Work Text:
worship
/ˈwəːʃɪp/
verb:
1) to show reverence and adoration for (a deity)
2) to feel great admiration or devotion for
Atsumu thinks he would've liked to have gone to the Olympics before the world crumbled around him.
("The sun." Osamu's voice was tinny and detached through the phone. They call every day, even after all their complaining about one another in high school. "'Affectin' the tides, startin' up tsunamis. It's gettin' real hot, too. 'Sposed to explode any day now- too big and bright for the sky. And then the sky'll fall with it.")
And even after all that, all Atsumu remembers thinking is that perhaps it was the sky's fault for trapping the sun in the first place.
Osamu is in Tokyo, probably doing something mundane like molding his perfected shape of onigiri, or perhaps having his morning tea. It's early, after all, the bloated sun painting Japan red. When Osamu had hung up, it had felt final.
He'd finished with a "love you, scrub."
That was enough of a goodbye on its own, the rare words sticking in his throat long after the dial tone had sounded. Atsumu wonders if that's the sun will wait another day. If it would wait for him to call his brother one last time, tomorrow morning, just like he did every day.
Hyogo is normally hot in the summer, sticky with humidity and the scent of wilting blossoms and the quiet farms all around him. It's even warmer now, warm enough that Atsumu leaves his house in his thinnest shirt and volleyball shorts that he's probably kept since he graduated. Monsoon season is supposed to approach, to provide a little relief and calm the heat trapped in the soil and creeping into the plants, the trees, the air.
He's going everywhere and nowhere, letting his legs walk him down familiar trails.
The quaint old homes he passes by are either completely empty or filled to the brim, chatter wafting from too-early celebrations and silence echoing from all that's been abandoned. There's music, the tinkling, summery kind that makes you feel a little fuzzy with youth, no matter how old you are. Atsumu, for all his bitter aches and sour tastes on his tongue, is happy for these people.
After all, who wants to spend the end of the world alone?
Atsumu sighs.
He really would have liked to have gone to the Olympics. He would've liked to win.
Where does he go now?
Atsumu wonders how his teammates are, old and new. Maybe Bokuto is on the fast train from Osaka to Tokyo to tell Akaashi what everyone had known all along. Maybe Aran is proposing to his girlfriend, the girlfriend that had stuck around even when they had lived and breathed for volleyball and only volleyball in the midst of their adolescence. Maybe Sakusa will take off his mask outside, just this once, to feel the sun on his face.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Atsumu finds himself outside of an old farmhouse, rustic and proud from where it stands besides expanses of emerald green and glittering gold fields. The house is warm, painted a dark red that's chipping ever so slightly, if you bothered to look closely enough. The windows are wide, and when Atsumu squints, he thinks he sees the figure of a little old lady puttering about the house. A rusty weathervane sits on top of it all, and it rotates creakily, slowly, dancing with the wind and glinting a little under the harsh sunlight.
Atsumu hesitates on the doorstep, his knuckles poised over the hard wooden door.
Why come here, when the weather was getting too warm, the sky was getting too close, and he wasn't going to go to the Olympics?
And before his knuckles can hit the door, it swings open with a groan. He flinches, blinking a little.
"You just gonna stand out here all day?" Kita's familiar voice says, in the rural drawl that Atsumu had dropped a little in his time in Osaka, one eyebrow arched and his mouth curved a little in amusement. "Or can ya come in and make yourself useful?"
Kita Shinsuke doesn't look much different from two weeks ago, two months ago, or two years ago. He's something of an immovable force, a permanent fixture in every life he'd stumbled into. Unbreakable, unwavering Kita Shinsuke.
Atsumu's convinced that even if the world ends in blazing fires and broken oceans, Kita Shinsuke will still be standing after it all.
HIs ink-dipped hair, shockingly bright by the roots, is matted against his forehead, sun-browned skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat that coats his cheekbones, his neck, and all the way down his revealed collarbone. He's broader around the shoulders, his fingers and palms rough and coarse, a result of early mornings and late nights on his beloved rice farm.
"Granny can't reach those shelves." Kita presses a feather duster into Atsumu's chest seriously. "And farmin' is no good on my old back."
Atsumu has to search for that slight glint in Kita's eye to be sure he's just kidding- something rare, but treasured when it occurred. Atsumu finds himself chuckling a little, and his smile remains even when Kita's grandmother hobbles over and makes him bend down just so she can pinch his cheeks.
"Have you eaten enough?" She coos. "I'll get some tea for you, Atsumu-kun! I just bought a new type from the market- good for yer complexion!"
