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It made him feel better, at first. A fan of his from abroad gave him the bottle with sixty little white pills in it. They said that they noticed he hadn’t been playing as good as he used to, that there was something wrong with him now. And all it took was that little remark and him to nastily shoo them away while taking the pills from them. They said it would help him focus. They said that it wouldn’t violate the doping law because it wasn’t illegal in Japan and it would only enhance his mental performance, not physical.
Right from the start he knew that there was something bad about it. That the number tucked between pills when he opened the bottle in the privacy of his apartment spelled bad news. He almost dunked them down the toilet, but he had to set them down when his phone rang.
And thus it began.
For a whole day (pathetic) he ignored the pills’ existence. He ate. He brushed. He watched TV. He slept. Then when he went to practice the next day, more than half his serves went out. He couldn’t block properly, distracted by the littlest thing all of a sudden, and Sakusa nearly exploded at him.
When he returned to his apartment, furious about his sad performance, he stared at the bottle. Plain, nondescript, white.
“Tomorrow.”
He woke up at four the next morning. After showering and eating, he looked down at the bottle. He opened it. He swallowed one dry. Then he opened his phone up and started surfing the web, making sure to constantly check the time, heart beating too quickly in his chest.
Five minutes. Nothing.
Ten minutes. Nothing.
Twenty minutes. Nothing.
Twenty-three minutes.
Everything looks like it suddenly got hyper focused, the spare thoughts in his mind getting pushed to the back. It’s only five in the morning and he feels more awake than he ever has at this time in the morning. He doesn’t feel like he can do anything, no, but when he thinks about something, the thought is immediately answered with a yes, I really can do that. I know I can.
The wonderful feeling lasted hours . He went to practice and he was able to block out all the sound when he went to serve. He was able to make Bokuto’s usual well-meant but annoying words of encouragement seem no louder than the hum of a ceiling fan.
Out of the twenty-some serves he hit in the two-on-two, only three of them didn’t make contact with either skin or the floor within the lines of the court. He’d been able to block better. He setted better, sets somehow more pinpoint than before. Sakusa gave him an approving nod after being subjected to a few seconds of his scrutinizing glare. Hinata was gwahing more, eyes sparkling.
He barely felt it when it started to wear off. It was near the end of practice. By the time he returned home, he was starting to feel like something was missing. Then he woke up in the middle of the night, not the least bit tired after falling asleep (he knows he fell asleep) with the emptiest feeling inside of him and horrible words flowing through his head. Every negative post and tweet he read about himself. Every glare. Every taunt. Every insult. Every mistake. At once. He felt all of them.
Once again, he lasted one day. He ate a heavy lunch to distract himself, he worked hard at practice but the concentration he had the day before was no longer there. He was mediocre again. The next day he took a pill again, and the feeling returned just like before. It was then that he realized what this was: addiction. They learned about it in school. He’s read about it in books. Withdrawal would be painful and long- it would benefit him only. It’d make him selfish. It’d bring his team down. And at the moment, it was making him better! It’s bad, oh it really is. But if he continues like he does, only taking it every-other day, then he can make sure it doesn’t has as tight of a hold on him. And then he can make a bottle meant for two months last four. Then he’ll stop.
Just to be sure, he takes a match and burns the slip with a number on it.
And, essentially, the next four months repeat in the same way until the two month long gap between seasons arrived. The “off-days”, as he mentally took to calling the days he didn’t take the pills, became worse and worse. But he made a promise to himself and he isn’t going to go and break that. So he bore through the depression that came and went even faster than Bokuto’s mood swings, than the swing of Sakusa’s arm. He shaked off all suspicion, playing himself as an actor, making sure that he wasn’t too perfect during practice and only during game.
Then he took a pill, only six left in the bottle, and went to Hinata because he’s the person least likely on the team to judge him and tell anyone unless Atsumu gave him permission. They went to the bar after their last practice of the season. Atsumu was smart, so he didn’t drink any alcohol, only drinking a nonalcoholic smoothie. He had Hinata stay with him after everyone left, the younger not really liking alcohol so he only had one glass.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Atsumu-san?” Hinata asks, as cheerful as ever. Atsumu smiles, the surrounding noise from the bar reducing, keeping his focus on Hinata and keeping his senses aware so he can tell if anyone is trying to eavesdrop. He feels flashes of fear. Not of Hinata judging him, no no no- he’s scared of letting go of the drug, of no longer having this feeling. Of being reduced to that sad state he’s in every other day, except there’s no coming back.
