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Giving up has never been in Sakusa Kiyoomi’s dictionary. He’s one to see things through from the start to the end, and not leave any room for regrets.
To him, regret is the only emotion that increases and compounds in time. It makes him feel like he has lost control over something that could have been prevented if he just tried and trained hard enough- only then did he deserve to go out in glory.
But being around his family is different. There is nothing much that could prepare him for it, no one to practice with. They don’t particularly understand him, because his siblings are much older than him, nor do they leave any space to accommodate his mysophobia. The indifference and expectations that they have on him are like a superlative tree, taking root in his soul and seeping life out of him.
Little Kiyoomi, who tucked and folded his tubby arms away and staunchly refused to shake hands with anyone on his father’s new company’s grand opening day. He proceeded to scream murder and throw the biggest tantrums when crowds of strangers tried to get near.
“You made your Father lose face, Kiyoomi! Whatever’s wrong with you?”
Kiyoomi had no answer. He was six.
They didn’t bring their youngest son along to any event nor function after that.
The traditional concepts of Japanese grace, harmony and everything about mentsu were disgraced, lost causes that were flushed down the drain. Germs were scurrying through his veins where blood should have been instead is the image that stayed, nesting in the darkest recesses of his mind.
Multiplying and mutating.
Goosebumps started to ripple on the back of his hands and his skin crawled uncontrollably. His eyes started to water, straining on his pupils painfully. He felt disgusting.
Kiyoomi dashed into his own ensuite bathroom and pushed his hands under the running tap for the ninth time of the day.
His actions were conceived as a waste of time. Kiyoomi developed a fascination with rubbing his hands in cold water for thirty seconds, then with soap for another thirty or more, finally a rinse to get all the suds out, from his wrists to under his nails. He didn’t want hand cream or any heavy product on his hands afterwards. He internally perceived that the creams would prevent him from enjoying the dry, clean surface of his fingertips.
To this day, he still showers thrice as long as anyone, three times a day.
His parents’ cold, lifeless stares that were casted upon his back still sends feather-like shivers down his spine as he desperately scrubbed at surfaces that were already clean, rubbing at his skin with alcohol until they peeled.
“You poor thing,” they told him, “having to suffer with that condition of yours.”
He hated that they pitied him, because he didn’t want this. He never wanted to be like this.
If a meteor were to fly down to Earth one day, it should take him with it.
They’re not like Atsumu. Atsumu, who considerately washes his hands for the appropriate amount of time, brings wet wipes and a spare face towel to training. Atsumu, who checks on his condition from time to time whenever they happen to be in a crowd, on and off matches. Atsumu, who tells Osamu to make him a special ochazuke when the team barges into Onigiri Miya because Sakusa can’t bring himself to actually eat rice balls-
“Omi? Earth to Omi-kun, yer spacin’ out really bad there.”
Sakusa watches Atsumu gesture towards his physical body out of concern, waving his big hand at Sakusa’s blank stare and trying to get him to snap out of it, but he can’t- he’s watching the world from the back of his mind, detached, floating far away into a vacuum void. Alone. His voice gets stuck in his throat, an uncomfortable lump that steely obstructs his breathing cycle- wait, he doesn’t have a mask on- what on earth is going on?
Where are they?
His mind briefly goes back to what happened an hour ago.
His mother had called him, and told him that she would be visiting his apartment with his sister in a month’s time.
Why? He wanted to ask. What do you want from me? Their own schedules were so packed that they could only set aside some time for him by appointment, which would leave him to marinate in a month of anxiety. Rich people antics.
The itch beyond his skin was back, but Sakusa could now quell it down like a pro. He would show them that he was more than capable of taking care of himself. They didn’t see the need to keep in contact with him for the rest of the year, so this should be an evaluation of sorts. His apartment would be clean. He would put his team photos up to show a semblance of a social life. He would get a vase of fresh flowers for the coffee table, then throw them out later.
He could make it work.
The incessant buzzing of his phone cut through the tangle of constellations that were his thoughts.
“Omi-kun! I was just in yer area an’ ya know there’s this new coffee place ya said ya wanna try? Well I took a look and it ain't that crowded right now, ya wanna come down?"
“Okay,” Sakusa agreed, a little too quickly. “Give me five minutes.”
He needed to grab some things from the nearby FamilyMart anyway, he reasoned. Or just a bout of fresh air, a fresh face. Sakusa swayed precariously between the lines of not feeling like himself and pulling on the reins of self-control.
