Chapter Text
The locker room is loud as usual as the team changes out of their practice clothes. Between Bokuto’s booming voice, Kuroo’s hyena laugh, and Hinata and Kageyama bickering, it’s a circus. Kiyoomi’s team is full of clowns, but he’s used to it by now. He’s able to skillfully dodge out of the way as Nishinoya’s shoe goes flying past his head. Yeah, this is normal for the Ōkamitani Baseball Club. Really, though, Kiyoomi would be lying if he says he isn’t having fun playing with these guys, no matter how much he wants to strangle them half the time. Thankfully, there are enough sane members to balance out the chaos.
Packing up the rest of his gear, he can see Komori waiting for him. Kiyoomi knows his cousin is only so patient for one reason, and the reason is that he's an insufferable nosey bastard.
Ever since about halfway through first term, Kiyoomi has been receiving an anonymous letter in his shoe locker almost every day. It appears there by the time he’s finished with practice. It’s become part of his routine to check after he’s finished for the day instead of just leaving it for the next morning. He’s found that it tends to improve his mood after a rough practice session.
The first time he saw a letter sitting innocently in his locker, he stared at it with disdain. Someone had put their mouth on that to seal it. He made Komori get it out. It was then they found that the envelope was not sealed with bacteria-ridden saliva but a little sushi sticker with a winking face. It proved that the person at least knew him well enough to respect his aversion to germs. It’s the first time he actually ended up reading something shoved in his locker, and from that moment on, he’s always looked forward to it. Not that he shares that information with anyone.
Kiyoomi has no idea who it is. He doesn’t even know if they’re a boy or girl. The handwriting is very ambiguous. It’s never signed with a name, only a heart. He’d like to know who it is, but there’s just nothing to go off of. The only lead he has is that they are most likely fond of literature, as a large number of the letters are a poem rather than a note. The only person he knows that’s into literature more than the average person is Akaashi, and that’s a big no. He’s dating Bokuto, and they’re obnoxiously in love.
Walking past Komori, he heads to his locker knowing that his cousin is following him. It’s an open secret that Kiyoomi has a secret admirer. The team likes to pester him, but he’s not much fun to tease, as he doesn’t react. It doesn’t stop them from trying, though.
Looking into his locker, he sees a light blue envelope and pulls it out. The sticker today is a smiling onigiri. Cute. Komori still hasn’t said a word as Kiyoomi carefully opens it to not rip the sticker. It’s a poem.
Omi-Omi,
I could paint galaxies on your skin,
Map them until it’s become a sin.
Get lost in your endless eyes,
Where I wouldn’t ever say goodbye.
Orbit around you like a satellite,
Gravity’s pull always keeping you in sight.
Your gaze is like a black hole,
Sucking me in, out of my control.
While many will look for the cosmos above,
I need only search for your love.
You make up the entire universe.
Maybe this will forever be my curse.
-❤
He feels his face flush, red extending even above his mask. This person always refers to him as Omi or some variation, and it never fails to make him blush. He’d probably kill anyone who tried calling him that in person. No, this is reserved only for this person.
Reading the poem for a second time, he absorbs the meaning behind the words written. Kiyoomi typically isn’t much of a poetry person. He never understood why such flowery language was needed to convey a simple meaning. Being a very literal person, half the time the metaphor is completely lost on him. However, now he thinks he understands. Having someone write like this to him has opened his eyes to how beautiful the written word can be.
It’s completely irrational to be taken with a person he’s never met. He has no semblance of who this person is or what kind of person they are. Though that doesn’t stop his heart from racing and red cheeks from blooming with the butterflies dancing in his stomach. It’s honestly a gross feeling, but he can’t deny the way it makes him smile secretly behind his covered mouth.
When he looks up, Komori is giving him a small closed-mouth smile. “A good one today?”
Kiyoomi nods. It’s always a good one.
At home, he pulls out his shoebox that contains his growing collection of notes and poems. But before he puts in this latest one, he changes his mind and pins it to his cork board instead. It’s reserved for his favorites. He might be embarrassed if anyone saw, but it’s not like he ever lets anyone into his room. Well, except Komori who will make fun of him regardless. Cousin privileges only.
