Archive of Our Own

Sakusa Kiyoomi was many things, but nosy wasn’t one of them.

In fact, he could probably stand to be a bit nosy, instead of letting everything drift past him in a haze of detachment. He had a specific set of interests, and a specific set of habits, and that was it: his very specific way of life. Anything outside of it can get in line.

But as he watched Miya Atsumu from the corner of his eye in what has become an unfortunate habit, he was mature enough to identify the burn of curiosity festering in his gut.

See, he knew Miya Atsumu, has known him for years. He faced him in high school volleyball tournaments, went head-to-head with him at some point in Nationals, and even watched his team’s games. The two of them were even in the same exclusive training camp when they were in second year high school.

Miya Atsumu had always been this smug, arrogant presence, who was quick to smile and offer compliments, but just as quick to provoke hapless victims. Back then, his hair was a clumsily bleached straw-blonde color which only served to highlight his fine features. Kiyoomi had secretly thought he was one of those people who were larger than life, who stood out without trying, doomed to forever be in the spotlight.

He was the opposite of Kiyoomi, whose lonesome existence was only alleviated by his annoyingly sunny cousin, Komori Motoya. Not that he needed him. Because Kiyoomi was almost always alone, but he never learned to be lonely.

This, he decided, as he studied the faraway look on Atsumu’s face, which only made an appearance when he thought no one was looking. This is what it looks like to be lonely.

Then, I wonder what changed him.

--

Someone was playing music again.

Kiyoomi didn’t know who it could possibly be. He once heard it by accident when he stayed up late on a Friday, and decided some cold, fresh air would be nice.

He liked it. It was a unique sound, but he was clueless as to what instrument it was. It wasn’t like he could Google it. From what he could tell, it came from below him, and he’d think it was Atsumu, but that didn’t make sense. Not once in his old Volleyball Weekly features did Atsumu say he knew how to play an instrument.

As if waiting for an excuse, his mind wandered to Atsumu again.

Earlier in practice, he started practicing a new serve, which would be deadly if he actually nailed it. His floater and jumper were enough of a pain to receive. He wasn’t ranked number two in serving for nothing.

But Kiyoomi was stuck on the wistful smile that graced his face when he did nail the new serve.

What was that for? Kiyoomi wondered. Or maybe the right question was, Who was it for?

The smile was all kinds of wrong to Kiyoomi. Miya Atsumu didn’t smile like that. He smirked, he beamed, he laughed. He wasn’t supposed to look sad. And especially not while smiling.

The change in Atsumu was immediately clear to Kiyoomi when they met again at the Black Jackals’ tryouts a couple months ago.

Kiyoomi had seen him first, as he waited with the other hopeful athletes on the court. He knew he was going to be a shoo-in, of course. The MSBY Black Jackals had already expressed their interest in him. But they had to see if he worked well with the team first.

Atsumu was walking beside Bokuto Koutarou, who seemed to be chatting his ears off as they approached the group and the coaches. The first thing Kiyoomi thought was that his hair was lighter now, as if it was (finally) professionally done — and that the years only served to make him that much more of a stand out. He got a bit taller, his body a bit buffer, and his face... his recent magazine covers and ads didn’t lie. He was devastatingly handsome. But Atsumu seemed distracted, subdued, and it just didn’t match.

Then Atsumu looked up and saw Kiyoomi and he blinked, something in his eyes lightening. “Hey, Omi-kun!” he greeted, mouth finally pulling up into a familiar grin. The nickname was something he coined during the All-Japan Youth Training Camp. Kiyoomi was a little surprised he still remembered it.

The familiarity eased whatever nerves managed to build as he waited for the tryouts to start. He nodded at Atsumu. “Miya.”

Atsumu’s eye twitched at the name, but he was talking again before Kiyoomi could dwell on it. “It’s been what, four years since our third year high school face-off? You really made me wait to set for you, huh?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, yes, I was really thinking about you when I was making my life decisions.”

Atsumu laughed, and Kiyoomi thought he must have just been overthinking things again. Atsumu seemed fine.

But now, as he listened to the strange music and thought of the new Atsumu, he knew he’d been right all along.

There was something wrong with Miya Atsumu.

And he simply had to figure it out.

--

Atsumu was being a fake ass to Bokuto again. The latter was too dense to notice it, and so was Hinata, but Kiyoomi knew better.

Kiyoomi saw the way Atsumu’s face froze when Hinata invited him to watch “The Haunting of Hill House” again, saw him fail to find an excuse and give in.

So when Hinata extended the invitation to Kiyoomi, he impulsively decided to go, too.

Squeezing into a room with his teammates to watch a horror series wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of his Friday, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything else.

And as he watched Atsumu get choked up rewatching the show, going so far as to wipe tears from his eyes at the finale, clarity finally dawned on Kiyoomi.

