Chapter Text
“So,” Shion took a swig from his bottle, “What are they arguing about today?” He placed it on the bench and sat down besides it, looking up at Koutarou and Shouyou as they watched their teammates bicker inaudibly from across the gym.
Koutarou scratched the back of his head. “Not sure, but I’m gonna take a guess: 1000¥ Tsum-Tsum said Sakusa’s a sea-urchin again!” He has a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks at Shion and Shouyou, waiting for them to place their bets.
“As if! Omi-san looks moodier than usual today, I think he said something to set Atsumu-san off. He probably complained about his toss or something,” Shouyou challenged. Koutarou laughed and patted him on the back (something about being proud of his disciple for being so observant). Shion agreed with Shouyou, and the trio joked about their teammates, until the pair's voices reached levels of audibility across the gym.
“Y’know, Omi-kun, I wish I could be ya just for one day so I can finally see how it feels to be a prick all the goddamn time!” Atsumu waved his hands erratically as he spoke. More than three pairs of eyes were on them now, watching the seemingly petty discourse unfold as per.
“It wouldn’t make any difference. We’re both fucking pricks. I’m sure you know exactly how to effortlessly be a prick already,” Kiyoomi grumbled. The team tried to contain their laughter.
“Well, that just ain’t true, is it? You’ll see, Omi, I’m literally the nicest person on the whole team! Ya wish ya had my charisma!”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and stood up from where he was stretching on the floor. “Of course, I wanna be you so bad,” monotonously drawing out each word, “The guy who thought the plural of octopus was octopee . The guy who is a star athlete but his twin brother who owns an onigiri business is more well-liked than him. The guy who-“
“‘Kay, okay! I get it! The last one definitely ain’t true, yer just being mean now Omi-Omi,” Atsumu crossed his arms and pouted. Kiyoomi might’ve thought he looked somewhat tolerable (read: cute) if he wasn’t being such a brat. They threw another plethora of pointless insults back and forth before Kiyoomi departed to the locker room, with Atsumu huffing at the fact that he wanted to follow after him to continue their debate, but he forgot to stretch in the midst of it.
Their captain, Shugo, chuckled from behind the rest of the team, who were gathered together to watch the performance. “Well that was a waste of time. No one wins the bet?”
They all grumbled at the realisation that they hadn’t found out the root of the argument and no one won the money. Dispersing to tend to their own business in the locker room, training came to a close. Kiyoomi was the first to leave, and his departure meant the rest of the team would hear Atsumu mutter to himself, mocking the outside hitters previous words in a terrible imitation with his residual pettiness.
Kiyoomi groaned as the familiar tune of Heist from the children’s movie Over the Hedge blasted from his phone at exactly half-past-eight the following morning. That’s strange. His alarm was set to the default tone. He reached for his phone, softly rubbing at his eyes as an ache formed in his back. Must have slept in an odd position. Eyes fully opened, he glanced at his phone. And then at his hand. Long, firm fingers, nails bordering on the edge of needing to be filed again, and skin that wasn't as pale as his.
No. No, no, no. He was dreaming.
He sat up in the bed he had slept the night in. This was not his bed. These were not his high quality sheets and his new hybrid fabric duvet. He wasn’t even holding his own phone. The panic rose to his throat as he frantically dashed through the ajar bathroom door connected to the room he slept in.
Staring in the mirror above the sink, his jaw exceeded the limits of what could be considered ‘dropping’, and was now pretty much dragging across the floor. He was incapable of neither shutting it nor preventing his shock from rattling up a hurricane inside of him. A hand lifted to feel the tufts of light blonde hair sticking up in several directions. (It was soft and he did not expect it to be.)
“What the fuck,” Kiyoomi whispered to himself. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?” The panic continued to bubble, and he rummaged through the cabinet besides the mirror to find anything to cleanse with. Pulling out what seemed like a lemon-infused facial wash and splashing his face with water enough times to confirm that he was really truly touching it, the fact finally processed in his head and there was no denying it - Sakusa Kiyoomi was inside Miya Atsumu’s body.
The lump in his throat throbbed. Everyone was aware of his strict cleanliness rituals, and he was almost positive, given that Atsumu called detergent “laundry juice”, that he would not have the same standard of hygiene.
How does something like this even happen? How long will this last? This couldn’t be real. So Atsumu is in my body? This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real. It was a prank. How can someone swap two bodies for a prank? Get a hold of yourself, idiot. This was reality. This was real life. How am I going to live like this?