“D’ya know anyone who I could talk to without gettin’ any judgement? At all?” Atsumu says with a fake smile because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he did something else. Cry? Break down? Shy out? Atsumu calmly pushed the smoothie away from him, folding his hands in front of him. How is he supposed to say this without it sounding cringey or anything? He knows he should be more focused on being able to actually confess, but...nah.
“I’ve been takin’ drug for the past four months.” Atsumu says. “I’ve been taking them every other day and the day I don’t take it, they’re torture. And I want to stop but I don’t want to tell coach or anythin’. Yer the least likely to spill, so I asked ya. And I thought you might know someone who could help me.” He tacks on with a shrug. Hinata blinks at him.
“Drugs? As in cocaine?”
“Not cocaine!” Atsumu quietly yelps, shaking his head. “It’s a pill. It helps me concentrate really well and it makes me feel normal.” Hinata purses his lips. He reaches a hand into his jacket and pulls out his phone. Two seconds later, it’s held to his ear. Atsumu watches the younger man. A subtle change overcomes him, Atsumu oserves. His eyes widen a little bit, a small smile grows on his face. He looks excited. Happy.
“Daichi-san!” Hinata exclaims. “Yes, I’m doing good! … Oh, you saw that game? Weren’t you in- oh, so it ended early?... Okay, okay... Yeah…. I need to ask a favor from you…” and then Hinata summarizes the situation in less than ten seconds. Atsumu notices Hinata never said his name. Then he nods and end the call before rapidly tapping the keypad. Atsumu cocks his head and leans forward. Before he did this, he looked up how to confess that you need help with drugs. He didn’t really expect (he never expected) Hinata behave like this. But he looks determined. Atsumu suddenly feels a buzz from his pocket.
“There!” Hinata exclaims. “I texted you Daichi-san’s number. He’s a really good person to talk to.”
“Daichi…” Atsumu whispers. He recognizes that name. Oh, yeah- there was that one martial artist his dad liked to track. And it’s not like it’s an uncommon name. “He a friend?”
“Yup!” Hinata nods. “I was going to call Suga-san but he’s so busy all the time.” Hinata gets up. “I’m going home. Have a good night, Tsumu. Daichi-san says you can call him right now, so you can get to know each other.” And then Hinata is gone. Atsumu carefully pulls his phone out, flipping it open and staring at the text notification. He swallows. So he’s talking to a friend of Hinata’s. Older, most likely. Close. They know about volleyball, he thinks.
He memorizes the number Hinata texted him before dialing the number. The phone picks up after one ring.
“Is this Daichi-san?” Atsumu asks after a swallow. Now the nervousness hits. This is a stranger he’s talking to. Not a random stranger, but still a stranger who he knows nothing about.
“Yeah, that’s me.” A warm, comforting voice replies. “Then you’re Hinata’s friend. What’s your name?”
“Atsumu.”
“Atsumu-san. Nice to meet you” Daichi-san chuckles. “This is the first time I’ve met someone over the phone. You’re number thirteen on the Jackals team, right?” Atsumu’s lip curls up. He was correct about the volleyball thing.
“Yeah. I play setter.”
“I play wing hitter.”
“Oh?” Atsumu’s interest is now piked. “Ya also play volleyball?”
“I’m not much good at it though.”
“That’s a pity” Atsumu sighs. “Ya can still get better though.”
For a good half-hour, they talk about volleyball. Then that moves onto food. A lot of discussion about food. It’s only when Daichi-san tells him that he needs to head for bed so he can get a good night’s sleep does Atsumu realize that he never talked about what he really needed to talk about.
“Wait, Daichi-san. Why didn’t you ever ask about my” he hesitates with the word “addiction?” There’s silence on the other end. Is it possible that this man had forgotten? That makes him a lot like Hinata, then. Atsumu tries to form a mental picture of the man. A wing hitter, not that good, so maybe below average height, thin body, not a lot of muscles? And probably brown eyes...brown eyes dirty blond hair. And he now has a sort of mental image of what he thinks Daichi-san could look like. For some reason, the only thing he’s really sure about are the eyes. Brown. Big. Innocent looking and holding as much warmth as Samu’s brownies fresh out of the oven.