Kita watches his grandmother fondly, with a rapt attention that, unlike his jokes, isn't rare at all. Atsumu can't muster up a single time Kita had ever slacked on anything, whether it be a championship final or cleaning up the volleyballs after practice or studying for a quiz or the harvest that came every spring season. With everything Kita does, he pours his life into it, every harsh breath and every drop of sweat and every strain in his muscles or thought on his mind.
Everything, everything, everything.
Atsumu's only given his everything to volleyball. It's a little unlucky, a little funny, maybe, that it's only now, that he's wondering what it'd be like to give his everything to something else- someone else-
and the world is ending.
There's a slight breeze coming from the open window, and he relishes the sharp sting of it on his pinkened face. Even so, he reaches up onto those shelves that the Kita family had neglected, wrinkling his nose at the fall of dust. Kita is humming something lowly, too low that Atsumu can't quite identify its melody, as he sweeps the floor. Methodical, left, right, forward, back. Even after all these years, Kita lives by his routines.
("Do you think he'll ever quit those patterns of his?" Suna hums after practice as they make their way towards the gym door, nodding his head towards Kita. He's practicing his bumps one hundred times, still completely focused on the ball that bounces off his forearms and up into the sky, only to land back on bruising skin again, again, again. He'll keep going, long after the gym has emptied and the sun has begun to set over the campus.
"Nah." Atsumu says, like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I don't think he'd quit those patterns of his even if the world was endin'.")
Kita's grey eyes glint a little, a strange ashy colour, the red from the sun making him glow a little, enveloping his head like a halo. He's got the type of eyes that are worn out from smiling, ranging from the polite type that's normally plastered on his face, to the genuine, ear-to-ear beams that had made Atsumu's heart flutter a little back during his time at Inarizaki.
There are a lot of irrefutable facts about Atsumu's high school experience. One, his hair had been dyed an ugly yellow from the cheapest box bleach he could find in a dual fit of rebellion with his brother. Two, he'd chipped one of his teeth after angrily throwing a volleyball at the wall of the empty gym, only for it to bounce right back into his face.
And three- Kita Shinsuke had a special place in Atsumu's heart that he'd never, never, ever be able to vacate.
(There's a word for it, Atsumu knows. It's right there on the tip of his tongue, eager to slip from between his teeth and out for the world to hear. But he takes this rare moment of thoughtful privacy, and thinks he'll take it to the world's end.)
"Slacker." Kita chides, and Atsumu snaps out of his reverie. His old captain has his hand on a cocked hip, looking him with a fond exasperation that takes Atsumu all the way back to his first year at Inarizaki, when he was young and full of ambition, when they'd had all the time in the world and absolutely nothing to do with it.
"The sun's gonna explode!" Atsumu blurts in the heat of the moment, the flush on his face almost immediately following. "Why are you cleanin'?"
Rude, brash, obnoxious boy. Loud, temperamental, reckless boy. Atsumu's all these things, he's well aware, but he's not really ever paid it any mind.
Up until now.
He winces, his face twisted into one of displeasure at the sound of his own cutting voice. Had he always sounded like this? Had he always let his words lead him before his mind had ever quite caught up?
Atsumu's mouth is already half open, an apology forcing its way up his throat, but he's cut off by something else.
Kita's laughter is surprising- chiming, musical, and a little gravelly. Atsumu's teeth clack together with how fast his mouth shuts, even as his eyes fly wide open and the world around him melts away.
("This is fuckin' cheesy." Atsumu grumbles around a mouthful of popcorn. Team movie nights aren't frequent, but he cherishes them either way, Gin's horrible film lineups or not. Kita sits a couple meters away, next to Aran, and Atsumu fights the urge to glance at him, just once. On the screen, the landscape is whited out as the figures only have eyes for each other.
"I think-" Osamu says carefully, quietly, his fingers gently brushing the smooth brown hair belonging to Suna, who's passed out conveniently in his lap, drooling a little into the worn fabric of Osamu's grey sweatpants. Even now, in this less than flattering light, Atsumu's brother looks at their middle blocker like he hung the moon and stars. "- I think you'll understand, when yer turn comes 'round.")
(And as Kita laughs, and as Atsumu's vision whites out, he damns his brother for being right once again)
Eventually, the chuckles taper off, and Atsumu sadly hears it go. Amusement remains painted all over Kita's face, his eyes crinkled and mouth curved in an upward lilt.
"Well, Atsumu." He breathes. "My grandmother can't clean this big old house all on her own, can she?"
