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“A-Atsumu?” Kita said as he looked up at him.
His golden eyes bore into his deep brown ones.
His eyes were like the sun. Or maybe like a pretty shade of yellow. Like a flower?
Anyways, Atsumu smirked, “Yeah, baby?”
He snaked a hand around Kita’s waist pulling him closer. The grey haired boy swooned because Atsumu was just so hot and sexy. So they kissed, which was also hot and sexy. Kita put his fingers in his hair and-
“Atsumu?”
He slammed his notebook shut. He violently whipped his head around, almost snapping his neck in the process, to see Kita approaching him from the classroom doorway. He had already changed into his uniform, an intimidating black and white jersey with the number “1” donned proudly in the center.
Kita cocked his head to the side, “Practice is startin' soon, why aren’t ya getting dressed in the locker room yet?”
Oh, you know. Just writing a story about us making out. Also, did you know that I’ve been in love with you for the past two years? I just can’t stop thinking about what it would be like if you liked me back. By the way, your lips look super soft. Even when you scold me, I can’t stop staring at them. Is that weird?
“I was studying,” he covered the notebook with both of his arms, folding them so that it was out of sight. He knew he probably should’ve put his book away the moment Kita came in, but his body just wouldn’t budge. Kita walked over to where he was sitting and leaned back on the desk across from him. He reached to grab the notebook from under the other boy’s arms, causing Atsumu to panic and swipe at the air to get it back. Despite his struggle, Kita got a hold of it and lightly tapped it on his head to cease his fumbling.
He inspected it, reading the front cover, “Studying for English?” Before he could react, Kita flipped it open to the page he was writing on, much to Atsumu’s horror.
“Don’t read-!“
He saw Kita freeze: body stiff and eyes fixated on a particular spot. He slowly lowered the book from his gaze to reveal cheeks a shade of crimson.
"...that,” Atsumu faltered, in full defeat.
He slumped his shoulders, sinking deeper into his chair hoping that if he just made himself small enough he would disappear.
Atsumu screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself to be smacked in the face by his journal or worse, be rejected. Although he could see both happening in that particular order. After waiting for his impending heartbreak to come crashing down on him, no face hitting or icy words came.
Kita asked in a steady, quiet voice,
“'Baby?' "
Atsumu’s heart skipped a beat, "Yeah?"
"What? No I wasn't talking about you, I was referring to this,” He pointed at the wall of scribbled text.
"Oh."
Stupid! Why did I respond to that?
"Did you write this?"
“It was an English assignment.“
“It’s written in Japanese.”
“I was gonna translate it later.”
“You were gonna turn in a story about us kissing against the wall in the gym storage room for your English class?”
Shit.
“We’re still in the drafting phase.”
He can see right through me! It was such a good plot though. But still!
Kita continued to stare at him, completely unconvinced. His beet red face was now a soft pink, most likely from having gotten over his initial shock.
He'll never see me as his cool, confident kouhai anymore. He's probably gonna see me as this weirdo who likes to write stories about us making out and had a habit of calling him "baby" in more than half of them.
“Okay, I lied.”
Atsumu thought that it was best if he dropped the act and fessed up, Kita had a distaste for lies. Trying to spew nonsense would just make him upset, which was the last thing he needed. The older boy had said a lot of profound things to him during the time they’ve known each other. Some were about perseverance. Others about being diligent. But one that Atsumu could recall very clearly in his head, was a piece of advice he gave when he had a huge fight with Osamu— the concept of how the greatest strength is being able to set aside your pride and be honest.
Pride.
The thing that held him back from confessing sooner because he was afraid of the embarrassment and blunder that came from being turned down.
Now was not the time to be full of himself.
He let out a deep sigh, “I write stuff about us dating and getting together because I like you. I write dumb love poems about how the spaces between your fingers were like the missing puzzle pieces to mine ‘cuz I think they’d fit nicely if we held hands. I write cheesy stories and messy metaphors because it’s getting harder for me to hide my feelings for you.”