“I didn’t ask because you don’t need someone to talk about only that with.” Daichi answers. “It’s complicated to describe. Like, when you have trouble with the withdrawal. When you need someone to talk to, someone to vent to, that’s who I’ll be for you. If you need someone to talk to, someone to tell things you can’t tell others? Just call me. And it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”
“I’m a celebrity athlete” Atsumu drawls.
“I haven’t told the public or you about the things Hinata has told me. Trust is the focus of this. I’m someone you can trust as long as you’re going through this. So you aren’t alone. I don’t even live close to Osaka. If I were, well, I’d give you my address to.”
Atsumu gapes. This man...he’s so sincere. In his mind, the brown eyes become even warmer. He now puts a blur of a smile on the flat featureless face.
“It’s seems like yer trustin’ me more than I’m trustin’ ya.”
“Hm...maybe. Anyway, have a good night, Atsumu-san.”
“Same to ya, Daichi-san.”
According to Atsumu’s research, in order to safely get rid of any addiction with most things, he can’t just go cold turkey- he needs to increase the space between doses. He doesn’t have to worry about effect on performance since he’s on break. But he will need to practice occasionally. And then there’s the fact that there’s only six left. So he’ll wait one day until taking one. Then two. Then two days again. Then he’ll ramp it up to four cuz he doesn’t have a lot left. And depending on how that goes, he’ll either throw the remaining poison away or have to wait another few days of pain...but he’ll be in pain anyway.
He doesn’t call Daichi-san the next day, choosing to instead text him occasionally throughout the day. He feels kind of shy when he’s texting the man, like he moved to a new school and made a singular friend and doesn’t want to lose that friend. It takes him forever to write out a single line because of the miniature simulations that run through his mind because what will Daichi-san think of him? He take this message this way or that way? And then Daichi-san would reply really quickly.
For some reason, he wasn’t really hungry. The food in his kitchen is unappetizing and he doesn’t feel like eating out, so he sticks to drinking water. He’s noticed that he’s become a bit thinner, his underwear looser than it usually is. Too much exercise, probably.
He also decides to try a hand at acting creepy. He opens his laptop up and looks up the name “Daichi”. He sees a news article that a new player has joined the EJP Raijin, a Sawamura Daichi. He thinks he’s heard that name too. How many Daichi’s does he subconsciously know? The article includes a bio of the new player, but he ignores it. Not important.
Sleep doesn’t come to him easily that night- he’s used to that. He pulls his phone out and calls Daichi-san.
“One of the people down my hall snuck a fox into the building and somehow domesticated it” is what Daichi-san says within two seconds of answering the call. He curls up on the bed, holding the phone close to him as Daichi-san tells the story of what happened. It made Atsumu laugh, waving back the darkness that tried to come close to the front of his thoughts. And when they finally ended the call to sleep, Atsumu found that he was able to fall asleep without being grabbed by dark arms clothes in promises of nothing.
The next day, he decides to try something new- he cuts one pill in half. It’s not exactly half, since a knife isn’t really a good thing to use on a compact powdery substance. The high wears off after about ten hours, leaving him crying with thoughts of how worthless he is. He knows he should call Daichi-san, but he doesn’t want to burden the man with this yet. He’s so nice and kind and compassionate. He’s seen a side of Atsumu that he’s rarely shown anyone more than a flash of. Atsumu finds that he doesn’t insult Daichi-san over the phone, he doesn’t add casual flirting into their conversations. He doesn’t rant about his volleyball skills or whine about the littlest things. He listens more, he smiles without any sharpness. It’s nice.
The next day is even worse, since it’s now the longest he’s gone without a full dose. It has his pulling at his hair and feeling dizzy when he stands up. The dizziness, he realizes, is probably because he hasn’t eaten anything in two days. Have I done that before ? He thinks. Yes his mind replies, bringing back memories of days engulfed in volleyball, returning to his apartment in favor of watching videos of their opponents playing, picking their style apart.
