laughed. "You hate it?"

"No," Kiyoomi murmured.

"You made a face."

"I didn't."

"You did."

Kiyoomi took another sip anyway, mostly to prove him wrong, but that was probably the beginning of the problem.

Because the night became progressively harder to keep track of after that.

It didn't happen in any sudden way; nothing went wrong all at once. It was simply that the distinct conversations started blending together into a pleasant hum, faces became harder to place behind their masks, and the music seemed louder whenever he paid attention to it and quieter whenever he didn't.

Someone asked him a question about his speech from earlier, he answered. Someone else laughed nearby, and he laughed too, although he wasn't entirely sure what they were laughing about. 

He vaguely remembered Komori saying something about a professional contract. 

He remembered Yachi trying to pull a smiling Kiyoko onto the crowded dance floor. 

He even remembered dancing…probably.

At some point, he was sitting at a lounge table. Then he wasn't. 

There was another drink resting in his hand that he didn't remember getting from the bar, but he took a sip of it anyway. It tasted significantly better than the first one, a detail that seemed incredibly important to his fuzzy mind at the time. 

Kiyoomi had never been particularly good at drinking; his strict athletic routine meant he didn't indulge often enough to know where his tolerance limit was, and apparently his limit was somewhere much closer than he had expected.

The room was warm. His face felt uncharacteristically warm too, a soft buzz humming right behind his eyes. 

His thoughts were moving a little slower than usual, but not enough to genuinely bother him; he could still understand what people were saying around him, for the most part.

Someone was talking loudly about their moving plans for the next year, someone else was already complaining about their new entry-level job. Kiyoomi just nodded along to the rhythm of their voices, occasionally contributing a quiet remark when he remembered that he was supposed to be participating.

The strange thing about it all was that he didn't feel really uncomfortable. It was loud, crowded, and somewhat exhausting. But for some reason tonight, he didn't mind it. 

He even caught himself smiling beneath his mask.

"You okay?"

Kiyoomi turned his head slowly, the movement a bit delayed. Yachi had appeared right beside his chair.

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice a bit thicker than usual.

"You look tired."

"Kind of am."

She studied his relaxed posture for a quiet moment, probably deciding whether to believe his filterless honesty. "Do you want to go home?"

Kiyoomi shook his head slightly. "No, I'll stay."

Yachi smiled softly. "Good." She rested her head briefly against his shoulder in a quick, affectionate gesture before getting back up. "I'm going to find Kiyoko."

"Okay."

"And Komori."

"Good luck."

She laughed at that and disappeared back into the crowded room.

Kiyoomi remained seated, leaning back against the cushion. For the first time that entire night, he let himself look around without trying to find anyone he recognized. 

There were strangers everywhere, people he would probably never see again in his life, people who would go home tonight and return to completely separate, independent destinies tomorrow. 

It should have felt strange or isolating to a control freak like him. Instead, like his cousin had said before, the anonymity felt almost peaceful.

Kiyoomi finished the last drop of his drink and stood up, his legs feeling a little lighter than usual. 

He didn't know where the others had drifted off to anymore, but he wasn't worried about it, they had phones; they always found each other eventually. 

He slipped his hands into his suit pockets and made his way toward the quieter side of the ballroom, away from the pounding speakers. 

Maybe, he reasoned, he just needed some air.

The muffled music followed him even as he walked away from the dance floor, getting softer with every step he took down the corridor. Outside the main hall, the carpeted hallway was almost entirely empty. 

Kiyoomi exhaled a long, steady breath. Better.

He leaned his shoulder against the cool wall for a moment, closing his eyes just to rest them, just for a minute. 

He wasn't entirely sure how long he stayed there in the quiet. Long enough for the music to become distant though. Long enough for the heavy warmth in his face to settle into something heavier. Long enough for his thoughts to completely lose whatever rigid order they usually had left.

Then he heard someone laughing somewhere nearby, a low, raspy sound.

Kiyoomi opened his eyes, blinking against the hallway lights. A figure was walking down the opposite end of the corridor, dressed in a sharp black and maroon suit, wearing a sleek black mask.