In the months he’d been training with the team, not once did he witness a single phone call between Atsumu and his twin, Osamu. And Atsumu never uttered his name either. If a family drama that featured twins of all things could make Atsumu look that heartbroken…

What happened to Miya Osamu?

He decided to ask when they were making their way to their own rooms, speeding up his own stride to catch up to the blonde.

“How’s Osamu these days?” he asked.

Atsumu stopped in his tracks. He turned around and blustered his way through a vague explanation, then fled.

It had something to do with his twin, then.

The newfound realization only served to stoke his curiosity. He finally had a lead, but he was nowhere close to finding out the whole story.

--

And then the rest of it came crashing down in the locker room in the form of Osamu himself.

Osamu was ushered in by Meian, who was making conversation with him.

“I can’t believe we haven’t met you before now,” Meian was saying.

“The Miya twins are so cool,” Hinata was gushing. “Back in high school they were like, wham! Then, bam!”

The rest of the team crowded around Osamu, who unlike his twin had let his hair return to its original color. Kiyoomi thought it was unsettling to see what Atsumu would look like with brown hair.

He thought he preferred the blonde.

And then Atsumu was strolling out of the showers, wearing only a towel around his waist. Kiyoomi tried not to stare at his abs.

When Atsumu ignored his twin and started to dress, Kiyoomi perked in attention.

Atsumu’s movements were stiff, even though he tried to play it cool. Kiyoomi saw the exact moment he snapped when Osamu tried to talk to him. The slam of the locker door reverberated across the now silent room.

And then Atsumu asked, “Why did you come see me after a whole four years of peacefully not speaking to each other?”

And Kiyoomi’s thought process just — stopped.

It sounded impossible. They were the Miya twins. On the court they seemed to be connected by some telepathic bond. Off of it, they were inseparable. The only time Kiyoomi saw Atsumu without his long-suffering twin was in the training camp.

And then Osamu said he was proposing to one Shinsuke and the sheer pain on Atsumu’s face was enough for Kiyoomi to piece together the story.

Ah, he thought. Of course it had to be a boy.

“Four years since I caught you with my boyfriend, and now you’re marrying him.”

This sounded like a drama Kiyoomi had no intention of watching. But he couldn’t look away. It felt like he was witnessing a trainwreck in slow motion and he simply had to watch the impact. The subsequent destruction. And the inevitable grief.

And then Atsumu started crying.

Kiyoomi tracked the tears that escaped from his eyes, tears that disappeared into the palm of his hand when he wiped his face and told Osamu that he’d been all alone these past four years.

“You got everything,” Atsumu said. It sounded like an old issue, which manifested in the most heartbreaking way possible.

Then Atsumu turned his back on Osamu and left, but not before saying, “There is nothing left in me anymore, Samu.”

Kiyoomi and the rest of them watched as Osamu collapsed on a bench, dropped his face in his hands and wept. They were frozen, unsure. They didn’t dare touch the broken pieces. 

After Osamu left too, sniffling and quiet and alone, they robotically started to clean up and leave. They didn’t say anything.

Kiyoomi only had two thoughts in his head, as he made his way to his room.

First, Miya Atsumu has been broken for far too long.

Second, Miya Atsumu was wrong. There was a lot left in him, still.

--

Atsumu was wearing shades. Kiyoomi wasn’t stupid — he knew he must have cried long and hard after that tough conversation with Osamu. He was trying to hide the damage.

It was too late. They already saw the worst of it.

Kiyoomi took the seat beside him in the van that will take them to Yugihama Beach. He didn’t know why. His curiosity was sated. For all intents and purposes, his interest in Atsumu should start to fade.

That wasn’t happening though.

And when Atsumu accidentally nodded off into Kiyoomi’s shoulder, he didn’t shove him off. He thought about it, because the embarrassment of letting the team, letting Atsumu see him be nice and considerate was going to be unpleasant. But he thought maybe Atsumu could use a break. He must not have slept much, if at all. Life’s been mean to him enough already, right?

So Kiyoomi didn’t push him away. And if he actually liked the weight of him against him, that was his business.

--

He listened to Atsumu laugh while playing beach volleyball and decided he was right.

There was a lot left in Miya Atsumu, still.

--

When he spotted Atsumu sneak off with a girl attached to his lips, all the good things that Kiyoomi had been thinking about him died a horrible death.

Miya Atsumu was an obnoxious, loathsome, good-for-nothing jerk.

Kiyoomi still took care of his drunk ass though. He was starting to think that maybe he’d been an idiot who wasn’t looking where he was going, because he seemed to have developed a crush on his emotionally unavailable, entirely too broken teammate.

Fuck.

--

What was it that did it? Was it the face? The body? The hair?

Did he doom himself into liking Atsumu through all those times he snuck glances at him from the corner of his eyes? Did he spend months trying to figure out what was wrong with Atsumu only to unknowingly get attached to him? Was it because he saw every vulnerable expression that no one else did?

