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There's a room on the fifth floor of the recreational wing, his brother told him as Kiyoomi was leaving for university, bags packed away in the trunk of the car.
"It’s a good place to y'know take a break," he winked at his younger brother. "Hardly anyone shows up there."
"How will I know which one it is?"
"You will,” he reassured him before leaning forward to whisper, “Just don't tell mom and dad I gave you a cheat code to survive."
"I won’t," Kiyoomi promised.
As it turned out, there was only one door on the fifth floor of the recreational building; polished oak and slightly charred. Sakusa Kiyoomi stood in front of it, uncertainty gnawing at him as he took in the dust particles, displaced from previously untouched layers on the floor. They danced in the sunlight streaming in through the massive windows in front of the staircase.
His brother was right; no one usually came up here.
Kiyoomi considered leaving, there was too much dust to be considered healthy and there was a good chance it was worse behind those doors. He certainly would have left if he didn't have his mask on. But he did and so he stayed, his curiosity getting the better of him. Warily, he pulled out his handkerchief covering his palm with it as he pushed the door open.
His first opinion? Discarded ballroom.
Dome ceiling with a broken chandelier hanging from it, marble flooring, tables pushed back to the sides, a grand piano near the windows, a mural hanging on the wall (Kiyoomi assumed it was the founder of the prestigious university).
What struck him the most, however, was the soot on the walls and floor as if someone splashed black paint from above. Kiyoomi walked into the room taking in every detail, almost as if this was a museum exhibit and he was the sole visitor. His footsteps were muffled by the dust as he made his way across, heading towards the piano.
"Yer new around here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya before."
Kiyoomi looked around, positive that there was nobody in the room with him because he would’ve seen them and he definitely would’ve heard them. So, who was it that spoke?
A boy stepped forward, bleached blond hair cut in an undercut, roughly the same age as him, and wearing the same uniform too: white dress shirt tucked into khaki trousers, blazer discarded. To Kiyoomi, it was as if he had manifested himself straight out of sunlight.
"Who are you?"
"Shouldn't I be askin’ that? I was here first y’know."
Kiyoomi's finger twitched, he wasn't sure he liked him. "Sakusa Kiyoomi."
"Miya Atsumu." he smiled, looking at him through his lashes, brown eyes assessing him. Kiyoomi stared back, skeptical.
And then in the blink of an eye, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Miya smiled, the poster boy of politeness, "Well then Omi, I’ll be seein’ ya around."
He left before Kiyoomi could entirely process what had occurred.
The next time Kiyoomi found himself there, he had been trying to hide. Just because he was the seventh generation of his family attending the university didn't mean he wanted to be a part of the student council.
"Hello again, Omi-kun!" Miya greeted him. "Did ya miss me?"
"No, I barely know you. Don’t call me Omi."
"Aw, Omi, but I missed you."
"I said don’t call me that."
"Y’know I always knew you'd come back."
Kiyoomi looked at him quizzically. "How?"
Miya shrugged, "I just did. We're gonna be greaaaaat friends."
"No."
"No?"
"We're not going to be friends."
"Ya came back to me though."
"I came here to hide."
"See! Yer just as smart as I am. No ones ever gonna find us here!"
Kiyoomi lost track of time as they continued to bicker (read: him disagreeing with everything Miya said).
It wasn't until he looked outside at the sky swathed in shades of dark purple and blue did he realize it was getting late.
"I’ve to go."
“As long as I get to see ya again," Miya winked at him.
Kiyoomi let out an amused huff, getting up from his spot on the remarkable dust-free floor.
Barely a week had gone by when Kiyoomi found himself in Miya’s company yet again.
"Do you never go to class?"
"Don’t have to, I already know what they’re teachin’."
"Sure you do."
"Omi, ya don't believe me?” Miya pouted, bottom lip jutting out. “I’m hurt."
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. "Deserved."
"I could tutor ya," Miya offered.
Kiyoomi scoffed. "I’ll pass."
As the days passed by Kiyoomi found himself visiting Miya even more. He never saw the other boy outside of the abandoned ballroom, as he'd come to call it. Miya was a year above and in a different stream than him, the only chance he'd run into him would’ve been during dinner. But Kiyoomi always arrived early so he wouldn’t have to stand in the line and manage to get the best seat, farthest away from everyone else, and also just not have to deal with other people.
Somehow, without realizing it, Miya was starting to intertwine himself into Kiyoomi's routine. Kiyoomi hung out with him during lunch break, after classes were over for the day, and gradually started spending his entire weekend with him. They never met anywhere else, it was always at the abandoned ballroom.
That was their room, their secret.
Kiyoomi had transferred some of the cleaning supplies from his room, the two of them going about cleaning the entirety of the room every three days while their spot near the piano was wiped down daily.
Neither of them could play the piano not that it mattered as it was, in basic terms, out of order.
They read books together, recommending titles to each other and working out theories about what they thought would happen next while the other made cryptic remarks.
Kiyoomi found himself getting comfortable around Atsumu, in ways he had never thought he'd ever be. His barriers were starting to come down around him. Oddly enough, he trusted Atsumu with anything and everything. Of course, there was something to be said about the way his heart fluttered in his chest every time he had managed to get the other to giggle or laugh (which was fairly often). Kiyoomi briefly wondered whether it was too far gone of him to admit that they sounded like an embodiment of love.
