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Atsumu wanted a big wedding.
He wanted it to be grand with white flowers and gold decorations.
He wanted to bask in all the love and happiness that he could and shine in the spotlight on his special day.
He wanted to be surrounded by hoards of friends and family while he said his vows and tried not to cry. He wanted to smile brightly at his beloved knowing that today marked the beginning of their forever.
But after 22 years… after even his shit twin found someone to hold onto, Atsumu never found his beloved.
He never made those hoards of friends. Heck, he had trouble staying connected to those few he made. Once he graduated high school and went pro, Atsumu fell back into only talking to his team, his parents, and Samu.
And that was alright.
He loved them, he really did. Atsumu was so grateful for their continued presence and support while he chased his dream; they kept him afloat, kept his smiles genuine. He would have never gotten this far if not for them. He loved them.
And Atsumu thought if he loved people enough, they would stay.
Like Samu or his high school friends who still sent memes to each other in their old group chat or his new teammates and all their bickering or late night outings after long practices or games.
If Atsumu loved enough, he wouldn’t be lonely come his last days.
But people left.
That was just how things were. Contracts ended, better ones came up. New ideas or prospects tickled people’s noses, different adventures tugged and pulled until people gave in and followed. Atsumu never blamed them. Life just worked that way.
People left.
Atsumu stayed.
Atsumu stayed, content with his life and with volleyball. He’d always been content there, on the court, under the bright stadium lights, sweat on his brow, hands and forearms tingling from the ball that drove his dreams.
He was content, but he also knew he was lonely.
No one seemed to love volleyball quite as much as he did. Bokuto came close, but Atsumu was pretty sure that man loved Akaashi more, and Atsumu didn’t have an Akaashi. He just had volleyball.
He was lonely, but he didn’t know what else to do, so he continued. Atsumu poured all his love into his friends and teammates and volleyball.
Because at least there, he wasn’t alone. At least on the court, he had five others supporting him, supporting each other.
And honestly, that should have been enough.
Oh, if he could die like this, surrounded by the things he loved, the people he loved, how wonderful that would be.
On the court, he wasn’t alone.
Atsumu tried to bottle up that feeling of bliss, of safety, and save it. For dark nights in his quiet apartment, for the walk home after a post game party, for weekends during the off-season when he was so antsy he didn’t know what to do with himself.
He tried, but it wasn’t enough.
It lasted him maybe a couple of years. The first two with MSBY had been fine, he was adjusting to playing professionally and all those new experiences. The third pushed into dark territory that Atsumu didn’t want to think about. And the fourth... he couldn’t ignore it any longer.
People started to notice.
Atsumu wondered if he’d really never find something or someone he loved more than volleyball. He’d long since given up on his grand wedding dreams, but he thought he could still find a partner who would hold tightly onto his heart. He thought he’d find someone who would complete him, who would fill the gap in his chest that volleyball somehow neglected.
Atsumu may have seemed like the playboy type, with all his “flings,” but he was more of a hopeless romantic than his own lovesick mother.
His relationships came and went.
The breakups were never bitter events. Most were falling outs that he could see from kilometers away. Others were the result of his partners cheating on him to try and prove a point, or to get any reaction out of him other than that sad smile of his when he realized he was no longer in love with them.
Atsumu was used to it.
He was used to his routine of practice, conditioning, games, hanging with his team, going home and sleeping.
Rinse and repeat. Day after day.
Despite all his love and content for his sport, his life, he was lonelier than ever.
And then, when his loneliness began to crest and the rest of the team (even Coach Foster) had started asking Atsumu if he was okay, was something wrong, are you sick?— something changed.
MSBY welcomed a new player.
A wing spiker whom Atsumu recognized from high school.
Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Omi was like a breath of fresh air.
He was new to Atsumu’s banter and endless fiddling with, new to his love-filled tosses, new to adjust to, and something new for Atsumu to learn of all his edges and idiosyncrasies.
It was nice.
And then... Omi became a little more than just new.