Was it the unfathomable sadness? The rare genuine smile? The enchanting way he moved in the court?

When did he start wanting to get into Atsumu’s brain and end up wanting to touch him instead?

Ah, Omi, he thought to himself. This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.

--

He got his revenge on Atsumu for sleeping with a stranger the next day. He mercilessly pressed sunblock against the scratches on his back, the sight of which infuriated him. What kind of fucking nasty freak was that girl?

Logically, Kiyoomi knew that Atsumu could have a one night stand if he wanted. He was an adult. And he and Atsumu obviously weren’t together. They were nowhere near that. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted that. And Atsumu obviously wasn’t in the right frame of mind for that.

But still. Kiyoomi hated her.

And he hated Atsumu, too, a little.

--

Whatever irrational feelings lingered in him were swept away by the wind that night. He and Atsumu had what was probably the longest conversation they ever engaged in with each other. And it wasn’t small talk either — they were both shameless in their curiosity.

He couldn’t help but ask about Kita. He simply had to know what it was about that guy that caught both the twins’ hearts. What was it about him that had Atsumu hung up over him for over four years?

Could he ever measure up?

Kiyoomi shook his head to dispel the thought. Not the time, he thought. Not yet.

When Atsumu described Kita, he didn’t seem like that much of a catch to Kiyoomi. Maybe it was the drinks, but Kiyoomi thought he’d be a better match. He was a professional volleyball player, like Atsumu. And if fans and the general public were to be believed, Kiyoomi was pretty attractive himself.

Not to mention, he never cheated on Atsumu with his twin brother.

When Atsumu presented his hand for Kiyoomi to touch, something in him took that as an opening.

I’m going to get you, he thought. I’m the one who deserves you.  

He wanted Miya Atsumu. Denying it would be a useless and exhausting endeavor, an inefficient waste of time. Kiyoomi didn’t like wasting time.

But he thought he didn’t mind waiting until Atsumu was ready.

One day, he’ll heal.

And Kiyoomi will be there.

And he’ll show Kita, and Osamu, and his family that Atsumu was the one soul they never should have tarnished.

--

Of course it was Atsumu who’d been playing the music on his balcony during all those sleepless nights. Of course.

The instrument was a kalimba. And if hearing it from a floor above was enchanting, it was nothing compared to watching him play it for him in the moonlight.

They could be sleepless together. Kiyoomi honestly wouldn’t mind.

--

He started testing the waters, started to let Atsumu get used to him first. He let himself stop fighting the urge to touch, but kept it in the box that could be labeled “friends.” Based on the looks Meian and Inunaki were giving him though, he was being obvious. It wasn’t like he ever willingly touched anyone else.

He liked his space. He got to decide who could enter it.

Unfortunately, he wanted Atsumu there.

But when he tried to touch Atsumu’s hand once, the latter stuffed his hand in his hoodie. He looked kind of panicked.

Too soon.

--

Kiyoomi knew something was wrong when Atsumu froze and dropped a volleyball during warm-ups. Atsumu never lost control of the ball like that, ever. It always fit in his hands so well, like it was meant to be there.

Kiyoomi couldn’t stop himself from clutching Atsumu’s face between his palms. He’d wanted to do this for some time now. Wanted to keep him still, to tell him to look at me. Stop thinking of Kita.

And Atsumu did. And he went out there and showed the Schweiden Adlers, and the rest of the world, what he was made of.

It was the best match Kiyoomi’s ever played, to date. The look on Ushijima's face when Kiyoomi cleanly bumped his serve would never fail to amuse him.

Not to mention seeing Atsumu’s face when he nailed his hybrids — the sheer delight and pride on his face, the ferocious grin that didn’t carry even a smidge of sadness on it — it was really something.

Kiyoomi was proud of him. He thought about the Atsumu he’d met again months ago, and decided he might never return to the Atsumu from years ago — but this Atsumu that was in the process of being rebuilt was surely going to be the best version of him ever.

--

He finally got to see the infamous Kita after the match.

He could see the appeal, he supposed. Kita carried himself with some untouchable dignity, and there was an assured air about him that was somehow comforting.

Kiyoomi nastily thought that he was boring.

And then Kita froze and stuttered when he was suddenly addressed by Atsumu, and he thought maybe there was something there, still. Or it was just the force of Atsumu’s attention, which he was willing to admit could be truly devastating if you weren’t prepared for it.

The idiot was truly unaware of the magnitude of his own magnetic pull.

Kiyoomi resolved never to tell him. He was smug enough already.

Atsumu made his way to him, to their team, leaving his family behind, and Kiyoomi was pleased to see the lack of heartbreak in his expression. He was facing this with his head held high.

Kiyoomi wouldn’t mind holding his hand in this battle.

--

He got the text not even half an hour since Atsumu was scheduled to leave to meet his family.