Kita Shinsuke really hasn't changed at all. Atsumu's glad for it, he really is.
Unbreakable, unshakable, unwavering Kita Shinsuke.
"Nah." Atsumu murmurs, turning his attention back to the shelves he's yet to finish cleaning. There's a small, faint smile on his face. "She can't."
After the house has reached her standard of spotlessness, Kita's grandmother hustles them into the tea room before leisurely making her way to the market, just after leaving two delicate cups and a steaming pot on the table. Atsumu kneels opposite from Kita, sipping from his cup and inwardly yelping when he burns his tongue.
"Be more careful." Kita says automatically, before turning away, face contorting into one of mild bashfulness.
Atsumu watches. Atsumu aches.
"I'm sorry." The older says softly, genuinely. "We're both adults."
"I don't mind." Atsumu says quickly, his face burning up as he hears the eagerness in his own voice. Because he doesn't mind, not one bit, that Kita still cares enough about him to be a nag. "Really, Kita-san."
Any anxiety held in Kita's features floats away, and his smile is back, this time a little shy, and Atsumu can only hopelessly raise his cup to his lips and burn his tongue again.
"How is it that you're so relaxed?" Atsumu mouths around a throbbing tongue, stubbornly refusing to give into Kita's raised eyebrows and unimpressed purse in his lips. "We're about to die, you know. Any minute now."
Kita doesn't falter as he ponders the question, gently blowing at his tea while Atsumu waits impatiently. He taps his fingers against the polished wood of the table, strumming them absently.
"I've been happy with the way I've done things all my life." Kita chooses his words carefully, mouth poised over the rim of his cup. "Why should I change that for my last days?"
"You ain't ever wanted anythin' else?" Atsumu questions. "Anythin' in the world?"
Kita is quiet for a second as he sips, his eylids fluttering as focuses on drinking. He opens his mouth, just once, but it snaps shut gently, like he's second guessed himself. The warm noon sun, swollen and high in the sky, filters through the open folding doors, painting the room a reddish colour that makes all of Kita's sharp angles and shadows stand out that much more.
"Of course I have." Kita murmurs thoughtfully. "But I firmly believe that everythin' happens for a reason. And if somethin' great was ever gonna come for me, they'd come right here to little old Hyogo."
Atsumu nods, humming his approval with Kita's answer.
If somethin' great was ever gonna come for me, they'd come right here to little old Hyogo.
They.
He doesn't allow himself the surge of hope that threatens to erupt in his chest. He ignores the pulse of old, buried feelings rushing back.
He just sips on his tea. This time, he remembers to blow on it.
"And if we're gonna die any minute now-" Kita starts, settling his cup down on the table. "- why'd you come here, Atsumu?"
Atsumu's knuckles turn white as his hold on the cup becomes a forceful grip. He briefly worries that it might shatter, as his thoughts whirl in orbit around that singular question echoing through his mind.
The weather's getting too warm, the sky's getting too close, and he's not going to the Olympics.
("You'll come visit, right?"
It's meant to be playful, a jab at his now graduated upperclassman, but as the words come out of Atsumu's mouth, they're tinged with a little bit of desperation. He hopes Kita won't be able to detect it.
His old captain looks handsome, with his his hair combed neatly and his formal wear fitting him nicely. His second button shines once under fluorescent gym lights, catching Atsumu's eye, taunting him.
"'Course I will." Kita says fondly. "I hafta make sure yer keepin' up with your duties, don't I?"
It's meant to be playful, a jab at his now formally captained underclassman, but the words out of Kita's mouth sting Atsumu as he remembers that Kita's not going to be around anymore, not like before.
"I'm not you." Atsumu admits quietly. "I'll never be able to do what you did."
"I know you're not me." Kita simply says back, and his clutch on Atsumu's shoulder is strong. Salty tears make both their eyes shine, but they if they notice, they don't say a word. "That's why you'll do even better.")
"It's monsoon season." Atsumu settles on, all the words he's kept to himself getting lodged in his throat and leaving him a little breathless. "The sky was gonna fall on Hyogo anyways."
Atsumu's never seen so much red in his life.
The world is beautiful in this light, and in a sick, twisted way. Atsumu can only find himself admiring the way the sun tints Kita's pale hair, pinkening it a little. His face too, is given a flushed look, and he looks human. Ethereal, yet so, very, human.
"I watched all of yer games, you know." Kita hums, as they sit on the front porch. Their sides are pressed together, as the swinging chair is a tight squeeze, the extra warmth making Atsumu sweat a little more. "You, Suna, Aran."