Sakusa Kiyoomi became someone Atsumu wanted to know even more about. Someone that Atsumu began to hope would stay with him for a long while.
Because Omi loved volleyball just as much as Atsumu.
And that was something Atsumu really wanted.
Because then, someone would understand him.
And he had a feeling Omi did, in his own way, though Atsumu could never tell for sure behind the biting tone and the apathetic mask.
Their banter turned into one-sided flirting. His one-sided flirting turned into mutual pining. Or, at least, that was what Meian would tell him years later.
It was one-sided until the day he said the wrong thing, the day he pushed a little too far when they were alone, and he thought Omi was going to sock him in the locker room.
But instead, the tall, curly-haired beautiful man shoved him up against a locker and kissed him hard.
It was nothing like he’d ever expected, but it was everything he’d ever wanted.
Omi pushed against him, hot and untamed, biting, sucking, taking what he wanted from Atsumu. Atsumu was stunned. He gasped in surprise and his eyes fluttered open for just a second—when had he closed them?—before they were closing once more when Omi slipped his tongue in between slightly parted lips. Omi licked into his mouth with all the voracity of a starved lion and Atsumu could do nothing but stand there limply, while Omi had his way with him. And when he was finished, Atsumu was only a little saddened at how empty the space in front of him was.
“I don’t like being kept waiting, Miya.” Omi had hissed, pulling back to glare at a now-breathless Atsumu.
He didn’t really know what to say to that, having just been kissed so far into a bliss he had never known that his mouth opened and closed but formed no words.
“Well?” demanded those dark eyes that Atsumu wanted to get lost in forever.
“Omi…” Atsumu didn’t whine. He was a whiner, but he didn’t whine, now. No— now, the nickname he'd coined to annoy, to tease, fell from his lips in a hushed waver.
A shaky hand reached up to touch his swollen lips, and before he could give Omi an answer, Atsumu was bursting into tears.
Omi stepped back on instinct.
“I— I’m sorry?” floundered Omi, completely bewildered and concerned, hands raised like he wanted to comfort Atsumu but didn’t know where to touch, what to do.
“N-no!'' Atsumu spluttered, lurching forward into Omi before his teammate could turn and flee. He buried his head into Omi’s shoulder, clutched at the edges of Omi’s shirt. “No— That’s not… I’m jus’ cryin’ cuz… Gods Omi, what the hell?”
“What do you mean ‘what the hell’?” Omi growled down at him but made no move to detach himself. The worry etched into the space between his brows gave him away, anyway.
“Was that not okay?” Omi asked quietly.
“No no no, it was okay, it was perfect. It was fucked up. Gods. What are we doing?” Atsumu was a mess, so he pulled off of Omi and wiped his face on his jersey sleeve with a half-cough, half-laugh.
“Uh.”
“Omi, it’s fine. I said it was fine. Quit overthinkin’. I can smell yer brain overheatin’.” Atsumu grinned, sliding down the locker to the tiled floor.
“I like ya. I think I might even love ya, Omi.”
Omi huffed and sat down stiffly on the bench in front of Atsumu. “You think?”
Atsumu smiled, soft and genuine. “No, yer right. I love ya. I’m sorry it took so long.”
“You should be.” Omi glared at the ground, it kind of looked like he was pouting. Atsumu decided he was.
“You were so obvious from day one. I thought you were just playing around. But then you just kept going. It was annoying.” Omi was definitely pouting.
“Aw~ but ya loved it, Omi-omi.”
“Yeah that made it more annoying.”
Atsumu dropped his head down with a loud groan.
“Oh gods... ya gotta stop that! I’m... I’m already so— ya can’t just say those things outright, Omi!” Now, he whined, face completely red.
"I think at this point, I'm allowed to say whatever I want since I waited years for you, Atsumu."
“I can't believe this…” Atsumu whispered into his knees.
“Well it’s too late to take anything back so,” Omi stood and held his hand out. Atsumu lifted his head, bottom lip still a little wobbly.