Blond hair. 

Tall. 

Broad shoulders.

Kiyoomi looked at him for a quiet second, his unfocused gaze tracing the outline. The stranger looked back through the eye-slits of his mask, his pace slowing just a fraction. 

Neither of them said a word. There was something phantom-like, almost familiar about the way the man carried himself, but Kiyoomi's thoughts were simply too slow and honey-thick to make much of it. 

He then looked away first, breaking the brief connection.

The stranger kept walking, his footsteps fading down the hall. Neither of them paid any further attention to the other and Kiyoomi thought that was it, just a brief glance. Until a voice came from where the stranger was headed to.

"Hey."

Kiyoomi turned around, his movements slightly sluggish from the alcohol.

The man he had just seen was standing a few steps away down the corridor, one hand resting flat against the wall. He had stopped walking entirely.

"Are ya always this serious?" the stranger asked.

Kiyoomi stared at him, his brow furrowing slightly beneath the edge of his black mask. "What?"

The man laughed, a light, soft sound. "Sorry. Dunno why I asked that."

"You're the one who started talking to me," Kiyoomi points out flatly.

"Yeah, I know." He sounded thoroughly amused about it.

Kiyoomi looked at him for another second, his honey-thick thoughts trying and failing to analyze the heavy shoulders and the tilt of the blond head, before he finally glanced away toward the end of the hall. "You should probably go back inside."

"Probably."

The stranger didn't move. Neither did Kiyoomi.

The muffled music from the ballroom reached them faintly through the closed double doors, mixed with the distant, echoing sound of people laughing somewhere further down the long hall. Kiyoomi couldn't quite remember how long he had been standing out here in the quiet. A minute, maybe, five, ten. It didn't really matter.

The stranger tilted his head, his hooded eyes observing him through the slits of his mask. "Ya hiding too?"

"I'm not hiding."

"Then what're ya doing out here?"

"Just getting some air."

"Same."

Kiyoomi gave a single, stiff nod. That seemed to settle it.

For a few long seconds, they stood there in the corridor without saying another word. Kiyoomi surprisingly didn't mind the silence. With the alcohol warming his face and slowing his thoughts, he was beginning to realize that being around complete strangers was significantly easier when neither person expected anything from the other.

The man broke the silence first. "You're not much of a talker, huh?"

Kiyoomi looked back at him, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "Seems like you're talking enough for both."

There was a brief pause. Then the man chuckled, though it was enough that Kiyoomi instinctively frowned.

"God, you talk funny," the stranger murmured.

Kiyoomi blinked, his defense mechanism kicking in despite his tipsy state. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing."

"You said something."

"I said ya talk funny."

"And you talk too loudly," Kiyoomi countered bluntly.

The stranger stared at him for a quiet second, caught off guard, before laughing out loud again. This time, Kiyoomi couldn't help the small, faint trace of a smile that appeared at the corner of his own mouth. He didn't entirely know why it was there. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the sweet drinks Komori had handed him, or maybe he was simply tired enough that everything seemed slightly funnier than it actually should.

The stranger noticed the shift anyway. "There. Ya smiled."

"Yeah, well," Kiyoomi muttered, looking down at his shoes. "People do that."

"Not much, from what I've seen."

"Anyway, you've only known me for five minutes."

The blond guy murmured a quick sentence in a lower tone, something quiet that Kiyoomi’s buzzed hearing didn’t quite catch, causing his brow to furrow again.

Sensing the confusion, the man looked away sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean—whatever. Forget it."

"Right," Kiyoomi said softly.

Another silence settled between them. It was comfortable, somehow. Entirely too comfortable for two people who didn't even know each other's names or anything. Kiyoomi leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool air of the hallway soothe him. His head felt strangely light, the heavy warmth of the alcohol still buzzing behind his eyelids.

"You drunk already?" the stranger asked, his voice dropping into a softer register.

"A little," Kiyoomi confessed honestly.

"Same."

"Yeah you don't seem particularly sober."

"Neither do you," the stranger chuckled.