Erupting from next door, from what he assumed was Atsumu’s phone, was the undeniable harmony of Careless Whisper . Kiyoomi crashed back down to Earth and his eyes met the back of his head in annoyance. He walked back to where he found himself in the morning and picked the device up, reading Omi-Omi with devil and water droplet emojis after it flashing across the screen. Raising an eyebrow, he sighed in exasperation (or relief).
“Omi-kun! This is Omi, right? And not some weird world where there’s now two of me but one’s in my actual body and one’s in Omi’s body?” His voice spoke in a rapid pace and tone across the line. Kiyoomi flinched from the volume - and hearing his own voice in an all too familiar dialect. He wanted to ask how Atsumu knew his password but figured it wasn’t on the top of his priority list right now.
“...Yes. It’s Sakusa. What the fuck is this? What did you do? Explain.” He demanded.
“So mean, Omi-kun! Acting like I somehow had somethin’ to do with this!” Kiyoomi listens to Atsumu complain for a couple seconds before snapping at him to get on with whatever he wanted to say. “‘Kay, listen, uh, first things first - I live with ‘Samu, right?” Kiyoomi inaudibly gasped in realisation. “So maybe ya should come back to your apartment and we can figure somethin’ out or at least, y’know, talk about this? I’m just as confused as you are.” Atsumu surprisingly sounded relatively calm in comparison to the panic storm still raging within Kiyoomi.
“Okay.” He managed to bite out. “I’m on my way. But you better not do anything stupid looking like me. I will not hesitate to strangle my own body if it means it’s your soul that’s dying.”
“How sweet!” Atsumu chirped. “And don’t worry, Omi-kun, ya can take a shower with my body. I’ve got nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Kiyoomi could practically hear him wink and he dramatically let out the most frustrated sigh known to man.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Okay, Omi-kun, it’s easy to pretend ya won’t enjoy the sight but we both know-“ click.
He sighed again (probably the hundredth time already this morning), ignoring Atsumu’s words, and processed his whirlwind of emotions one by one as he perched on the edge of Atsumu’s bed. It was comfortable, though not what he was used to. The sheets seemed new, surprisingly. Hell, Kiyoomi was surprised that Atsumu washed his face or knew what skincare even was. The products he’d managed to quickly glance over in his earlier panic were all citrus-scented and of high quality.
Maybe he was panicking for no reason after all - Atsumu wasn’t even half as unhygienic as Kiyoomi had pretended he was in his head.
He trudged back to the bathroom and thoroughly washed up as normally as possible despite the lack of his favourite shower products (and an overwhelming urge to pay too much attention to his crotch). His cheeks flared at his own thoughts. This is immoral. Atsumu just got into his head with his flirty comments. That’s all.
Stepping out with a towel hung low around his waist, he meticulously observed the items in Atsumu’s wardrobe. Half of it was a mess with a pile of clean clothes, which he assumed Atsumu was too lazy to fold correctly, strewn across the bottom. Kiyoomi held his head in his hands for seconds before he stood upright again and looked for the most monochromatic things the setter owned. His fashion sense was tolerable, but it was not Kiyoomi’s. And regardless of being in someone else’s body, he was always going to look presentable. He could only hope Atsumu was thinking the same.
Finally deciding on a simple black-shirt-black-jeans look, he closed Atsumu’s door behind him and rushed down the stairs only to be met with an incredulous stare.
“Where’re ya going at nine, dressed like that?” Atsumu’s twin eyed him, sitting on a bar stool and leaning across the kitchen counter with his mouth half-full of pancakes.
“It’s just a shirt and jeans.” Kiyoomi tried to limit conversation as much as possible. “I’m just going… out.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes were still trained on Kiyoomi as he awkwardly tried to pretend he knew where he was going in order to find his way to the front door. “A shirt and black jeans that yer somehow managed to make look so polished. Never would have thought. Got fancier clothes that ya can’t even pull off like that.”
Kiyoomi ignored him, biting his cheek to stop laughter, and hoping that not snapping back an insult was not uncommon for Atsumu.
“Not gonna argue back? What’s up with ya? Not even speakin’ normally.” Osamu jeered. Well, clearly Kiyoomi got that wrong.
I’m speaking perfectly normally , he wanted to say. But he didn’t. “I just forgot to do... some stuff? Yesterday? Yeah.” Osamu raised his eyebrows.