Only the “tick '' of a clock and their breathing bared witness to their deafening silence. If this was a scene in his story, he would have had sensei interrupt their conversation and promptly shoo them away. Kita would apologize, as courteous and rule abiding as he is, and they never bring this up again. Atsumu would proceed to have a melodramatic monologue about how Kita was always two steps ahead of him while he was one year behind Kita. Symbolizing their incompatibility and the large gap between them, both in age and mindset. That was the angsty route.
Or he would have had Coach Kurosu call Kita on his cellphone to ask where they were. From there they would save their conversation for another day because they couldn’t miss practice. The next day they would talk about it under the pouring rain at the bus stop near Inarizaki high school and then kiss as water droplets came down on their bodies—the hurt/comfort version.
However, this was reality: a combination of sadness and happiness, pain and healing. He couldn’t just write about his desires and expect them to come true. Similar to how he couldn’t stop Kita from hating him nor could he make Kita love him either. He had to have a balance of both heartbreak and love; forgiveness and letting go.
What he was facing right now was the culmination of his life’s love story. One between him and Kita. The one that began 2 years ago at the Inarizaki volleyball gym in April. Where sakura petals fell from the trees and stuck to the bottom of his school issued black shoes. A story that opened with a bow and a confident, “My name is Miya Atsumu, I’m a first year. I played setter at Yako middle school. It’s nice to meet you.” Followed by a respectful bow and a polite, “It’s nice to meet you Miya,” from a second year who wasn’t a volleyball club regular. Then came an awkward correction of, “Actually, I think it would be better if ya called me by my first name. My twin brother and I share the same last name.” To which the second year quickly corrected himself and the club went on with the introductions.
The story then unfolded from Atsumu’s POV:
An exposition that recounted Atsumu’s newfound interest in his senpai— beginning with plain confusion as to why he dedicated so much time to volleyball even if he wasn’t the best player. Said interest soon turned into respect as Atsumu realized in due time that it was because he valued hard work. He didn’t do things for the title. He was simple. Humble. Seamless.
This deep respect pushed him into the rising action of his story, despite not being ready for a crushing personal conflict that brought him to his knees. An internal struggle. Spending countless nights convincing himself that he solely admired Kita as his captain. Yet it became harder to deny the romantic undertones of his admiration. His resolve was slowly chipped away through the little things: An extra sweat towel, a pat on the back, a care package. His words were cold but his actions were warm. He fell for Kita before he even knew what being in love felt like.
Then came this moment— the climax.
Kita standing right before him, as graceful as could be, confronting him about his feelings.
His senpai. His teammate. His captain. His crush.
Only responding to him with a quiet,
“Oh.”
Atsumu had deja vu. The way Kita’s mouth formed a soft “o” and breathed out the vowel like an exhale, reminded him of one of his drabbles. He called it, “Endings and Beginnings”. A confession story. They were under the sakura trees on graduation day. The ones that were at the back of school, where no one could see them. He confessed to Kita, using really cool swanky words that had the other boy weak at his knees and rendered him speechless, only being able to respond with a soft, “Oh”. After a few seconds, Kita told him that he felt the same way and that he wanted to be with him forever and ever. They cried as they hugged, Kita buried his head in his chest while he stroked his grey hair.
But this was real life. Not a fictional story he thought of when his mind wandered off during a boring lesson. No sakura fell around them. There was no hugging or crying. It was just another Thursday in his homeroom class.
Kita. I’m pretty sure I had feelings for you the moment we met. I think your sweet tooth is cute. Your smile is unique because it curls up at the ends of your lips when you’re genuinely happy and forms into a toothy grin when you’re about to laugh. I love the way you look at life. Your modesty. Your poise.
"I like you, Kita,” He said again, voice barely above a whisper, afraid that if he spoke his feelings too loudly it would scare him away. He toyed with his mechanical pencil, avoiding eye contact. He never had the guts to say what he was thinking out loud, his thoughts were private to him. Only pencils and lined papers knew how much Kita meant to him.
This was not how he imagined his confession to happen— it was supposed to be special. He had been waiting approximately 2 years for the right moment. He planned to give him flowers, the ones he liked to stop and admire at the Mom n’ Pop shop near school. Kita went there so often that he was on a first name basis with the workers. His favorite flower was an ombre pink that faded into a dark magenta at the ends. Atsumu couldn’t remember the name of it for his life but he knew that they cost 500 yen per flower. An extra 400 yen to get a letter attached to a single one. 1500 yen in total for a bundle of 5 plus a letter and a stuffed animal.