"And I was your favourite, right?" Atsumu jokes, but it sounds nervous.
Kita doesn't have favourites. Kita is Kita, and the rest of the world just orbits around him, whether they like it or not.
To his surprise, Kita laughs again- the hot breeze blows it away, and it's quieter, calmer, but it makes Atsumu freeze yet again.
"Maybe." Kita admits, and Atsumu jaw drops almost comically. "But you won't tell the rest of 'em, will ya?"
He's got a mischievous smile pasted on his face, gracing his features softly as he glances at Atsumu's shocked expression once from the corner of his eye.
"Oh, don't look so surprised. Yer fishing for compliments, or somethin'?"
Kita sounds slightly embarrassed, now, and Atsumu is once again reminded that Kita is not untouchable. Kita is right here, sitting next to him, just within his grasp if Atsumu was ever brave enough to reach for him.
"I'm just surprised." Atsumu says faintly. "I never expected ya to have a favourite, let alone for you to tell me."
Let alone for it to be me.
Kita shrugs, his shoulder moving against Atsumu's.
"Thought I'd get all my deep, dark secrets out before my time is up." He quips, and a bark of incredulous laughter slips from Atsumu's lips before he even realises it.
They look out at the farm for a while. The sun has slowly made its way across the sky, looking larger and larger every time Atsumu looks back at it. It's bright, really bright, yet it's still dimmer than whatever it is the man next to him emanates.
"Why tell me now?" Atsumu breathes, looking pointedly at everything but Kita as a blush that isn't entirely attributed to the sun creeps up his neck.
The weathervane creaks loudly. In the distance, the fields sing as the wind dances with the trees. Atsumu lets Kita think, because that's what he's used to. Kita thinks and thinks and thinks and Atsumu desperately tries, will always try, to figure out what any of it means.
"Haven't ya heard, Atsumu?" Kita finally says, with that crooked smile of his. "The sky's fallin'."
And Atsumu, well.
Atsumu thinks he's fallen with it.
The sky is brilliant, now, a myriad of vermillion and scarlet and ruby and the shade of a fresh apple during the summer, or the blood from reopened scrapes on the volleyball court. It's not exactly a comforting colour, but Atsumu is unthreatened by it anyways. Surrounded by wheat stalks that almost reach his shoulders, embraced by Earth's final offers, and with Kita gripping his wrist as they walk through the fields, Atsumu feels safe.
"Come on." Kita puffs. "Don't wanna miss it."
The it in question is the sunset. There's a hill here on the Kita acres, and that's where they're going. Kita had looped calloused fingers around Atsumu's wrists on the porch, and hadn't let go since.
("It'll be neat, with how big and bad the sun's lookin' right now." Kita had said, with shining eyes, and Atsumu had just looked on with a deep, stupid, mindless adoration and followed Kita to the end of the world.)
The slope of the hill isn't too bad, but it's just steep enough to make Atsumu's calves burn with a familiarity he is glad for. Some semblance of normalcy- sore muscles and Hyogo humidity and most normal of all; Kita Shinsuke.
"You know, I called Suna earlier." Kita says mindlessly as they walk, tugging Atsumu along as they make their ascent. "I think he's got some things to say to that brother of yers."
Osamu. And- and Suna.
"Oh." Atsumu says while he reels. It's not news, never has been, but it hits him with a sort of finality that Osamu and Suna will become OsamuandSuna, like they were always meant to be, and Atsumu will be left behind once again with nobody to squeeze his hand when the floods rise and the fires rage.
Would Suna have ever said a word, if the world weren't supposed to end tomorrow?
Maybe not. But Atsumu won't know, will never know, because the world is ending and Suna is saying a word and a bittersweet flavour lays itself on Atsumu's tongue stubbornly as he understands.
He's broken out of his reverie when Kita exhales with a huff as they reach the top of the hill, and Atsumu looks down, down at his wrist that Kita grips with fervor. His friend's knuckles are white, and Atsumu's fingers are slowly swelling as his circulation is cut off but-
But-
Maybe nobody will squeeze his hand when the floods rise and the fires rage, but Atsumu thinks that perhaps this might be the next best thing.
(And really, he's happy that his brother won't be alone as time finally ticks down to its final seconds)
The two of them stand under a large old tree, the branches beginning to wilt, hanging low and limp, but curving over them protectively nonetheless. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, an angry, vengeful colour as it's pulled down. Atsumu doesn't know if this is the last time he'll see the sun, and that ache of nostalgia and longing and everything he'd never wanted to acknowledge before spreads through his chest as inch by inch, the sun disappears.