“‘Kay, be weird. Suit yerself. No pancakes?”
“No, thank you,” Kiyoomi pulled on staple, white shoes he found by the door and grabbed the dark-green, hooded bomber jacket hanging on a peg - and then he cringed at how formal he just sounded to someone who is currently supposed to be his twin brother.
“Gross, I dunno what’s up with ya but better sort it out quick. Almost make me feel bad makin’ fun of ya.” There was a pause. “Why’re ya wearing my jacket?” Kiyoomi scrunched his face before turning around and trying to look as casual as possible.
“Because it’s nice. Goodbye.” He said, before closing the door behind him (and ignoring Osamu’s ‘ Ya said yer’d never be seen wearing something seaweed coloured last week! ’). This was not going well so far.
Conveniently, Kiyoomi recognised the street he was on as soon as he stepped outside. It was merely three streets away from his own house. The thumping in his chest slowed at the comfort of familiarity. Within ten minutes, he was at his own door and realised he was without keys. He rang the doorbell. Nobody opened. Knowing how annoying the sound of his own doorbell was when it lasted for more than half a second, he furiously shoved his index finger on the button for ten, agonising seconds before the door burst open hurriedly.
“Jeez, Omi-kun, I was coming! So impatient,” Atsumu whined. Kiyoomi's jaw hung open (again) at Atsumu in his body, dressed horrifically in bright, yellow Spongebob Squarepants shorts and an equally bright matching shirt to go with it. So maybe Atsumu hadn’t been on the same page as him when he was thinking about looking presentable. Kiyoomi shoved past Atsumu to get into his own house and the latter grinned wide when he caught sight of his disgusted expression.
“Where the fuck did you find those?” Kiyoomi said through gritted teeth, surveying the condition of his still-pristine home.
“Like it?” Atsumu twirled to showcase his outfit. “I was looking for that ugly jacket ya used to wear in high school, but I pulled this out on accident instead! I think it’s great. Where’d ya get it from?”
“It was a gift given to me as a joke. Change out of it. Now.”
“Ooh, ya want me to strip in front of ya, Omi-Omi? How scandalous!” He hummed, skipping around the living room to place himself on the couch lazily.
“ You’re in my body! ” Kiyoomi near-enough screeched and Atsumu’s grin dropped as he muttered an ‘ oh yeah’ . He glowered, taking a seat on the couch opposite the setter. “How can you even forget something like this?”
“Dunno, I’m quite enjoying being yer prickly self.” Atsumu’s smirk returned as Kiyoomi groaned. There was a pause. “And why’re ya wearing ‘Samu’s hideous jacket? Makin’ me look bad.”
“ Why is the jacket that much of a big deal?! You’re wearing a Spongebob co-ord set!”
“It’s yours at least! And it’s comfy! Omi-kun, ya need to calm down for a sec’. That glare doesn’t suit my gorgeous face.”
Kiyoomi’s nostrils flared and he stood up, marching over to where Atsumu was lazily spread. “How are you so calm about this?!” He had never raised his voice this much consecutively, and Atsumu thought this was the most emotion he’s ever seen him outwardly display. “We’ve swapped bodies! How is any of this in any way normal at all to you?”
Atsumu quietly straightens and looks up at Kiyoomi who had been angrily gesticulating in his face. “I’m just as confused as ya, Omi-kun. Obviously, I was scared we’d been hexed at first too, but now I just don’t see any point panickin’. What can we do? Not like there’s some kind of magic potion to turn us back. I din’t even think this was possible.” Kiyoomi stared at him. He flopped back down on the couch adjacent to Atsumu. It pained him to admit that he was right (so he only did so in his head - but both of them knew that Atsumu was speaking sense for once).
“You’re telling me we have no way of returning to normal?”
Atsumu shrugged. “I dunno, I’m not a sorcerer. I don’t even know what coulda hexed us like this.”
“Why do you keep saying hexed?”
“I watched the Fresh Prince episode where they got cursed last night,” Atsumu grinned. Kiyoomi stared at him in disbelief.
They sat in heavy silence. Kiyoomi evaluated all the things that could go wrong with them being in each other's bodies. Ridiculous scenarios flurried through his mind as his own voice broke him out of his trance of panic.