Atsumu was supposed to bare his heart out to him. Recite his feelings in a poem he had been working on for the past 730 days, 17 hours, 52 minutes, and 34 seconds. It was a constant work in progress— he always had to change it up because every time he saw Kita a new metaphor would pop into his head. Once he got all of his words out, Atsumu would proceed to bow and hold out his hand, offering him all of his insecurities, doubts, and hopes.
He was going to leave it up to Kita at that point, letting the other boy decide his fate.
If he took his hand it meant “Yes”. If he refused his gesture it meant “No”. Though, Atsumu was still mentally preparing himself to hear the latter.
It just wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not here. Not when he hasn’t even come up with the right words to describe his eyes yet.
Atsumu’s voice shook as he spoke, “Kita, I tried to hide it. But you found out in the worst way possible. I’m sorry.”
I want to cry.
“You’re ridiculous.”
I know I am.
“Why do you write things like that?”
Because I’m stupidly, utterly in love with you.
“Atsumu, look at me.”
What if I don’t want to see the expression on your face right now?
He lifted his head anyways. He expected to see him angry. Or disgusted. Or scared. A mix of all three.
But what Atsumu saw baffled him.
Kita had a quivering smile. There was no curl at the edges, no toothy grin. Rather, a flat line that vibrated in effort to hold back a laugh.
He was amused.
Shoulders lax, eyes adoring.
Relief.
“There’s value in straightforwardness. If ya feel so strongly about me, then say it. There’s nothing weird about that. Don't go beatin' around the bush.”
Wait. What.
Before he realized it, the other boy grazed his lips over his cheeks and whispered in his ear, “If ya liked me, ya coulda just told me. It woulda saved me a lot of time.” He pulled his face back so that their noses were touching,
“I like you too, Atsumu. For exactly, 730 days and however many hours, minutes, and seconds. Those finer details are hard to count unless ya write them down.”
Wait.
Kita pressed a small kiss on his lips.
What.
“Atsumu?”
“Yes?”
His head was spinning.
You were counting the days too? Were you waiting patiently like me?
He had so many questions. All he knew was that he missed the warmth of his lips. He wanted to kiss him. Not in a hot or sexy way. But sweetly, lovingly. He wanted to cradle his face with the utmost care and adoration, for roughness and carelessness had no room to thrive in his love for Kita. Maybe he wasn’t the best at writing, maybe he didn’t know how to word things sometimes, but Atsumu was certain he could prove that Kita Shinsuke was the best piece of poetry he’s ever come across. He wouldn’t seem special to someone who didn’t take the time to understand him. Just like how poems and stories don’t seem intriguing until you take time to read them.
Amidst all his thoughts, another sudden realization dawned on him.
He just had his first kiss.
In class 2-2. In the third desk from the right, two rows from the front. At exactly 5:12 PM. When the light outside flooded the room, illuminating their features and creating shadows that watched their confession like a live audience.
“That thing about the sun. I like that, you should keep it.”
Atsumu sat shocked for a split second, before laughter bubbled out of him.
Yes, that’s it.
At their proximity, he could see everything much clearer now. Kita had a sunset for eyes— an iris reminiscent of the light that touched the curves of clouds. A summer painting— a deep gold as the base, layered by sepia, blended with hazel, finished with a spritz of black. It was imagery that was far from a simple flower.
“Okay, I will,” Atsumu replied.
I guess I did find the right words to describe them.
He reached to pull Kita’s face closer to his again.
The sun suits you perfectly.
Note to self: Don’t write in a school journal. Last time, Sensei almost found another one of your stories because you forgot to rip the page out.
Note to Self 2.0: Romance stories are cheesy. Maybe you should write sci-fi next time. Fighting aliens with your crush sounds like a cooler idea.
Note to self 3.0: Love isn’t like how it is in the books. You won’t have your perfect confession scene. You won’t hug in the most romantic place. Your first kiss might be a little awkward because you’ve never kissed anyone before. But if you’re with the right person, you wouldn’t want to change a thing.