Kiyoomi didn’t hesitate. He dropped everything, stuffed himself into a black sweater and jeans, and took a cab to the restaurant. The ride only took a few minutes. He could have walked it, but Atsumu needed him.

He spotted them immediately, because that area of the restaurant was quiet. Families from nearby tables were already throwing glances at them.

Atsumu was crying. Again. His pain was plastered on his face for all the world to see, and Kiyoomi hated it. When he came close, he saw that everyone was also crying. Just what kind of family drama did walk into?

Whatever it is, it was ending, now. Atsumu has clearly had enough. Kiyoomi couldn’t fathom why anyone thought this was going to be a good idea.

When he made his presence known, Atsumu looked up at him in absent relief. And when he told them to pack it up, Atsumu’s gaze looked a little clearer, a little more aware.

And he looked at Kiyoomi like he was his hero.

Kiyoomi wasn’t a hero. He didn’t think he was that much of a good guy, really. He didn’t want to save Atsumu, he knew that wasn’t what Atsumu needed. He was already strong, he’d been strong all these four years by himself.

But he would like to be there for Atsumu while he saved himself.

--

Kiyoomi’s eyes snapped open when he heard the balcony door open and fail to close.

He was in Atsumu’s room. After seeing the state of him in the cab ride home, he made the decision not to leave him alone. He felt gross and horrible in his jeans and sweater — he wanted to leave and return to his room, to bathe and change. But he wanted to stay more.

Especially because it sounded like Atsumu was on the phone with Osamu.

He listened to Atsumu cry again. He wondered if it was ever going to get better.

“I’m trying,” Atsumu’s voice said. “It’s not going to be fucking easy, Osamu.”

A moment later, Atsumu was laughing.

The sound confused Kiyoomi. Have they made up? Just like that? He thought perhaps he’d never understand the bond of twins. Or just simple family bonds, even. He was never particularly close with his family. Only Komori. And even then they were more like friends than anything.

He pretended to sleep when Atsumu snuck back in, only to sneak back out again. After a few moments he could hear Osamu on the speaker phone, and then Atsumu started to play the kalimba.

Soothed by the music, Kiyoomi let himself sleep.

--

Atsumu told him all about the family dinner and the subsequent phone call to Osamu. Kiyoomi tried to look as if he hadn’t eavesdropped on a part of their conversation.

Atsumu also told him that he had to face Osamu first, and that he had invited him to play volleyball after practice.

Kiyoomi didn’t like Osamu’s presence there. It was other. Unwelcome. To him anyway. And it was distracting Atsumu.

When the ball hit Atsumu smack on the face, something he wouldn’t allow on any other day, Kiyoomi didn’t know whether to laugh or say “Good.”

And then he was assigned to do serve receives with Atsumu in the other court.

The hybrid was a pain. It was unpredictable, and it just got worse the more Atsumu gets into a groove. When Atsumu laughed at his failure to receive it, he didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss him or punch him more.

After practice, he and the rest of the team trooped towards the locker room, leaving Atsumu behind to talk to Osamu.

“So, have they made up?” Hinata asked anxiously.

“Are they going to be yelling at each other again?” Meian looked like a concerned father.

Kiyoomi shook his head. “They’re in the process of it. Atsumu went to dinner with his family last week, it was a disaster. But he called Osamu after and they talked.”

Inunaki stared at him, eyes narrowed. “When did you two get so chummy?”

“Same question, honestly,” Adriah said.

“Guys, guys,” Bokuto said, from where he was peeking out the door. “They’re playing! You’d wanna watch this!”

They all squeezed together to take a peek. Kiyoomi grit his teeth and bore the closeness, curiosity once again taking over.

There was nothing special about it at first. Atsumu was a brilliant setter, and it looked like Osamu didn’t completely give up the sport.

And then they kept tossing and spiking, and the longer they went, the more in tune they seemed to be.

There they are, Kiyoomi thought. The Miya twins in action again. He hasn’t seen this in four years.

“They’re actually pretty good!” Barnes said, sounding surprised.

“Ahh, I wanna play them again, I really wanna play them again,” Hinata muttered.

“Can we go closer?” Bokuto asked eagerly.

They inched out from the locker room and edged a bit closer to see. The twins were really getting the hang of it now, and Kiyoomi thought they could actually pose a challenge.

Then Atsumu said, “Just get over here, you numbskulls.”

And the game was on.

In the beginning, Kiyoomi thought they had it in the bag. Osamu was a good volleyball player, sure, but he was nowhere close to their level, especially since he opted out of going pro. He didn’t have the training they had.

He shouldn’t have underestimated Atsumu. He was a setter that can really bring out the best of his hitters, and the hitter he was with now was one he spent a lifetime setting to.

The Miya twins (and Inunaki) won.

Kiyoomi was impressed despite himself.

And if he thought Atsumu was more attractive than ever, he was never going to admit it.

--

Atsumu was crying again.