There were some things though that didn't escape Kiyoomi’s notice.
Atsumu kept his distance. Their hands had never even brushed past each other, neither did their shoulders nor did their knees bump into each other.
Kiyoomi on principle didn’t touch people while Atsumu apparently stayed away.
There were other things besides that.
Kiyoomi would catch him staring out of the window, expression forlorn. In those moments he always found himself unable to look away from Atsumu. With the way the sunlight streamed through his hair, making his skin glow, and Kiyoomi was yet again left with the feeling that Atsumu was made out of light. He looked particularly ethereal in the moonlight, color bleached out of his skin making him seem silver like he belonged to the skies to be one with the stars.
"Atsumu," he whispered.
"Yeah?"
"What are you thinking?"
Kiyoomi knew it was a trick question, he knew he wasn't going to get a straight answer. There were times when Atsumu would be vague and say things that didn't make sense, he would speak about certain things as if he was detached from them like they didn't affect him at all. Sometimes it felt like nothing ever did.
Atsumu surprisingly kept quiet about himself. He'd brag about his achievements and his strengths, sure. But, he drew the line at any personal information. Did he have a family? Did he have ambitions? When was his birthday? Kiyoomi didn’t know.
Though sometimes he'd slip. There would be a crack in his facade and something important would spill out and Kiyoomi would treasure it.
Apparently, this was one of those times. "’Samu."
Kiyoomi waited; if he wanted to share he would.
"I wonder if he misses me."
The semester passed by and winter break had arrived. Kiyoomi stayed on campus, his parents were abroad and if he allowed himself to be honest, he would rather spend his holidays in Atsumu's company rather than alone.
On Christmas morning, Kiyoomi found himself waking up earlier than usual, rising with the sun. He walked over to the recreational block, face buried into his scarf, and coat flapping around his legs. He wasn't particularly nervous, he was confident Atsumu would like what he got him.
(Unless, of course, he didn't.)
Atsumu was already there, sleeping on the piano bench.
"Hey,” Kiyoomi mumbled, voice muffled from his scarf. “Merry Christmas."
Atsumu removed his arm from over his eyes. "Merry Christmas, Omi-Omi."
"Got you something."
Atsumu sat up, looking at him in wonder. "Ya didn't have-."
Kiyoomi pushed the meticulously wrapped gift towards him. "Just take it."
Atsumu did, before proceeding to unwrap the gift with utter concentration so as not to tear it apart.
"It’s a book. A handmade book."
"Open it."
Atsumu lifted the cover, hand-painted in shades of yellow and dark blues with hints of silver and the occasional red, colors that reminded Kiyoomi of the boy currently flipping through the pages, eyes widening as he did. "You wrote all this?"
"It's not much-"
"Sakusa Kiyoomi, with all due respect, shut the fuck up. Ya wrote— no, made a whole novel for me."
"Well, I mean—"
"Hold on, I actually got somethin’ for ya too."
"...You have?"
"Yeah. Lemme jus’."
Kiyoomi watched as he reached into his pocket pulling out something that was hastily wrapped in brown paper tied together with a red string. Atsumu held it out towards him, dropping it in his palm. "Merry Christmas."
Kiyoomi unwrapped it, the paper falling apart in his hand.
It was an amber rock with a fossilized butterfly, its wings spread out, the markings on them as clear as ever. Kiyoomi's breath caught in his throat as an unnamed emotion threatened to squeeze his heart. Was it love?
"It's beautiful."
"Perhaps. But it’s got nothin on yers, Kiyoomi."
They spent new years together, Atsumu still continuing to praise Kiyoomi's gift (he'd apparently read it over three times by now).
It was the first time Kiyoomi had stayed the night over at the abandoned ballroom. Neither of them slept that night, staying up until sunrise.
Atsumu looked like a painting, tinted orange and red from the light, as he sat there on the windowsill looking out, the way he tended to do. Kiyoomi watched him as he always did.
It was when the sun was near its peak in the sky, did Kiyoomi finally get up to leave.
"Hey, Kiyoomi?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"I think I stayed behind just so I could meet ya."
Atsumu wasn't looking at him, gaze still somewhere on the distant horizon. Even now he looked one with the sky, made out of light, calm and content more so than Kiyoomi had ever seen him be with the softest of smiles on his face. He was beautiful, Atsumu. Even when he wasn't making sense. Kiyoomi wrote it off as him being vague yet again as he was oft to do when he was in these moods.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Miya."
It'd been five years since then.
Five years, since he last saw Miya Atsumu.
Five years and now Sakusa Kiyoomi found himself holding on to the sleeve of a man, roughly four years older than him, who looked identical to the boy he fell in love with.
"...Atsumu?"
But even as he asked, Kiyoomi knew it wasn’t him. A spitting image, yes. But not Miya Atsumu. Grey hair instead of bleached blond, grey eyes instead of brown.
"Osamu," the man replied, the initial shock on his face replaced with a sadness so profound that it managed to ensnare Kiyoomi's heart, entangling itself with the preexisting greed. "His twin."
In his mind's eye, Kiyoomi could see Atsumu sitting on the piano bench, silver in the moonlight. "'Samu. I wonder if he misses me."
"I don't know how ya know him," Osamu spoke as he studied Kiyoomi, hesitant as he struggled to get the words out. "He's been- he's gone. 7 years now."