"I never said I was."

The stranger smiled, his white teeth flashing beneath the edge of his mask. "You're weird."

"So I've been told."

"By who?"

Kiyoomi opened his eyes slowly. He almost answered. Then, he realized he didn't quite know how to articulate it. By everyone, maybe. By people who had known him for his entire life, like Motoya. By people who had known him for years, like Yachi and Kiyoko. By people who had only met him once and found his particular habits exhausting. 

Instead of explaining, he simply shrugged. "People."

"Hm."

The stranger didn't press for details, and Kiyoomi deeply appreciated that. He looked down at his hands, then at the polished floorboards, then at the dark, glass windows at the far end of the hallway where the Tokyo skyline was just a blur of neon dots. Everything tonight felt slightly disconnected from everything else, as if he were watching his own graduation night unfold from somewhere a few steps outside of his own body.

Graduation. The party. The music. Tomorrow.

He had spent four long years thinking about what would happen after university. He had made meticulous plans, changed them, and made new ones. Volleyball had always given him something concrete to hold onto, at least. A structured training schedule. Somewhere certain to go. Still, there was something deeply unsettling about knowing that tomorrow would be completely different from everything he knew.

"Do you know what you're doing after this?" the stranger asked suddenly, his gaze tracking the dark windows too.

Kiyoomi looked back at him. "After tonight?"

"Yeah."

He thought about it for a fraction of a second. "Volleyball." The answer came entirely automatically.

The stranger nodded slowly, as if that singular word made perfect sense to him. "Professional?"

Kiyoomi nodded.

"Me too," the stranger shared.

"Oh."

"Different team, though, I guess."

"Yeah I assumed."

The stranger laughed again, shaking his head. "Ya're really not very good at making conversation, are ya?"

"I wasn't aware we were trying to make one."

"Okay," the blond guy said, letting out a soft, defeated chuckle.

Kiyoomi smiled again. There was something remarkably easy about talking to him like this. Perhaps it was because there was absolutely no history between them to worry about. No expectations, no need to explain his particular boundaries, and no pressure to pretend to be more social than he actually was. Just a stranger in an empty hallway. Someone he would probably never see again after the lights came up.

"Are ya nervous?" the man asked quietly.

Kiyoomi hesitated, the weight of the upcoming week pressing against his chest. "...A little."

"About tomorrow?"

"About everything." The raw honesty of the answer surprised even him.

The stranger went quiet, the playful smirk entirely disappearing from his face. He nodded slowly, looking back at the double doors. "Yeah. Me too."

Kiyoomi looked at him through the dim light. For some reason, that single, shared admission felt more honest than anything else they had said to each other all night.

The stranger pushed himself away from the wall, rolling his shoulders and glancing toward the main exit. "Guess we're both screwed, then."

Kiyoomi let out a quiet, genuine laugh. "Probably."

They stayed there for another few minutes in the cooler air. Neither of them noticed how late it had actually become, which meant the people they had arrived with were likely already scanning the venue looking for them. 

Kiyoomi was only vaguely aware of how deeply exhausted he was. He rubbed his eyes on top of his mask, trying to clear the fuzzy fog from his head, but it didn't help much.

Then: "Omiii!"

The voice came floating down from the opposite end of the hallway. Kiyoomi lifted his head, his vision adjusting. Yachi was standing near the ballroom doors, holding her clutch and looking around frantically.

"There you are!" she called out, spotting his dark suit.

Kiyoomi straightened up, stepping away from the wall. "I'm coming."

Beside him, the stranger suddenly turned his head toward the far exit doors as another muffled voice echoed from the stairwell. "Miya! Hey, where'd ya wander off to?"

The stranger sighed. "Yeah? I'm right here!"

For one final second, neither of them moved. Kiyoomi paused, his feet freezing on the carpet. He glanced back at the broad shoulders. "Miya?"

The stranger looked back over his shoulder, blinking. "Hm?"

"Nothing," Kiyoomi murmured, his throat tightening slightly. He wasn't entirely sure why he had repeated the name. The syllable felt heavy, like an old habit trying to break through the surface of his memory, but the alcohol kept it buried.