He forces himself to eat. And he eats a lot. And then he throws it up. He picks the phone up after cleaning himself and his bathroom up, rubbing at his eyes.
“Daichi-san...I don’t think I’m doin’ so well” Atsumu nearly whines.
“What happened?”
That’s when Atsumu breaks down into sobs, one hand pressing the phone against his ear while the other tries to muffle his sobs. He can hear Daichi-san’s voice. He’s saying something.
“Hey, Atsumu.”
“Y-y-yes?”
“Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?” Atsumu sniffles and feels confusion through the despair.
“N-no?”
“Well, let me tell you- it has great food but no atmosphere.” Atsumu snorts. It’s a wet, hideous thing filled with snot.
“Did ya just tell a dad joke?” He says with a broken voice. Daichi doesn’t answer him, instead firing joke after joke at him until the tears of sadness are replaced with tears produced from how hard he’s laughing.
“Did you hear about the boy Luke? They say he’s hot. But in actuality, he’s only lukewarm.”
It’s the first time Atsumu falls asleep on the phone.
On the other end of the phone, Sawamura Daichi smiles from the couch, grip on the phone loosening as it finally registers on his mind that the sounds coming from the other end of the phone are soft little snores.
“Good night, Atsumu” Daichi says before ending the call.
The next day, Atsumu once again only takes only half a pill. The process repeats, but he knows what to expect now, blasting music to distract himself, eating out so his surroundings will keep his mind busy. When he woke up, for some reason, the first thought that had entered his mind was a soft Atsumu spoken in a warm familiar voice. He wonders if he could get Daichi-san to call him in the mornings- hearing his voice first thing in the morning would be pretty nice-
“Oh my gods” Atsumu buries his face in his hands, horror flooding his mind. He ignores the spring rolls laid out before him. It’s only been, what, five days? Not even a week. He forces himself to eat the spring rolls before returning home. He then goes to the bathroom and punches the tiled wall until his knuckles bleed.
One week passes. Then two weeks pass. Now that Atsumu has decided to divide each dose into half and keeping the spacing, he’s in pain for the majority of the day. Even with the revelation from two weeks ago he continues to call Daichi-san, calling more often, actually. He finds out that Daichi-san and Hinata met because they went to the same school (so as old as Hianta, maybe. Either that or Atsumu’s age). He used to be a police officer and he dealt with drug abusers before, probably why Hinata called him. That knowledge made the skinny figure in Atsumu’s mind gain a bit more muscle. He quit the force because one day he got too emotionally compromised by a case of child abuse. When they finally got enough evidence to arrest the mother and send the children to their father, Daichi-san had been the one to lead the squad into the house. They had been greeted with the older child unconscious from multiple stab wounds and the mother trying to kill the younger child. Daichi-san had to shoot and kill the mother when she turned the knife onto him when he tried to apprehend her, leading to a nasty long cut that led from his collarbone to ribs. Daichi-san had been the one to retrieve the unconscious child’s body, rushing them to the police car to take to the nearby hospital because the ambulance would be too slow. The kid died in his arms.
“Then what happened?” Atsumu had asked.
“I went to the hospital- had to get surgery for the cut. I resigned afterwards, well, I became depressed. I was on my own for a week but then my friends came over and helped me get out of it. I didn’t want their help at first, but they said that it’s wrong to let a friend have to struggle on their own.”
Atsumu called Hinata, Bokuto, and Sakusa for dinner the next day, making sure Sakusa could come first so he could be all high-and-mighty while watching Atsumu clean the place just for him. He called them over on his off-day, and having them there really did help. It seemed like Sakusa was in a good mood- he wasn’t as snarky and he actually participated in the conversation.
After they left, he called Daichi-san and told him all about what happened. He smiled the whole time while talking. Turns out that Daichi-san also had a little get together with his friends who drove over to Hiroshima to visit him, which is where he moved to after retiring from the Force and getting a new job.
“Daichi-san” he confessed one night. “I don’t know if this is workin’. Everything still hurts and feels useless. I have’ta force myself to eat. I have to force myself to do everything and I’m just getting so sick of it and-”
“You want it all to end” Daichi-san softly says. Atsumu swallows. Even though the thought had passed through his mind so many times, since the week he started this hell of a drug in the first place. But this is the first time the thought had been said out loud. And he doesn’t know what to feel about it. Because it just makes the reality of this situation a whole lot worse.