Kiyoomi was truly starting to hate it, nevermind that he looked beautiful even when he cried.

He wanted to storm over to the twins and drag Atsumu away, but he knew this was another conversation they needed to have.

They’d been walking home, and the team had respectfully allowed the distance when the twins started lagging behind, their voices low. But when they stopped in their tracks, Kiyoomi and the rest of the team had exchanged uncomfortable glaces, and stopped too. Would it be rude to leave them there, or would it be right to let them talk it out?

They decided to stay. They’d been supporting Atsumu this whole time, they weren’t about to stop now.

Kiyoomi couldn’t hear most of what was said, except for the times they raised their voices. He listened raptly anyway.

“...go the fuck ahead, alright? Marry him. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“But will we be fine?”

Both twins had tears running down their cheeks.

Kiyoomi said the lump in his throat was bile. All this drama was sickening him.

“...I’m so sick and tired of being like this . I’m done fighting, I give up, I’m waving the white flag, okay?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. Stupid bile. Stupid Atsumu.

It was Hinata and Bokuto who lost it when Atsumu and Osamu hugged.

After some time, during which they respectfully looked away from the private moment, Atsumu started walking towards them. Kiyoomi looked at his wet cheeks and sighed.

Kiyoomi wiped Atsumu's face with his handkerchief, and avoided the knowing glances his older teammates gave him.

They can just fuck right off.

--

Miya Atsumu kissed him on a totally random day.

Okay, maybe not totally random — it was right before the championship match, and they were facing the Adlers again.

But it was a random time that he had picked.

Kiyoomi supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Atsumu was among the most aggressive athletes he’d ever come across, prone to making risky plays and last-second decisions.

There was nothing impulsive about the kiss, though. This felt like something Atsumu had been thinking about for some time.

Kiyoomi gripped Atsumu’s waist and kissed back and that was his last thought for a while.

--

He was a little ashamed to admit that the kiss did it for him.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins the entire match, and he felt like he had wings every time he jumped up for a spike. He was unstoppable. Today, he was getting everything. Today was his day.

They won the championship. And after, when Atsumu smiled at him with his cheeks flushed, Kiyoomi thought he won something even better, too.

--

He got to see Kita again after the match — and Osamu, and his parents, and the rest of the old Inarizaki volleyball team, most of whom he hadn’t seen in years.

For a while, there was only silence, and everyone’s eyes were on Atsumu.

It was Osamu who finally broke and said, “Congratulations, brother.”

Atsumu slowly stalked towards his twin and they embraced carefully. Osamu’s face melted in relief and he hugged tighter. Everyone else let out a silent breath.

Then a black-haired man — Suna Rintarou, middle blocker, EJP Raijin, his brain supplied — punched Atsumu square on the face.

He didn’t realize his legs had brought him close to the commotion, until Meian stopped him with a hand on a shoulder, having followed as well.

And then Atsumu was on the floor being tackled by his old friends, and Kiyoomi relaxed.

When all was said and done, they made to leave. Atsumu held a hand out, and Kiyoomi knew it was for him. He took it in his own and squeezed.

He didn’t let go as they walked away.

--

The dinner would have been awkward if not for Hinata and Bokuto, who were naturally talkative and charming.

The thing is, Kita was too intertwined with Atsumu’s old friends and family. And while Atsumu hadn’t been in touch with all of them for over four years, they clearly were in touch with each other.

And that was obvious by the way they’d sometimes let an inside joke slip, or a started telling a story only to stop and backtrack.

The forced smile on Atsumu’s face was painful to watch.

Kiyoomi was simply over this. He finally wrapped an arm around Atsumu, a touch possessively. He figured he had the right to do this now, and the thought made something in his stomach flutter.

He pressed his nose against Atsumu’s temple and murmured, “Breathe.”

Atsumu melted against him, and Kiyoomi tugged him closer.

“Hey, so SakuAtsu is real, then?” a dark-skinned man asked. Ojiro Aran, outside hitter, Tachibana Red Falcons.

“Does everyone know about that?” Atsumu complained.

Sakusa said, “Yes, it’s real.”

Atsumu’s old friends looked from him to Atsumu.

“Kinda weird, but opposites attract, I guess,” Suna said. Then to Atsumu, he said, “Congrats dude, Sakusa-san is way out of your league, don’t fuck it up.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “I know that.”

“I think he’s out of mine, actually,” Sakusa said coolly.

This time everyone stared at him, even his own team. Good thing he had a resting poker face.

Atsumu kissed his cheek sweetly. Kiyoomi’s poker face broke as he smiled a little.

“I can’t watch this, I can’t,” Inunaki said. “Sakusa, why. Just. Make it stop!”

Barnes laughed boisterously. “I like it, I’m a SakuAtsu stan now.”

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but let his eyes stray to Kita, who was watching Atsumu with a wistful smile on his face.