The stranger gave him a confused, slightly amused look before shrugging his shoulders. "Guess that's my cue."

"Yeah. Me too."

The blond man started walking toward his end of the hallway, his hands tucked into his pockets. Kiyoomi turned around and walked towards Yachi. Neither of them said a proper goodbye. Neither asked for a real name, and neither thought to exchange a phone number. They simply walked in entirely opposite directions, disappearing back into their respective circles as the noise of the party swallowed them whole. Kiyoomi didn't look back.

And somewhere between the thumping bass, the sweet alcohol, the late hour, and the overwhelming weight of tomorrow, the conversation would become nothing more than a difficult, blurry memory by morning.

Not that either of them knew that yet. All that Kiyoomi remembers after that is a ride to somewhere he didn’t even bother to register and Yachi screaming to a song next to him.

The next morning, the world shattered into his existence with the high-pitched, piercing blare of a phone alarm.

Kiyoomi winced, a sudden, sharp pain throbbing directly behind his eyes as he forced his eyelids open. The hotel room was dim, the heavy curtains blocking out most of the morning light, but the air felt motionless and smelled faintly of the previous night's expensive cologne. 

He rolled over with a low groan, his hand blindly smacking the bedside table until his fingers collided with the vibrating screen to silence it. His throat felt like sandpaper. His head felt entirely too heavy for his neck.

"Finally," a voice called out from across the room.

Kiyoomi shifted his gaze slowly, squinting against the shadows. Komori was already fully dressed in a casual EJP Raijin track jacket, his duffel bag zipped up and sitting squarely by the door. He looked disgustingly awake.

"What time is it?" Kiyoomi muttered, his voice raspy and thick with sleep.

"Almost nine," Komori replied, leaning against the desk with a smirk. "I was starting to think I’d have to leave you here. The checkout is at ten, by the way."

Kiyoomi sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall away as a dull ache pulsed through his temples. He rubbed his face, his mind foggy as he tried to piece together the final hours of the night before. He remembered the flashing lights of the ballroom, Yachi laughing, and… It was all just a blurry, alcohol-induced haze now. Completely fragmented.

"You're late," Kiyoomi noted, nodding toward Komori's packed bags. "Don't you have to meet the EJP staff in Shizuoka by noon?"

"Yeah, well, I wasn't going to just bounce and leave my dear cousin to rot in a hotel room," Komori joked, tossing a cold bottle of water onto Kiyoomi's lap. "Drink that, you look terrible. Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you to drink that much. Seems like you had a pretty great night, cousin."

Kiyoomi cracked the cap open, taking a long, desperate gulp of the water before setting it down. "I didn't drink that much."

"You drank enough to dance with Yachi for twenty minutes and then disappear into the hallway to talk to a wall," Komori countered, slinging his smaller backpack over one shoulder. "I had to drag you to the car myself because you kept insisting the air outside tasted like mint."

Kiyoomi froze for a fraction of a second, a weird, phantom sensation stirring in his chest. 

The hallway. He vaguely remembered a voice, low but somehow loud at the same time. He remembered a sharp black and maroon suit and a blond haired man. But the details were gone, completely erased by the morning headache and the stark reality of the present.

"I don't remember that," Kiyoomi murmured, his tone flat.

"Figures," Komori chuckled, walking over to the door and grabbing his main baggage. He paused, his expression softening into something much quieter, much more grounded. 

The playful cousin energy faded, replaced by the weight of what today actually meant. "Alright. My car is packed, so I’m heading out now."

Kiyoomi looked up at him from the edge of the bed. "Drive safely."

"Always do," Komori smiled, reaching out to knock his knuckles gently against Kiyoomi's shoulder. "Take the Shinkansen straight to Osaka, okay? Don't miss your train. You said the MSBY staff is expecting the new recruits at the complex by three."

"I know."

"Call me when you get to the dorms."

"I will."

"See you on the court, Kiyoomi."

"See you, Komori."

The hotel door clicked shut, and the room fell into absolute, heavy silence.

