Archive of Our Own

Some people say he’s hard to work with. Kiyoomi says they just aren’t working hard enough. Others say he expects too much. Well, Kiyoomi thinks there’s nothing wrong with being a perfectionist. Kiyoomi is one of the top models in the business for a reason, and he’s proud of his achievements. Not many come even close to where Kiyoomi is.

So what if he has specific standards? And who's counting how many people he refuses to never work with again? People still practically beg to book him, so he can be picky if he so chooses.

But sometimes, very rarely, he's given an opportunity he really can’t refuse. Even if he doesn’t necessarily want to do it.

Kiyoomi presses accept on his phone and raises it to his ear. “Sakusa.”

“Sakusa, it’s Iizuna. You got an interesting offer today.”

Iizuna is his manager. He’s proven to be extremely competent. Who knows how many he went through to finally find one that suited his needs. However, it’s unusual for the man to be so vague. He knows Kiyoomi hates this beating around the bush shit.

“Well, are you going to tell me what it is?”

There’s a slight pause. “Miya Atsumu wants you to be in his music video.”

Kiyoomi raises his eyebrows. Of everything Iizuna could have said, that wasn’t even in the top ten of what he was expecting. He’s not sure what of that sentence to process first.

Miya Atsumu, huh? He’s never met the man, but he’s heard plenty. Miya has been in the spotlight his entire life. He and his twin brother were child actors who transitioned into a duo musical group until the younger twin left the stage to pursue cinematography. As for what he’s heard? That he’s an arrogant asshole and expects everyone he works with to be at his level. Which, really, Kiyoomi would be a hypocrite if he didn’t at least respect that.

“And you think it’s a good idea.”

“Yes. This could be beneficial for your career. It’d open you to an entirely different market.”

While Iizuna may be right, Kiyoomi likes his current demographics. High-end fashion is where he belongs. All this will do is make people think he’s open to doing something else. He’s not.

“Tell them no.”

“Miya asked for you personally.” Why? They’ve never met and have no connections. His silence encourages Iizuna to go on. “If you hate it, you can drop it.”

If he can give it a trial run he might humor the idea. “Do you have any details about it?”

He ends up accepting it, begrudgingly. Of course, he has little to no information on what he’ll actually be doing. Since it’s for a single on Miya’s new album that's scheduled to release later in the year, it’s all top secret.

Kiyoomi doesn’t listen to Miya’s music. Actually, he has no idea what he even sounds like. He thinks he’s pop? Maybe he should have actually listened to a song or two before he accepted. What if he despises his voice?

He does a quick search to pull up one of Miya’s previous music videos, and is surprised that it’s actually good. The whole feel of the video matches the song, and the scenes are artfully done. Miya is a skillful dancer, he notes. God, Kiyoomi hopes he won’t have to dance. He’s surprised that he actually enjoys Miya’s singing as well. Kiyoomi doesn’t usually like pop. It’s too… bubbly. What kind of song will this one be?

After watching a few more videos to get a better feel, he thinks that this might be okay. As long as Miya adheres to his requests, the job will be accomplished. Otherwise, Miya will find himself on his shitlist.

The first time he lays eyes on Miya Atsumu in person is when the man walks through the door of the conference room they're all meeting in. His light blonde hair is styled purposely messy, and he exudes confidence. When their eyes meet, Miya smirks at him with hooded eyes.

“Glad ta properly meet ya, Omi-kun.”

He levels the man a hard glare. “It’s Sakusa.”

Miya’s expression doesn’t change as he takes the seat right across from Kiyoomi. He’s half tempted to walk out immediately.

Once everyone arrives, the process begins. He’s not entirely surprised that Miya Osamu is directing the music video—they are twins after all. This video is for the song Mirrors. Judging by the name itself, it sounds egotistical, but he’ll leave final judgments for after he hears it.

When Miya presses play on the recording, the look on his face is something more akin to excitement and fondness than boastful. It’s open, and Kiyoomi finds himself intrigued. He’s shocked when it turns out to be a love song. And it’s good. Great, if he has to be completely honest. There’s something soul-gripping about it.

Then it really hits him. This is a love song. Does that mean Kiyoomi is supposed to play the love interest? Is Miya gay? He’s pretty sure there was a girl in another love song video. Bisexual? Kiyoomi doesn’t keep up with that kind of celebrity gossip. But a love interest usually has to touch their opposite. A lot. He can still back out, he reminds himself.

Then Miya starts talking about his vision for the video. Somewhere between his explanation of soulmates and his metaphors for the juxtaposition of mirrors to be used during the shoot, Kiyoomi finds himself entranced by the man’s passion. He realizes that he doesn’t want to back out. But he needs to know what’s expected and set his limits.

Kiyoomi is still deep in thought when a short recess is called and Miya takes a seat next to him.

“So what’d ya think, Omi-kun?”

Again with the stupid nickname. “I told you to call me Sakusa.” Miya only looks at him in expectation, waiting for an answer. “It was good.”

“Is that all ya have ta say?!” he squawks.

“I have some concerns about my role in this video.”

He crosses his arms with an annoyed huff. “That’s not what I was gettin’ at, but sure. Like what?”

“I assume I’m to play the love interest?” Miya nods. “I don’t like to be touched.”

“Is it ‘cause of the germ thing?”