Does he miss him? Does he regret it? He remembered how Atsumu told him that a part of him would probably always love Kita, and he thought maybe it was the same for the other man.

He tightened his grip on Atsumu.

He wasn’t ever letting Kita, or anyone else, get their hands on Atsumu again.

--

But the problem was this: now that everything was finally starting to get better, Kita was suddenly in their lives.

Not physically, not always. But his presence was undeniable and it was making Kiyoomi itch.

He was suddenly upset at Atsumu for being so damn forgiving.

Osamu and Kita were planning the wedding, now that they can finally hold one with Atsumu present. Kiyoomi thought they were a bit shameless to even dare ask, but he kept that thought to himself.

Atsumu’s phone would ring with calls from Osamu, sometimes from Kita. Sometimes Atsumu would put off answering, but it always weighed on him the longer he avoided them, so he eventually started picking up the phone quicker. Until it got easier. Until he got used to it.

Kiyoomi would grit his teeth every time Atsumu would go out to the balcony, saying “Hey, Kita.”

An ugly, unpleasant feeling took root inside Kiyoomi. What did Kita do to suddenly get the right to Atsumu’s time? It was Kiyoomi who had to pick up the pieces after Kita broke him. He was the one to hold him when he broke down, the one to wipe the tears when he cried.

Did no one care anymore except Kiyoomi?

--

The feeling festered for months. His rational mind told him that he was being silly. He did know that. He knew that Atsumu was happy to finally drop the baggage. He knew Atsumu was happy to have his family back. He shouldn’t ruin it for him.

Still, Atsumu’s words from months ago at the beach haunted Kiyoomi. “A part of me will probably always love Kita.”

He’d known that already. But he went ahead and fell in love with Atsumu anyway. The worst part was that this time, he knew exactly where he was falling.

When did it happen?

Was it when he first saw him playing the kalimba on the balcony, the sound of crashing waves echoing around them? When he held him as he cried at the back of a cab, feeling all the ways his strong body shook and sobbed? When he realized that for all his bluster and arrogance, Atsumu was trying to protect a fragile heart?

Kiyoomi wasn’t stupid. He was never careless.

Atsumu, he supposed, was his only exception.

--

Kiyoomi woke when the balcony door opened. The sound had become rare these past months, as Atsumu started sleeping better. Kiyoomi would often sleep in Atsumu’s bed too, almost physically unable to stay away, and Atsumu would play the kalimba for him there. Not in the balcony. Not anymore.

Without a thought, he followed.

Atsumu was playing “Moon River,” the same song he played that night near the beach. The song he played for Kiyoomi.

He was now convinced, more than ever, that that must be the night he fell in love with this man.

He wondered if Atsumu could ever feel the same way. If he can ever love anyone other than Kita Shinsuke.

He felt like crying.

“Remember that night on the beach?” Atsumu’s soft voice asked. “When I played this for you on the balcony?”

How could he forget? He was remembering the exact same night.

“I remember thinking you were so damn gorgeous in the moonlight. You probably didn’t realize how nervous you made me, I wanted to impress you so bad.”

What? Kiyoomi was under the impression that he had been reeling from Osamu’s revelation that he was proposing to Kita, and simply couldn’t sleep.

“I wasn’t ready for you. I was so deep in my misery that I didn’t see you coming. Then you were right there and I told myself I shouldn’t fall in love with you, but well. Heart wants what it wants.”

Fall in love with you, his brain repeated. In love with you. In love with you.

Atsumu seemed to be done talking. He was playing another song, a sad one.

He had to say something. “You love me?” He held his breath.

He didn’t expect Atsumu’s answer to be, “Well, yeah. Figured you knew.”

Kiyoomi wondered if it was bad timing to punch Atsumu in the face.

“How was I supposed to know that?” he demanded instead. “I’m not Kita.”

Kiyoomi felt he did not deserve the disbelieving expression Atsumu gave him. “Kita? The hell does he have to do with this?”

Furious, Kiyoomi glared out into the night sky. His brain was in a knot. What in the hell was happening?

How could he admit that he’d been terrified that Atsumu would never love him the way he did Kita?

Then Atsumu sighed, a tired, heartbreaking sound. “I don’t know what you’re thinking. I never know what you’re thinking.” He sounded resigned.

Kiyoomi’s chest hurt. He was starting to realize Atsumu was out here because of him. That maybe he’d been an idiot, and he’d been unknowingly ruining this relationship. That was not like him. He knew how to take care of his things.

But Atsumu had always been the exception.

Kiyoomi needed to try to fix this. Hesitantly, he said, “You loved him. All these years. And probably...all the years to come.” The words burned his throat on their way out.

He hated Kita. He never had enough passion to hate anything before, except germs, but he thought he truly hated Kita Shinsuke.

What does he have that I don’t?