He closes his eyes. That way, he can feel the warmth brushing his face, dusting his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose and the bow of his lips. The tips of his ears, the curve of his jaw, the dip in his collarbone.
He says goodbye, to the sun, and memorises every moment he spends with it now.
"I wonder how the stars'll look tonight." Kita whispers in hushed tones as he gazes out at the picture perfect landscape, even though it's just them two and the grand, dying tree with nobody around for miles to hear them. He whispers, just for Atsumu to hear, and in turn, Atsumu listens reverently.
"We'll find out any minute now." Atsumu murmurs back, and the sun takes its final breaths on this side of the hemisphere before dropping out of sight, leaving only a swiftly darkening sky for them to admire.
The wheat fields rustle beneath them, at the foot of the hill. Up here, they have an uninterrupted view, and Atsumu can see his house in the far, far distance. Lights in houses are turning on as people go about their evening, mothers and fathers cooking their children's favourite meals and letting them watch television while they eat, just this once; teens putting their phones away to putter down into their living rooms and sit with their parents; grandmothers breaking out that box of tea that they'd been saving for a special occasion to enjoy with their families.
"Are you scared?" Kita asks, and his voice is gravelly, a little rough.
Atsumu ponders the question, chewing at his lip as he thinks it through.
He's scared that he'll never be able to fully win the argument with Bokuto about Molten versus Mikasa volleyballs; scared that Suna will never know that it was actually Osamu, and not Atsumu, that had cracked his phone screen in third year; scared that Hinata hasn't given him back his favourite roll of sports tape, and will never be able to; scared that he can't be a groomsman at Aran's wedding that'll never happen; scared that his mother and father are still bickering instead of enjoying their short-lived time together-
"'Course I am." Atsumu answers honestly. "I've only just started- 'n now I've been stopped."
Kita hums his acknowledgement, and the fingers that had clutched Atsumu's wrist slide down and interlace with his own. Their palms are coarse, and a little clammy too, but when Kita squeezes his hand, just once, firmly, Atsumu's worries ease away, just a little bit.
It's enough, and Atsumu is grateful.
"That's okay." Kita says, the picture of calamity. "So am I."
In any other circumstance, the two separate concepts of Kita Shinsuke and fear would be opposites. They simply never coincided, never together, always apart. For Kita to admit fear would mean something catastrophic in nature, and everyone else would feel the clutches of their own impending doom.
Atsumu has never felt closer to Kita than he has now.
"Earlier, I said that if somethin' great were ever gonna happen to me, they'd come here to Hyogo." Kita says lowly. "To anyone else, I think that'd sound stupid. 'Cause everyone knows you won't get anywhere if ya don't go anywhere. But I knew-"
Kita's hand warms up, in Atsumu's, and the older man looks at Atsumu, facing him.
"I knew you'd come home." He finishes. "I knew you'd come back here."
There's a ringing in Atsumu's ears as he processes Kita's lilting words. As he thinks, trying coordinate his mouth with his head, Kita waits, patiently, tipping his head up to look at the sky.
The dark is illuminated by stars that look so much nearer than they did before, large and numerous as they fight for space that no longer exists, with every colour that Atsumu has ever known and maybe even more. They shoot across each other, exploding in the distance into more sequins that dot the fabric of the night. It's entrancing, hypnotic almost, yet all Atsumu is focused on is how Kita's eyes widen like saucers as he drinks it all in, the line of his exposed throat and the loose strands of hair that fall around his face.
"I'm your somethin' great?" Atsumu croaks in awe, even though he already knows the answer, already knows because-
"I already said that, didn't I?" Kita looks at him with a sidelong glance, amused. "When do I ever say things I don't mean?"
Never. The answer is never.
Atsumu is Kita's something great, and the best day of his life is also his last.
He thinks he's okay with that.
"Heh." Atsumu lets out a breathy chuckle. "We always did say we'd follow you to the end of the world, Shinsuke."
It's not all the words he want to say, all the words he's desperately trying to convey by looking at Kita with a nervous sort of joy, everything that he's stubbornly held onto since he walked into the Inarizaki gym that first day of school many years ago. It's not all the words he wants to say, not at all, but-
Kita looks away, fighting the faint smile tracing his lips, but Atsumu's hand is squeezed again.
Just once. Firmly.
And Atsumu relaxes, because he knows that Kita understands.
adoration
/adəˈreɪʃ(ə)n/
noun:
1) deep love and respect
2) worship; veneration