Sometimes he tries to imagine who it might possibly be. He analyzes every small detail to try and figure it out. They must be in an afterschool club due to the timing of the letter’s drop-off, but that doesn’t narrow it down all that much. Maybe someone from the literature club? He can’t help but think the person is a small, cute girl with the stickers and just some of the wording in previous letters. However, he might just be stereotyping.
Whether it’s a girl or a boy doesn’t much matter to him though. While he wants to know, he’s also afraid that once the mystery is over he’ll lose interest. That wouldn’t happen though, right? It’s not the mystery of the person that intrigues him, it’s the words and how they make him feel. No one has ever expressed things like that to him before.
Growing up, he was usually left to his own devices. His siblings are all much older than him and have long since moved out. His parents are workaholics and are barely ever home. The only family member he talks to regularly is Komori, and that’s just because they go to the same school and are on the same team.
Kiyoomi wouldn’t exactly say that he’s popular. He may be the best pitcher in the league, but he’s not considered to have a winning personality by any means. No, the only reason his name is called from the stands is because of his ability to help get their team to the Championship and Invitational. In the halls at school, he’s mostly left alone; known as the germaphobe kid with a sour attitude. Over the past year and a half, it has greatly deterred the number of people trying to confess to him for some stupid surface-level reason. The one time he wants someone to come forward to confess, they stay hidden in the shadows.
Walking into class before the start of first period is always a shit show. If Futakuchi isn’t trying to provoke Kyoutani for his own enjoyment, then it’s Nishinoya and Hoshiumi having some stupid competition with Tanaka acting like a broadcaster with Suna recording the whole mess. Kiyoomi slides into his seat on the right side of the room next to Akaashi and Kenma who are both quietly participating in their own activities. Reading and playing a PSP respectively. Why can’t everyone be like them?
A loud crash and yelp ring from the back of the room followed by bellowing laughter. He turns to see Miya (the poorly bleached blonde one) flat on the floor with a tipped-over chair beside him. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to know. God, what an idiot. That moron is always tripping over air. It’s a wonder how he’s a renowned athlete. Though Kiyoomi can’t say he’s seen it for himself. He’s never watched a single tennis match a day in his life.
Today, first period is English literature. They’re starting a unit on Shakespeare. Gross. Kiyoomi has enough hassle deciphering his translated works. Now adding English to the mix? Goodbye Top 10, it was nice while it lasted. Ugh, and they aren’t even doing a comedy. The tragedies are always harder to understand. Fuck you, Hamlet. You’re probably going to be dead by the end of this play anyway.
Must they read the first few scenes aloud? Listening to his classmates struggle with the complicated English is giving him a migraine. Dear lord, this is painful. The passages are so long. This in no way helps Kiyoomi better understand what Shakespeare is trying to get across with these characters. Because really, is Tanaka even trying to say the right words as he reads Claudius’s lines?
When Miya is called on to read for Hamlet, Kiyoomi wants to slam his head on his desk. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse. However, when Miya reaches his first line that’s more than a single sentence, Kiyoomi raises his head and looks back at him.
“Seems, madam, Nay, it is. I know not 'seems.' 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, Nor customary suits of solemn black-” Miya continues his passage with ease.
The fuck? He’s not the only one in the class gaping at him reading with perfect inflection of iambic pentameter. Since when did this idiot know English so well? And Shakespeare? Hello? Even their teacher is impressed and praises him for his performance.
Huh. Not that Miya is stupid (though he’s an idiot) because he’s in Top 10 as well, but Kiyoomi is still a higher rank. He refuses to let this unit drop him below Miya of all people.
Bokuto’s gold eyes are wide in concentration as he stares Kiyoomi down from the batter’s box. However, he’s unfazed. In fact, that’s something all their team’s pitchers are known for. Their unflappable expressions tend to unsettle their opponents. Between Ushijima and himself, it’s uncommon for the need to bring out Kageyama or Suna, but they're all good or they wouldn’t be on the team.
Kiyoomi is known for his wicked cutter ball while Ushijima is a commodity being left-handed with a killer four-seam fastball. Kageyama is always changing it up and experimenting, but he’s consistently reliable. And let it be known that the way Suna is able to hold the ball exactly the same way for a variety of pitches really pisses off the batters.
Iwaizumi gives him the signal for a screwball. Bokuto always has the most trouble with the balls that run in on him. Kiyoomi nods and throws the ball over the plate resulting in a strike as Bokuto swings and misses. Now his catcher wants a sinker. Man, Iwaizumi really wants to fuck with Bokuto today. Another miss. He’s really agitated now, and Kiyoomi is thriving off of his frustration. There’s nothing better than striking out a powerful hitter. A circle changeup does the job.