“Well, I’m sure it won’t be like this forever. We just have to figure it out while pretending to be each other for a while.” Atsumu stood up. “C’mon, Omi-kun, it can’t possibly be that bad being someone as amazing as me. We don’t even have anything important to show up for. Should feel blessed.” Kiyoomi glared at him. Then he suddenly paled, as if a poltergeist had just appeared behind Atsumu. “What? What is it?”
“We have practice today. And then an interview before the new season starts.”
“Oh, fuck! I forgot!” Atsumu shrieked.
“Evidently so. Okay, it’s fine. After this we don’t have anything important until the new season next week. Maybe we’ll be back to normal by then.”
Atsumu narrowed his eyes, “Omi-kun, ya don’t get to suddenly act all calm and collected now when y’were freakin’ out five seconds ago.” He earned a scowl. “All my fans are gonna start hating me if you keep makin’ that scary face in the interview too.”
“You’re obnoxious. I can do a perfect Miya Atsumu impression.” His grin turned into something sickeningly sweet and the pitch in his voice reached incredible octaves, “ I’m Miya Atsumu and all I know how to do is be an annoying dickhead and make fun of people. I’m the brother that barely knows how to cook and -” Atsumu lifts his hands to cover Kiyoomi’s mouth (or vice versa).
“Ya always gotta bring ‘Samu into it! I’m the better twin and ya know it!” Kiyoomi shoves his own hands out of his face.
“Don’t put my hands on your dirty face,” He grumbled, and Atsumu placed a hand on his chest in offense.
“Ya act like I’m diseased, Omi-kun!” Kiyoomi turned his gaze. He’d established this morning that Atsumu was actually anything but dirty, yet he still wanted to deny it in his head, for reasons completely unknown. “C’mon, if ya really hated being in my body that much, yer’d be somewhere off a cliff by now.”
Kiyoomi sighed. True . “Just because you barely passed my standards of cleanliness doesn’t exactly mean I’m ecstatic to be you right now. I still want to be myself. But in the meantime, you have to learn to act like me because I refuse to let my reputation be soiled by you.”
Atsumu’s grin returned. “‘Course, Omi-Omi. I can do a great impersonation. Don’t ya worry ‘bout a thing.” He hummed as Kiyoomi realised he hadn’t eaten breakfast, despite Osamu offering him some, and walked to the kitchen to put two slices of bread in the toaster, Atsumu on his heel. “Did ‘Samu not make breakfast?”
“He did, but I was in a rush. And I don’t know how long I can pretend to insult your brother for - I actually enjoy his company.” Atsumu pouted.
“So mean to me for no damn reason,” He muttered under his breath. Kiyoomi’s lips upturned slightly at his sour expression. “He didn’t catch on, did he? I mean, yer wearing his jacket, he has to think somethin’s up.”
Kiyoomi shoved two more in the toaster and buttered the two that had already come out, placing one on the two plates he’d placed on the counter in front of him. “He thought something was off but I was quick. He shouldn’t suspect much.” Atsumu eyed him.
“‘Samu’s real good at telling when somethin’ is up and what exactly it is so don’t slip up, ‘cause he’ll kill me for not tellin’ him. Don’t need him to find out we’re in this predicament. He’d never stop makin’ fun of me.” Kiyoomi wanted to say that if anyone was going to slip up, it’d be Atsumu and not him, but he kept it to himself. They ate the toast silently, Kiyoomi cringing as he watched Atsumu’s mannerisms take place with his body. Atsumu passed Kiyoomi’s phone to him and Kiyoomi followed suit.
“How did you know my password?” He questioned once he swallowed the last of his toast.
“Omi-kun… who has their own phone password as their birthday?”
Kiyoomi’s cheeks dusted a light pink. “It’s not that unnatural, it’s easy to remember,” He muttered.
“Yer a professional volleyball player and yer password is yer birthday. Which is displayed in every profile ya have online. I’m tellin’ ya, if ya ever got mugged, they’d be on yer phone in no time.” Kiyoomi still couldn’t fathom the Kansai dialect in his own voice.
“Stop the accent, it doesn’t sound like me.”
“Yer askin’ me to change who I am! What’s wrong with my accent?”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Your accent is fine. But you have to be me. I don’t speak like that and it’ll be way too obvious something is up.”
“That means yer’ve gotta speak in my accent then, Omi-Omi.”
“Yeah, absolutely not.”
Atsumu lightly banged his fists on the counter. “That’s not fair!”