“Yeah” he chokes out.
“The withdrawal, it plays into how easy it is for those types of thoughts to come out. But in the end, it’s your mind” Daichi-san says. “You should tell someone. Don’t tell them about the withdrawal, just about what you’re feeling. They’ll be able to help more than I probably can.”
“But ya already help so much” Atsumu replies. “You’ve done a lot for me. But” he sighs “I guess I can tell my brother?”
“That’s a good idea” Daichi-san says on the other end. “You’re next dose is tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. Call him then?”
“Yes. Have a good night, Atsumu.”
“Same to ya, Daichi-san.”
It’s only after the call ends that Atsumu realizes, with a small smile, that Daichi-san dropped the honorific.
Atsumu realized that even though he’d technically not been lying to his brother, just keeping a secret, the past few months, he itches to tell the truth this one time. And he feels good about it! He’s confident! And it’s moments like these that he has to keep from becoming influence by because they’re like the sap dripping from a beehive, lurring him closer and closer to destruction.
“And besides the withdrawal, I’ve been feelin’ suicidal for a while. My volunteer therapist told me I should talk to ya ‘bout it.”
Osamu is silent on the other end for a few precious seconds.
“Same address?” He asks. Atsumu blinks.
“What?” He chokes out.
“Chiyo! I’m going to be out for some time, at least a few days- family emergency. Make sure everything runs smoothly.”
“Wait, Samu!” Atsumu cries, standing up from the couch, pacing around the room. “Ya don’t have’ta come- I’m doing just fine-”
“Bullshit” Osamu snaps at him. “I’m goin’ to the station, buying’ a ticket, and draggin’ my ass over to yers. I’m not gonna stand by and make onigiri while my brother’s casually contemplating death. I’ve been wondering why ya seemed less of an asshole on the phone-”
“Hey!”
“And it’s because of this drug or whatever- it’s messin’ with ya, makin’ ya too tired to even fight with me. You’ve already got on person helpin’ ya out- it’ll be better if ya have two. So same address?” Atsumu stops walking closing his eyes and slumping his head. Even though it’ll take hours for Samu to come to Osaka, it feels like he’ll be here in minutes.
“Yeah.”
“Good. I’ll see ya then. Tsumu...remember I care for ya’.” Then he hangs up.
When Osamu arrives, the drug has worn off. Atsumu lets him in with a bright smile which drops when he sees the look on Osamu’s face.
“Samu? What’s wrong?”
“You look like shit” Osamu says. “Have ya looked in a mirror? Yer too skinny! I’m makin’ ya somethin’ right now.” And he marches to the kitchen, riffling through the cabinets and fridge, taking out every randomly organized thing that Atsumu has. “This is expired!” Osamu calls, chucking a shriveled up bunch of green onions into the living room. Atsumu just manages to catch them.
Osamu makes soup. They eat together. And when Atsumu calls Daichi-san, he goes to his bedroom, Osamu staying in the living room and turning on the TV so he can’t hear their conversation.
Atsumu cries- again- over the phone. Samu...he’s really helping, his presence. They’re twins, they’ve known each other longer than they’ve known anyone else. They share the same genes, they share the same blood. And he’s been there for so many important stages of his life, it cruelly eels right that he’s here.
With Samu here now, Atsumu is more self-conscious. He doesn’t take the half-pill when he’s supposed to, waiting another day, but when he does with Samu watching, the only thing he really processes is the sadness on his face.
He has his ups and downs. Now with Osamu here, he calls Daichi-san less and less, but always makes sure to at least text in the morning and night. Samu is the one to rub his back when he bends over the rim of the toilet, throwing up everything he ate. He’s there to comfort him when he returns with groceries to Atsumu scratching at his arms and hunched over himself because of how much the thoughts are ramming at him. But he does start to get better. The pills finish and he sleeps a little easier each night, the pains lessening and the headaches disappearing. His weight starts to creep back up. The intrusive thoughts stay in the background of his mind.