“Why are you guys being so mean today?!” Bokuto whines.
Kiyoomi can hear Iwaizumi’s evil chuckle from the mound. It’s not like their opponents won’t take advantage of that weakness. Better to work it out now.
Surprisingly, Bokuto isn’t sulking. He overheard him talking about Akaashi having a practice match or something today. Maybe that’s why. Plus, he was the last batter before the end of practice.
In the locker room, Bokuto talks at Iwaizumi and Suna about the tennis match. The two dark-haired teens just nod and hum in acknowledgment of his ramblings. Their boyfriends all play.
“Sakusa-kun, you should come, too!” Bokuto appears in front of him.
“Why?”
“You’ve said you’ve never seen a tennis game before! I think you’d like it!”
Kiyoomi looks at him skeptically. He really has no interest. Seems boring.
Suna walks over and smirks. “Maybe you’ll get to see Atsumu fall on his face.”
Now that he can get behind.
“Not likely. You know as well as I do that he and Osamu just won the Inter High,” Iwaizumi interjects.
The fox-eyed man shrugs noncommittally. “Or I can just convince Osamu to slam one right into his back.”
He sees Komori raise his bushy eyebrows behind the guys trying to get him to go with them. The look in his eye says he should be social, but Kiyoomi doesn’t want to be social. He just spent an entire day surrounded by these people.
After a significant amount of Bokuto’s pleading and Iwaizumi and Suna’s judgmental eyes, he ends up agreeing, “Fine. But I need to stop by my school locker first.”
Iwaizumi is on him like a hawk, “You’re still getting those love letters?”
“They’re not love letters,” he denies.
“Oh? Then what are they?” Suna wiggles his eyebrows.
Kiyoomi refuses to indulge the lot and walks out on them. He hears four pairs of feet trailing after him. God, why is everyone so insufferably nosey? Don’t they all have their own lives? They can kindly fuck off.
It appears they cannot, in fact, read his mind and continue to stand by as he reads his newest acquisition. Oh lord, it’s in English.
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Kiyoomi is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou her bachelor art far more fair than she:
Be not her bachelor, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It is my mister, O, it is my love!
O, that he knew he were!
He speaks yet he says nothing: what of that?
His eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me he speaks:
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat his eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if his eyes were there, they in his head?
The brightness of his cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; his eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how he leans his cheek upon his hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
-❤
Is this fucking Shakespeare? He just got left Shakespeare in his locker. He’s going to have to decipher this later because the vultures are leering at him.
“What?” He snaps at their smirking faces.
“Your ears are red.” Suna points out with a shit-eating grin.
“Fuck off!”
The five of them slide into the bleachers after Kiyoomi gives it a healthy wipe down. The Miyas are in the lead it seems. He has no idea what the rules of tennis are, let alone doubles tennis. He’ll just have to watch and find out, he supposes.
“15-love!” He hears the blonde Miya before he hits a powerful serve over the net. The opposing pair can’t return it in time. Damn, that was fast.
Miya gets ready to serve again. “30-love!” Wait, 30? He just had 15 points. Tennis is dumb.
He caves and asks, “How does scoring work?”
Iwaizumi explains without taking his eyes off the match. “Love is zero. It goes love, 15, 30, 40. Once they reach 40 they have to score one more time at game point to win. They have to win at least 6 games to win a set. And you have to win by 2 games. It’s best of 3 sets.”
Okay. That’s easy enough. It sounds like it could potentially go on forever though. Looking at the scoreboard, he can now tell that the Miya brothers have already won three games and are now about to take game four.
“Atsumu and Osamu haven’t lost a set all season,” Suna boasts of his boyfriend.
That’s actually… impressive. No wonder they won Inter High. Kiyoomi watches as the tennis ball whips back and forth over the net, not even touching the ground on the Miyas’ side as the grey-haired twin gets close to the net and slams the ball on the other team’s side right in the corner of the court. They had no chance.
It appears that only one single person serves for the whole game as it’s the blonde twin serving again. The team returns it only for a twin to blast it right between their opponents.