“You’re being a child. It’s more unnatural if I just started randomly talking in a Kansai dialect than if you were to speak in a similar dialect to everyone else just for a couple days, or however long this is going to last.”
Atsumu huffed. “Fine.”
“Go change, Atsumu, I’m not letting you go anywhere dressed like that.”
“Okay, mother.” Kiyoomi’s nose scrunched in annoyance.
Suddenly, vibrations and the tune of Busted from the Phineas and Ferb soundtrack blasted from Atsumu’s phone, which was in his hand. Panic flashed across his expression and he threw it at Kiyoomi, who raised an eyebrow and caught it with ease.
“It’s ‘Samu! Put it on speaker so I can hear what he says. I’ll mouth to ya what to say,” He hurriedly goes to stand by Kiyoomi.
“Do you have custom ringtones for everyone? Why am I Careless Whisper ?” The taller (well, currently shorter) man asked casually.
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows raised even further when he saw Atsumu’s cheeks tint and he shook his head furiously, “Nevermind that, pick up!”
Kiyoomi pressed accept . “Yo, ‘Sumu, ya gonna come back any time soon?”
Why , Atsumu mouthed, missin’ me already?
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Why? Missing me already?”
“Don’t get ahead of yerself. Suna’s comin’ ‘round. Just wonderin’.”
Atsumu indicated: Yer gross! Go to his, don’t make him come to ours.
“Cool. I’ll be back at some point to get my shit for practice. Maybe in an hour or two.”
Atsumu angrily pressed the mute button. “That’s not what I said! Ya have to act disgusted at him and Sunarin or he’ll think it’s weird, trust me, Omi-kun!”
“I don’t want to insult your brother. And it’s more entertaining this way because it gets a rise out of you.”
“And ya say I’m the insufferable one! Yer killin’ me here, Omi,” He groaned, then unmuted and they both realised they weren’t paying attention to what Osamu had said.
“Hello? Still there? Where even are ya?”
At a friend’s. Atsumu paused in thought, holding out a hand to let Kiyoomi know he’s not finished. Why are ya so bothered about my life all of a sudden, ‘Samu? Kiyoomi repeated after him.
“‘Cause ya walked out ya room lookin’ presentable. Thought y’were goin’ to Sakusa’s or somethin’.”
Kiyoomi glanced at Atsumu as panic flashed across his eyes once again, his expression becoming unreadable. Atsumu lunged for his phone, but Kiyoomi moved back. “Why? What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks into the mic. Kiyoomi moved further away until Atsumu began to chase after him, crashing them both onto one of the couches they’d previously been sitting on and tussling for the device in Kiyoomi’s hands.
“What’s goin’ on, ‘Sumu? Yer either havin’ sex or a wrestling match. If yer really at Sakusa’s, I’ll take the liberty of eliminating the first option since that’s not-” click.
Atsumu released a loud sigh of relief as he hung up on his brother, sprawled across Kiyoomi’s chest and panting heavily. Kiyoomi softly shoved him off of himself and stood up. “It was getting interesting. Why were you so panicked?” Kiyoomi questioned, his tone bordering on playful. Atsumu narrowed his eyes at him and noticed a slight upturn of the corners of his lips.
“It was irrelevant! I’m going to get changed!” Atsumu stomped off into Kiyoomi’s room, with the latter following him in suit. They argued about what Atsumu was going to wear and he was made to shower (again) to uphold his standard of hygiene. The setter grumbled as Kiyoomi began to style his own hair for him, protesting that he knew how to do it himself.
“I refuse to let you walk out of this house without my hair looking presentable.”
“But I like ya curls, Omi-kun! Should all be left out like in high school, at least some of the time.” Atsumu whined.
“Well, I like it like this,” He muttered as he pushed back one side of his hair and slid a few hair grips to hold it in place.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Kiyoomi repeated.
“It’s clipped back. That’s so cute. I thought it was with wax!”
“I’d have to wash my hair everyday if I used wax all the time. That'll dry it out,” Kiyoomi grumbled, putting his miniature container of hair grips back in his drawer and turning away to hide the heat in his cheeks. He pulled Atsumu to look at himself in the mirror, adorning a simple, black athleisure look.
“I like this outfit, Omi-kun, I might just keep it for myself when this is all over,” Atsumu grinned.
“As if. Hurry up, we’re going to yours so I can get your stuff. Then we’re going to practice.”
They looked their parts. But could they really play them?