Atsumu was studying him, realization dawning on his face. Then he looked away. He said, “You seem to be under the impression that Kita was like my one great love, or something. If so, then you’re wrong. We were together for all of a year. He was just a boy I loved in the past. But the whole drama with Osamu...that’s what really got to me. It’s not because Kita was the love of my life, but because two people I loved hurt me in the worst way possible. That kind of betrayal cuts deep, you know?

“When I started falling for you, I remember thinking that I have to fix myself and work through my issues so I could give you the best of me. You gave me that push to let it all go. Just by being there. And I guess I never thanked you for that. And I should have. So...thank you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s heart was pounding in his chest. His head was empty, and all he could do was stare at Atsumu’s defeated face.

Atsumu sunk the knife in deeper when he said, “You don’t have to say anything. I know we’re probably not on the same page when it comes to...I always fall too fast and too hard, and that’s my problem. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why would you think we’re not on the same page,” Kiyoomi whispered past numb lips.

“I told you, I can’t ever tell what you’re thinking. You’re hot, then you’re cold, you’re sweet, then you’re distant — sometimes I wonder if you even wanna be near me, or you didn’t want to admit you made a mistake choosing to deal with all my mess. But I can tell whenever you want space from me. I know I’m too much, alright, I get it.”

Kiyoomi’s throat was tight. No, no, his brain screamed at him. He was never ever supposed to think that.

Then, accusingly, You said you were the one who deserved him.

“I thought. I thought you still...with Kita. That I couldn’t, and wouldn’t ever compare. Since you’ve made up recently, you...”

“What? Became happy because I finally let go of years worth of hurt and bitterness? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m really sick of hearing about Kita. There are only two people in this relationship and they’re both here right now. You were the first person I ever played for, you know? Kita doesn’t even know I play. And I don’t know if you missed it, but Kita is engaged to my brother. I’m going to be their best man. Their best man for the wedding.”

Kiyoomi started truly panicking when Atsumu stood and returned to his room. He scrambled to follow. He stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Atsumu. I think I’ve been stupid.”

He cradled Atsumu’s face between his palms. Fragile, strong Atsumu. Kiyoomi was never supposed to be the one to hurt him. He knew he wasn’t a hero, but he didn’t mind being one when Atsumu needed him. He wasn’t supposed to break his heart again.

“I’m...sorry,” he forced out. “I’m not...good at this yet.”

“Talking?”

“Talking. Relationships.” He paused and swallowed. Then barreled through. “Being a good boyfriend to the person I love.”

It was clear in Atsumu’s expression that he didn’t believe him. Just how much did he fuck this up? While he was wallowing in his misery and jealousy, he was hurting Atsumu.

“I love you.” He willed Atsumu to believe him. “I do. Sorry I’m bad at showing it.”

Then he kissed Atsumu, because what else could he do? And Atsumu melted against him, and then he was just gone.

Overcome, Kiyoomi let the last of his walls crumble. They didn’t make a sound.

--

They lay pressed against each other on the bed. Atsumu was asleep.

The past hour felt like an emotional rollercoaster ride. Kiyoomi was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep.

He rewound the past few months in his head. Tried to view them in a different perspective.

He thought perhaps he’d been a dick. Hot then cold, Atsumu said. Did Atsumu really think he didn’t care? That he regretted being with him?

If anything, Kiyoomi thought Atsumu regretted being with him.

They were going to need to work on their communication, he realized. Kiyoomi was fine with that.

He didn’t mind putting the effort for Atsumu. Because he was his now. He was sure of this now. And Kiyoomi took care of his things.

Atsumu better be ready. He was going to be the best boyfriend ever, because he’d never settle being anything less than that. Better than Kita ever was, he thought nastily. Then he realized he should probably stop thinking about Kita.

There are only two people in this relationship, Atsumu had said. He was right. Kiyoomi was going to have to take a leaf from Atsumu’s book and let shit go.

--

Atsumu was lying in bed, cackling at something on his phone.

Kiyoomi crawled across the messy covers and curled around him. “What’re you laughing at?”

“Omi, Omi, Omi, watch this,” Atsumu said eagerly, shoving his phone in his face. Kiyoomi gripped his wrist and pulled it away slightly so he could see. It was a stupid TikTok video, but of course Atsumu found it funny. He sighed and kissed him on the brow, resting his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes.

After a few moments, Atsumu seemed to have lost interest in his phone and turned to hug Kiyoomi. “Omi,” he said, nuzzling his chest.

Needy, he thought. He liked it. He hugged Atsumu closer. “You ready to go to Hyogo?”

“Mmm. Not looking forward to the speculation, but I’m kinda excited to see Osamu getting married. I can’t believe we’re at that age where it’s acceptable for one of us to marry. We’re old.”

“We’re young,” Kiyoomi contradicted. “23 is a young age to marry. But they’ve been together long enough that it doesn’t matter.”

“I suppose.”