Kiyoomi’s surprise is probably showing on his face, but he tries to reel it in quickly. It’s not like it’s a secret to the public that he’s averse to contact, but he’s still shocked that Miya connected the dots. “Yes. The germ thing. It’s called mysophobia.”

“Hmm. Well, it shouldn’t be a problem. Is touchin' over clothin’ still a no?”

Kiyoomi blinks once, twice. Not a problem? Really? “But I’m playing the love interest.” Is what spills out of his mouth.

“Ya don’t always have ta touch someone ta convey love. Have ya never been in love or somethin’?”

He says it teasingly, but Kiyoomi hasn’t. He tries not to look away, though it seems Miya notices his discomfort.

“Well, maybe by the end of this, ya’ll fall madly in love with me.” His fox-like grin somehow reassures Kiyoomi that it’ll be okay. “But seriously, is touching over clothes okay?”

They begin by blocking out the scene. It’s a little like modeling in a way—be in a certain spot, express this emotion, convey this with your body, use this prop. It’s the reacting off of another person and the fluid motion with those things all at the same time that’s a bit overwhelming at first. It’s different, but not terrible.

Miya is surprisingly respectful of his boundaries. His wardrobe for the video is adjusted to be all long sleeves and the option of gloves. One thing he is not though? Patient.

“What’re ya doin’?! I’ve told ya like five times! Just watch again.”

“I’m not a professional dancer, Miya.”

Miya is trying to teach him the main dance during the chorus. They are supposed to be mirroring each other’s movements, facing each other. And usually, Kiyoomi is good at this type of thing: memorizing how his body is supposed to move. But for some reason, he keeps messing up. Yes, Miya is annoying, but Kiyoomi is more frustrated at himself. He can feel his forehead scrunching up.

“Omi-Omi, yer thinkin’ too hard. Jus’ relax, or ya’ll get wrinkles on that pretty face of yers.”

He tries to relax and takes a calming breath. “I’m good. Let’s go again.”

Somehow over the last week, Kiyoomi has grown used to the nickname. Maybe it’s because Miya doesn’t seem to mind his cold and blunt demeanor. Or that he doesn’t mind that Kiyoomi mainly listens instead of contributing to a conversation. Or maybe it’s that all of his eccentricities don’t seem to phase Miya at all.

They start putting it all together, and Kiyoomi feels like he’s truly part of the story. Maybe he’s unconsciously become too emotionally invested in the project. But Miya becomes Atsumu at some point. Then when he decides to actually sing for a run-through, just because he wants to instead of playing the track, something in Kiyoomi’s brain just stops working. It’s that damn chorus.

And they’re facing each other, doing that stupid dance through their fake mirror. Atsumu looks him right in the eyes, never breaking contact.

Kiyoomi feels a flutter in his stomach, like a swoop that really should make him feel nauseous. But the pounding of his heart lets him know what this is.

He’s fallen for Miya Atsumu.

The actual shoot only takes a day. Then it’s over. Once his job is done, Kiyoomi hightails it out of there. He ignores Atsumu when he calls after him and tries not to imagine the hurt look on his face. It’s just because of the emotions of the song and the acting. This is why he’s not a professional actor. He obviously can’t separate what’s fake from reality.

So what if Miya Atsumu isn’t as big of an asshole as he makes himself out to be? So what if he’s secretly kind? So what if Kiyoomi finds how passionate he is absolutely captivating? So what if he’s actually kind of clumsy and it’s charming. So what?!

Kiyoomi runs because he doesn’t need distractions right now. It’s not because he’s terrified of these feelings. And it’s certainly not because he feels like Atsumu might be that twin flame from the song. He doesn’t need any of it.

Two weeks later, he gets an email from Miya Osamu of all people. There’s a video file attached and all that the email has is an address and says:
It’s easy, Sakusa. Come back when you figure it out.
He definitely recognizes the lyrics woven in.

Figure what out? He clicks play on the video. It’s the completed music video. Of course, it is. What else would he send?

Watching Atsumu and himself play their fantasy life on the screen makes him ache. There’s a pull that urges him to go where it yearns. They kept the take where Kiyoomi spontaneously cradled Atsumu’s face and placed their foreheads together during the park scene. There are huge smiles on both of their faces. Kiyoomi almost doesn’t recognize himself. The way he looks at the other man… But then Atsumu is looking at him the same way. By the end, his eyes have teared up.

Kiyoomi was wrong. He needs it all. Scrambling to get his phone and keys, he punches in the address from the email into his GPS and drives slightly over the speed limit. He arrives at the high-rise building and parks a bit more crooked than he would usually dare. The doorman eyes him as he approaches but seems to recognize him for some reason. He then greets Kiyoomi and opens the door for him.

He’s so close now. The elevator dings, allowing him to shuffle on. Pressing the floor number, he waits for the contraption to bring him to his destination. Kiyoomi steps out into a small foyer where Atsumu’s door is. He came here completely on a whim, but you lose all the chances you never take. So with a deep breath, he knocks.

A few moments pass before the door opens to a stunned Atsumu.

“Kiyoomi?”

He wastes no more time and pulls Atsumu into a crushing kiss. Atsumu recovers quickly and wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s neck to bring him closer. When they pull apart to breathe, they rest their foreheads together and wear beatific smiles.

“I don’t wanna lose you now.”

Atsumu chuckles at the words. “Ya won’t.”

He pulls Kiyoomi into his apartment by his jacket collar.

While tomorrow might be a mystery, as long as Atsumu is by his side, they can face it together.