He grabbed his wallet and keys, and in his frenzied state, forgot his mask as he dashed over to the aforementioned cafe. Atsumu was already there, perched in one of the little seats, and told him that he got them both cafe lattes, “Omi-kun’s favourite, with an extra shot!”
But suddenly, Atsumu’s by his side- encouraging him to take in deep breaths to calm down, and that everything would be okay.
He is still floating, disorientation making him swim baseless laps around in his own head.
Sakusa can’t possibly take in deep breaths, not when there are viruses in the air, in such a crowded cafe. He’ll drown if he opens his lungs up now. It’s impossible. It’s irrational. The germs will get to him. He’s always been so, so careful about wearing a mask, so why did he forget it today? Why can’t he do anything right?
Everything becomes a blur, with Atsumu hauling him up from the cafe seat and into his arms, forgoing both their hot coffees that are just served. Both of them somehow stagger out into the streets, and stumble to a pharmacy a block away. Sakusa feels so drunk. Atsumu rushes to the nearest rack for a packet of disposable masks, and slams a crisp 5,000 yen note onto the counter.
“Keep the change!”
He rips the packaging open and helps Sakusa slide the loops onto his ears.
Sakusa finally breathes, the unkind scent of polypropylene with its 95 percent bacteria filtration efficiency being immensely comforting to him. He drifts back, clinging harder onto Atsumu’s arms because he knows his legs could still give out on him at any moment.
“Let’s get ya home, Omi.”
Atsumu is reassuring on the cab ride back to Sakusa’s apartment, murmuring soft words of encouragement and basically talking about anything under the sun. It’s welcome and soothing, and it reminds him of clean, freshly sun-dried laundry that flap in the spring breeze, without a care in the world. Sakusa leans his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, and starts to regulate his breathing- two in, one out- until he feels nothing but the sultry body heat radiating off Atsumu, letting a golden, summery cadence of affection hold him close.
They reach the apartment in a couple of minutes, and Sakusa slowly finds his own legs as they trudge into the lift lobby at his apartment level. Atsumu’s still talking, god bless that giant mouth of his, as he slowly feels for his keys in his left pocket. He tiredly pushes through the door, body still half-lounging on his teammate’s. Atsumu doesn’t move.
“You can come in.”
Atsumu carefully steps out of his shoes, and nudges them to the side so that they align with Sakusa’s, perfectly perpendicular to the door. Atsumu guides Sakusa towards the bathroom where he could safely brace his arms against the sink. Atsumu watches quietly at the door as he washes his hands, all the way up to his elbows, then his face. His wet curls plaster themselves limply against his forehead.
“Ya should just go and take a bath,” Atsumu suggests, and Sakusa knows he’s right. “I’ll go sit on yer couch. Holler if ya need anything, okay? Don’t fall asleep in the tub!”
So Sakusa takes his time in the bath. He soaks, watching the sheen of sweat and germs from going out today untangling and sliding off him like an invisible coat that only he can see, and reinvigorates his skin with a tough rub down with his antiseptic soap. His heart has stopped racing, and is on its way to regaining its usual dull schedule. Sakusa leisurely rinses himself off, then towels dry. He dries off his hair and grabs a matched pyjama set, the one with little white clouds dotted on a pale blue sky, then finally his large weighted blanket from the UV disinfection cabinet.
Sakusa has taken such a long time in the shower that he’s sure Atsumu has gone home on his own. He’s genuinely surprised to see the setter still lounging on the sofa, and seems to be streaming a Korean drama on his phone. Atsumu looks up as he hears Sakusa shuffle slowly into the room, comfort blanket and all.
He doesn’t laugh or snort at the entire get-up, but instead scoots over to make some space. Sakusa drapes the fluffy cloth over his shoulders, tightly around himself, and takes a seat.
“You okay, Omi?”
Sakusa doesn’t reply.
If there is anyone on Earth who's going to climb up to the skies and part the rainclouds away for Sakusa Kiyoomi, he prays that that person will be one Miya Atsumu.
Atsumu starts to talk, a rich and steady tone that wraps itself around Sakusa’s shoulders, a consoling squeeze to his heart.
“So I started to watch this drama that Bokkun and Barnes were yappin’ about, and it’s trash like I knew it would be, but I just can’t stop watchin’ it! I’m startin’ to regret it…”
Sakusa is a planet, cradling along safely by the gravity that tethers him to Atsumu’s sun, pulling him away from his endless wandering and into a void where he can feel nothing but warmth.