It’s a little hard to tell which twin is which at first glance with them wearing those white hats. Only the bottom tips of their hair stick out. However, the way they hold themselves is a dead give away. No one except Miya Atsumu can put that much sass and arrogance in a single cock of the hips. Except maybe Oikawa, but he doesn’t have a doppelganger that he needs to be differentiated from.
The twins easily take the first set and do a chest bump.
Suna rolls his eyes with a fond smile. “Losers.”
Before Kiyoomi knows it, the second set is over with the Miya twins winning the match. Wow. Doubles tennis is a lot faster paced than he ever would have imagined. The brothers move in sync with some weird twin telepathy or something because of how coordinated they are.
Now Akaashi and Oikawa are taking the court. Bokuto cheers for his boyfriend louder than necessary, of course. Oikawa blows a kiss to Iwaizumi who rolls his eyes before pretending to catch it to his boyfriend's absolute delight.
Their game is different than watching the Miyas play. Both teens are excellent, but they don’t have quite the same presence. Their teamwork is still near flawless though.
After a few games, the twins join their group.
“Nice match, Babe,” Suna says, patting the bench in front of him indicating for the gray-haired Miya to sit.
When he does, Suna wastes no time draping himself over him. “Thanks. How was practice?”
He turns his attention away from the couple when he hears a loud voice to his left. “So what didja think O-” he coughs, “uh, Sakusa-kun?”
Crossing his arms, he examines the blonde. He looks like a dog waiting to be told he’s a good boy. “Not bad, Miya.”
Miya’s eyes brighten and he beams, “Ya shoulda seen me at Inter High. I was on fire. Yer gonna cheer us on at the Mayor's Cup, right?”
“We’ll see.” Kiyoomi smirks at his expression. Apparently, Miya is just full of surprises today.
Kiyoomi watches as he walks up and yells, “‘Kawa, show ‘em the move!”
Oikawa flashes a peace sign as Akaashi serves the ball. On the return, he sticks his leg up and hits the ball from underneath it. Oikawa manages to score the point, although his coach yells at him. Miya laughs in glee while Akaashi looks holy unamused.
That was just rude. This other school doesn’t have even the slightest chance on Ōkamitani, and everyone knows it. These wolves are bloodthirsty. The Miyas showed no mercy, and Oikawa just styled on them. Disgusting.
Of course they win. It’s no surprise. As Oikawa and Akaashi greet their significant others, Komori slides next to Kiyoomi.
“So,” the single word lingers in the air. Komori is about to say something unpleasant, he’s sure of it. “I take it you liked the match, huh?”
Kiyoomi turns to face him with a frown hidden behind his mask. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off it.” There’s hidden meaning there. Komori knows he hates having to try and read between the lines. Apparently, he’s been hanging out with Ushijima too much.
“Either speak plainly or don’t speak at all.”
Komori puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Nothing. I guess I was just wondering if you had anyone who you hope is your secret admirer.”
He furrows his brows. Does he? He’s not sure. Hasn’t really thought about it.
Komori laughs. “Don’t think too hard, Cuz. I’m probably mistaken,” he smirks as his eyes flash to something behind Kiyoomi before coming back.
Turning around, Miya Atsumu leans against the side of the bleachers typing something on his phone. Does Komori mean- No. Even if he did, (which he doesn’t) there’s no way it’s Miya. He’s way too “cool” and popular to ever be caught dead leaving love letters in someone’s locker. He’s the type that would just confess with how overconfident he is.
When Miya catches Kiyoomi looking at him, he flashes a too-bright smile. Yeah, no way.
Once in his room, Kiyoomi pulls out his letter that he needs to decipher. Alright. He can do this. He’s about to make Shakespeare his bitch. Taking his time to read it, he realizes it’s a passage from Romeo and Juliet, only slightly edited to fit Kiyoomi’s name and gender.
Essentially he gathers that he’s the light and the sun and is more beautiful than the moon, who is jealous because the moon only reflects the sun’s light. This person wishes to capture his attention, to be the one that Kiyoomi adores. And some other metaphors for beauty and love.
Does this person really think of Kiyoomi like that? Or are they just taking a random passage from the play? Surely they put thought into it like they have everything else.
However, they’re wrong. It's not Kiyoomi who is the sun, it's them. Kiyoomi is the moon, merely seeking any brilliance that the sun will cast upon him. For it's the sun that lights his day and warms his heart. If only they would be bold and speak their heart.