He hesitated, but he had to ask. “Tsumu...are you really okay with this?”

Atsumu looked up to meet his gaze. He wrapped an arm around Kiyoomi’s neck and smiled. “Omi. In two days, Kita is going to be walking down the aisle and I will be up there near the altar with Samu. And I’m going to be relieved that Kita won’t be walking towards me, because all I’ll be thinking about is you.” Atsumu kissed him on the mouth. “Okay?”

Kiyoomi smiled. “Okay.”

--

Atsumu was right to dread the speculation. He and Suna, who was chosen to be Kita’s best man, were the first ones to be positioned near the altar. The crowd had settled, but both grooms have yet to appear, and every single pair of eyes were on Atsumu.

Kiyoomi personally thought it wasn’t just the curiosity that kept eyes straying towards Atsumu. He remembered what it was like to see Atsumu again after four years. He couldn’t stop looking at him back then either.

And Atsumu looked even better than before, if that was possible. His pale blonde hair was styled in a deliberately messy manner, and his tailored gray suit really brought out his...er, assets. He cut an impressive profile, that’s for sure. That strong jaw looked lethal.

Atsumu did his best to avoid everyone’s gaze. Right now, he was probably thinking that everyone was remembering his past with Kita, which to be fair, they probably were. Vaguely. The idiot truly was unaware of the effect he had on people.

Then Atsumu turned, eyes seeking out Kiyoomi. When he met his gaze, Kiyoomi smiled at him. How could he not? Atsumu’s face softened and he smiled back, relaxing.

Kiyoomi knew he didn’t imagine the sigh from the lady sitting behind him. And the sighs from each corner of the room.

“Dude,” Adriah whispered, leaning towards the rest of the team, who were all sitting on the same row. “Is it just me, or is everyone thirsting after Atsumu?”

Kiyoomi snorted. “Get with the program.”

“I truly hate this,” Inunaki grumbled. “Who allowed this to happen?”

“He can’t help his own attractiveness,” Hinata said wisely.

Meian shushed them. “The wedding is starting soon, and everyone will be distracted, so you can calm down Inunaki.”

Osamu then entered, making his way from the side to stand beside Atsumu by the altar. He looked nervous, excited. He was wearing a white suit, and his hair was coiffed neatly. He looked every inch the groom.

Kiyoomi was suddenly reminded that they were, in fact, twins. How did these people handle both of them at once? For years?

He had a personal bias for the blonde one, though.

Now everyone was looking at both of them. If they weren’t thinking about the past scandal before, they definitely were now.

Osamu said something to Atsumu, which Atsumu answered in a low voice. And then Osamu was worked up, muttering something, and Atsumu reached out and gripped his twin’s arm. He looked a bit angry. Kiyoomi wondered what they were talking about.

Then Atsumu smiled at Osamu and everyone relaxed. Osamu squeezed Atsumu’s hand.

And then Kita appeared in time with the music.

He looked almost ethereal, surrounded by cherry blossoms, his white suit only serving to make his white hair stand out all the more.

And then he was up there with Osamu, and this time, all eyes were on the couple.

Except Kiyoomi’s and Atsumu’s. They gazed at each other silently.

One day.

--

When the best man speech and the necessary dances were out of their way, Kiyoomi took Atsumu to the dance floor where couples have started to slow dance.

He had noticed all the people stealing glances at Atsumu, probably trying to work up the courage to invite him to dance, so Kiyoomi was nipping all that in the bud. Like hell he was letting them near him. He knew one smile from Atsumu could be fatal. They should thank Kiyoomi for his kindness — he was saving them from heartbreak.

Because Atsumu was his now.

“Omi,” Atsumu whined when they started swaying. “People won’t stop staring at me. I can feel them staring right now. ”

“How much of an idiot are you?” Kiyoomi asked. “Do you know how you look right now?”

“My usual handsome self?” Atsumu smirked. When Kiyoomi simply stared at him, Atsumu tilted his head, confused. “What?”

“God, you really don’t know, do you?” Kiyoomi laughed a little. “You should be illegal. Everyone who sees you is doomed to forever want you, I think.”

“I mean, that’d be pretty great if that were true, but you might be biased. I’m hot, but I’m not that hot.”

Kiyoomi stifled a laugh against Atsumu’s hair. Let him believe that. It wasn’t even his looks, not really. It was the light in him that was blinding.

“Hey,” Atsumu said suddenly, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi’s waist. “Are you doomed to forever want me?”

Kiyoomi gazed down at his stupid, hopeful face. He smiled, not truly in control of what his face is doing right now. “Yes.” He slid his arms tighter around Atsumu’s shoulders.

Atsumu grinned at him, bright and happy. “That’s all I care about.”

Kiyoomi kissed him and didn’t stop, not even when their team started wolf whistling at them, not even when Osamu hollered, “Get off the dance floor, you fucks!”

He’d gladly spend the rest of time this way.