Atsumu goes on and on, patiently, an unyielding force that calms Sakusa down tremendously.
“Sorry you had to see that.”
Sakusa’s own voice is soft, scratchy. He frowns, wishing that he didn’t speak at all.
"Ya don’t have’ta apologise for somethin’ like that. My therapist said so."
"...Is your therapist your brother?"
"Yeah?"
"Your twin brother, from the onigiri shop."
Atsumu flushes, and his features start to dapple in a coral blush. His right leg also starts jiggling two hundred miles per hour.
"’Tis hard to talk about my feelings with anyone else, ya? So ‘Samu takes one for the team of all therapists worldwide."
And Sakusa feels it- a deep rumble from the very bottom of his ribcage, the bumbling of warm summer clouds tumbling in the heated air- and he laughs.
Sakusa laughs, a real, hearty thunder of a waterfall of glittering stars, spilling through the cosmos. He lets his head lounge back absent-mindedly as he chuckles, easing the joy into his bones.
Atsumu turns towards him, startled at first, with bulging eyes and an unhinged jaw- but Sakusa can care less about how grating his unused laugh might sound, not when he’s running free in a comet field that smells like Atsumu’s cheap frat boy cologne, in the heat of the moment-
“I could kiss you right now.”
Alright, now Atsumu’s jaw straight up falls from the rest of his face, and he’s gaping helplessly like the world’s biggest goldfish.
The sudden silence gives them both a full second to comprehend Sakusa’s words.
“Ya would?!” “I’m an idiot.”
They both blurt at the same time, and Sakusa whips his head to the left, to take a full-on stare- just as Atsumu ducks his face down- from the top of Atsumu’s head. The tips of his ears were so lava red, they basically had smoke pouring out of them.
“Ya can’t just say ya want ‘ta, k-k-..”
“Kiss you.”
Atsumu shrieks, and leaps a meter high above the sofa, gravely mortified by a simple word.
Cute .
“Ya can’t- ya can’t take that back now, ya said it twice! I win! Ya wanted to kiss me first!”
There was no prizes to be won, really, and Atsumu’s too conditioned to make every little thing in his life into a bet or a competition, but it’s all endearing nonetheless.
Sakusa smiles, and lifts up the corner of his blanket. “Only if it’s okay with you.”
If he can shed the shame that his parents had cursed upon him and somehow become good enough, good enough for one person, maybe he’s going to be okay. And if he can choose to have Atsumu as the epicenter of his universe, and let himself gently gravitate and spin round and round, that will just be lovely.
Atsumu almost collapses in his eagerness to worm and snuggle into the blanket, murmuring “ya looked so comfy in this but I was too pussy to ask,” with his long eyelashes catching the light of the magic hour that splays through the windows, a dance of pinks and golds radiating onto his cheeks. His arms wrap around Sakusa’s waist gingerly and yet protectively at the same time.
It’s quiet, and all Sakusa feels is Atsumu and his stupid racing heart, thumping erratically against his side. He knows his own heart is betraying him in the same way, because Atsumu is somehow smirking as he gazes up.
“Yer so pretty,”
No, you , Sakusa wants to say, but he decides that actions would do him more justice. With Atsumu pressing so close to him, there is no room for regrets.
He leans, and presses the softest, most fleeting of touches against his own lips and Atsumu’s.
Atsumu is there to meet him halfway, unwavering, not pulling back nor regretting any of this.
“I’m not easy to love,” Sakusa whispers breathlessly, deathly afraid of the moment that the mirage would dissipate into thin air, and he’ll be left with nothing but the hallucination of Miya Atsumu’s sweet lips on his skin.
“And yet I’ve managed to do so for the past year, Omi. What didja’ think made me stock up on that sanitiser ya like ta’ use?”
“Common sense?” Sakusa tries, but Atsumu barks out an uncultured laugh.
Sakusa’s legs feel weak despite being tenderly held and sitting down on his own couch- his past 18 year-old self who first met the banshee, piss-haired Atsumu at a combined volleyball camp would have admonished him: “This? You find this attractive?”
But he does. He does, indeed. Atsumu, who genuinely cares and is trying to understand and accommodate him in every way that counts. Atsumu, who vows to give all his spikers the best that he’s got, and is a monster on the court in his own right. Atsumu, who is a radiant piece of star dust with a heart of gold.
Who also likes him back.
And he wouldn’t have anyone else in any other way.