Samu runs his business remotely, coordinating with some of his employees over phone and email while also taking care of stuff like ordering supplies, distributing their week’s pay, and answering emails that customers sent to the restaurant.
Regular practice starts up again. His stamina has decreased but it’ll be easy enough to get it up. He feels good about himself now. He’s fought through all of that and now he feels undefeatable. And it’s not the pills giving him that feeling- it’s his own mind.
“Daichi-san, thank you for everything” Atsumu says with a smile. “I loved talkin’ to ya. I hope we can stay friends.”
“I agree” Daichi-san says. “And please, Atsumu- it’s just Daichi.”
Their first game of the season is against the EJP Raijin. He and Osamu meet-up before the game with Suna while Bokuto and Hinata go to meet someone. Atsumu absently wondered who.
At the actual game, Atsumu was ready. Hinata looked at him encouragingly, as if he could somehow tell what sort of struggles he’s overcome in the past few weeks. They line up first, and then the EJP Raijin emerge from the corridor. They’re names, numbers, and little factoids are called out by the announcer as they line up.
“Sawamura Daichi, opposite hitter and number twelve- this young man at the age of twenty-three is the season’s newest addition to the Raijin!”
“It’s Daichi-san!” Hinata says, elbowing Atsumu. Atsumu’s head snaps to the side and he looks down at the orange-haired boy.
“Daichi-san?” He croaks. “As in the one I’ve been talk’ to Daichi-san?” Hinata eagerly nods.
“Yeah! Bokuto-san and I met with him this morning!”
Daichi-san
Atsumu watches the court as the Raijin’s newest player lines up with them. Their eyes meet and Atsumu’s whole world seems to freeze when it really hits that this is the man who he’s been talking to for the past few months, who was there for his weakest moments.
He knows him. This Sawamura Daichi. He was captain of Karasuno, the rag-tag team. He’s the one who led his flock to victory and Atsumu’s to defeat. He finds that he doesn’t mind that fact.
Daichi-san, he’s not blond. Or skinny. He seems to be shorter than Atsumu too. His hair is in the same cropped style he remembers from National’s, eyes large and brown like how he imagined. Lightly tanned skin, formed muscles outlined by the jersey, and admittedly nice thighs. The warm smile that crosses his face gives Atsumu the same feeling that he feels when Daichi-san laughs from the other end of the phone.
Throughout the match, Atsumu finds his eyes naturally drawing to Daichi-san. There’s longing in his chest and he finds that he’s playing around and messing with the opposite team more than usual. Daichi-san once told him that he wasn’t good at volleyball, but he obviously is if he’s playing for a Division 1 team after being an officer. He seems to soar when he comes to spike the ball from a back line attack, a move Atsumu clearly remembers from the past, like a ghost.
The Black Jackals still manage to win, even though it’s a close game. After they shake hands, what he doesn’t expect is Daichi-san to duck under the net and walk towards him, body coated with sweat and face not showing defeat but happiness. It was a good game. If Atsumu had lost, he’s sure he wouldn’t of been sad- he would of also been happy for the good game.
“Daichi-san” Atsumu says. “Ya said that ya weren’t good at volleyball. What happened?”
“I’m really not that good” Daichi-san says, rubbing the back of his neck. If Atsumu remembers correctly, Daichi is less than a year older than him, even though he doesn’t look like it. He actually looks younger than him with those large eyes.
“Stop lyin’ to yerself” Atsumu says. “I’m real happy I gotta meet ya in person.”
“Same” Daichi-san says “Even though we actually have met before.” Atsumu laughs. “Anyway, we’re going to be in Osaka for another day. If you’re not busy tomorrow morning, would you like to grab some breakfast with me?”
“Oh? Breakfast? Atsumu asks, tipping his head down. He was also right about Daichi-san being shorter than him. “That sounds like-”
“Two friends getting to know each other” Daichi says, amused. “I’ve heard of your reputation, Miya. You’re going to have to try harder than that with me.” His face softens. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re better now.”
“Same here” Atsumu smiles. “Text me the time for tomorrow?”
“Why would I text?” Daichi-san looks confused. Atsumu blinks at him. “We usually call.”
“If that was supposed to be a joke, I don’t understand” Atsumu says with a slightly strained voice. Daichi laughs.