Kiyoomi sat there for a long time, listening to the distant hum of the Tokyo traffic outside the window. It was officially over. The university years, the shared apartments, the comfortable safety net of having his cousin just a room away… it was all gone.

He forced himself out of bed, his movements mechanical as he showered, dressed in a clean, dark tracksuit, and double-checked his neatly packed suitcases by the vanity. As he reached for his wallet on the desk, his fingers brushed against a piece of molded plastic.

The black masquerade mask.

He picked it up, staring at the empty eye-slits for a brief second. It looked completely ordinary in the daylight, just a cheap prop from a night he wouldn't fully remember. He tossed it into the small trash can beside the desk without a second thought since he didn't need it anymore. 

The real world was waiting.

An hour later, Kiyoomi was sitting by the window of the train, watching the Tokyo skyline rapidly blur into a smear of grey and green as the Shinkansen sped towards Osaka. He adjusted his mask (his standard, white sanitary one) and pulled his jacket collar higher up his neck.

The train ride was entirely uneventful, exactly the way he preferred it, filled only with the quiet, rhythmic clicking of the tracks and the dull throb of his fading headache.

The trouble started the moment he stepped out of station.

The terminal was a suffocating hive of activity. Crowds of travelers, shouting vendors, and families rushing to their platforms swarmed the corridors. The sheer volume of people made navigating to the exit a slow, agonizing process, and the outdoor taxi stand was even worse. 

The line stretched halfway down the block. Kiyoomi stood rigid in the humid breeze, meticulously keeping his distance from the people around him, watching the clock hand tick closer and closer to his deadline. By the time a vacant car finally pulled up to the curb, he was already cutting it incredibly close.

When the taxi finally dropped him off outside the massive, modern gates of the MSBY Black Jackals training complex, he had less than ten minutes to spare.

The facility was pristine, towering, and quiet. He checked in with the front desk receptionist, who quickly handed him a clipboard, his security badge, and the key card to his assigned quarters.

"The rest of the team is currently assembling in Gym 1 for the introductory meeting." the receptionist noted with a polite bow. 

"Thank you," Kiyoomi murmured.

He practically ran down the residential corridor, the wheels of his suitcases clicking loudly against the polished floor. When he swiped his card and pushed open the door to his room, he half-expected to find someone. Instead, the room was empty. One room was completely bare, waiting for his belongings, while the other one showed obvious signs of occupancy, but there was no nameplate on the door, and no one was around to introduce themselves.

Kiyoomi didn't have time to investigate. He left his suitcases right by the entryway, grabbed his indoor shoes from his bag, and sprinted back out into the hallway, formatting his posture as he ran toward the athletic wing.

By the time his fingers gripped the handle of the heavy double doors to Gym 1, he checked his phone. Three-fucking-five. He was exactly five minutes late. On his very first day.

He took a sharp breath, steeled his nerves, and pushed the doors open.

The cavernous gymnasium was bright, the squeak of shoes and the echo of a volleyball bouncing against the hardwood floor filling the air. Near the center court, a small group of players was already gathered around the coaching staff. Kiyoomi stepped over the threshold as quietly as possible, hoping to slip into the back of the line without drawing unnecessary attention to himself.

"Yer late."

The voice cut through the space. It was sharp, clear, and dripping with an intensely familiar, lazy drawl.

Kiyoomi froze. The breath trapped itself securely in his lungs. The heavy fog from the previous night's alcohol seemed to evaporate instantly, replaced by a sudden, violent jolt of recognition. 

It wasn't the blurry voice of a masked stranger in a dark hallway. This voice was loud. It was a sound he had spent years convincing himself he would never have to hear in person again.

Slowly, Kiyoomi turned his head to where the voice came from.

Standing right beside Bokuto Kotaro, wearing a matching black MSBY practice jersey with the number 13 printed across the chest, was a man with sharp, hooded eyes and a messy mop of dyed blond hair.

Miya Atsumu was staring right at him, a familiar, challenging smirk playing on his lips.

For the first time in five years, Kiyoomi's carefully ordered world completely shattered.