“And if you try to take this back, I’ll cut off your fingers one by one so you can never play volleyball again.”
Atsumu laughed then, really laughed. It warmed his chest and gathered at the back of his throat and pricked at his eyes. He hadn’t laughed like that in longer than he could remember. But Omi was here, Omi was his now.
And he was whole.
“Oh, don’t act like ya would, Omi-kun! Where would ya even be without my sets?”
Atsumu wanted a grand wedding, but Omi didn’t like being the center of attention, especially in a big room full of unknown people.
Atsumu wanted to celebrate their love with all his family and friends and everyone, but Omi didn’t want people to know about them.
Atsumu wanted to shout from the rooftops, wanted to steal a reporter's mic in the middle of a game and announce to the world that he’d finally found his beloved, how he loved his beloved. but Omi definitely didn’t want that.
So Atsumu softened.
He let go of those dreams once and for all, and... it was easier than he expected.
In fact, it was so easy he didn’t even think about them anymore. After barely a year of dating, Atsumu didn’t have to reach far to know what Omi wanted, what he wanted.
He slipped a ring on Omi’s finger one night, years after that first kiss in the locker room, (for practice and to make sure he got the size right) when he was sure his boyfriend was dead asleep only to have that pale left hand with a small mole to the right of its third knuckle curl tightly around his own and the soft tenor of the love of his life (the final one, the one Atsumu was sure to keep) hum into the darkness.
“About damn time, Miya.”
He gasped, tugging out of Omi’s grip, scrambling for a joke, a little white lie, because this wasn’t how he wanted this to happen.
“I was just—”
“Don’t you dare try to take this back,” Omi rolled over, onyx eyes searching the darkness before they found Atsumu's brown ones.
“This is mine now,” he waved his left hand.
“But Omi...” he whined, beside himself. “It’s not— I was gonna—”
“You were going to what, Miya? Back down?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Spit it out.”
Atsumu whined and bit his lip, hoping his lover would drop it if he stalled long enough, but Omi was unrelenting, staring him down until he caved.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” he sighed, ducking his head to hide the flush dusting his cheeks. It was dark, but it wasn’t that dark.
“I wanted to take ya out to my favorite place in Hyogo. Treat ya to some ‘o the best ramen ever. Then go for a walk in that park, ya know the one—we went there and skipped rocks in the lil pond on our third date—and then go for a drive up the mountain and watch the sunset from that lookout. And then I wanted to ask ya... but not like this...”
“What’s wrong with this, Atsumu?”
The whisper of his name on Omi’s lips ghosted a shiver down his spine and warmed his face even further. He tried to cuddle close, to hide in the vast expanse that was Sakusa Kiyoomi’s arms, but his boyfriend locked his hands on Atsumu’s shoulders and held him still, demanding an answer that Atsumu didn’t want to voice.
“Atsumu...”
Omi was such a cheater. He was making this so hard. Atsumu just wanted things to be perfect so that his sincerity wouldn’t be misread like it had so many times before. And this wasn’t perfect.
But well... Maybe it was?
In its own little way, in the same way that he was now part of an us and they were we, maybe this was the perfect time.
“Kiyoomi...”
He breathed out, sparks flickering into the dark space between them, and before he could chicken out, “Say you’ll stay with me forever.”
Omi snorted softly at his choice of words, but there was a smile in his voice when he pulled Atsumu close, tucking him beneath his chin and murmured his answer into Atsumu’s ruffled bed head.
“We’re already together forever.”
And oh.
Oh.
Atsumu had wanted a grand wedding, but now, he wanted this.
He wanted their quiet intimacy, their feather light touches and small secret smiles. He wanted their biteless insults and rhythmic morning routines and sharing conversations within a single glance.
So when they ended up signing papers on a cold day in the end of March with only a few close friends and family as their witnesses, Atsumu realized that this was even better than that childhood dream.
Omi, smiling at him, dark eyes glinting warmly in the late winter sunlight as he held out a gloved hand.
Atsumu, tearing up but vehemently blinking them away as he straightened Omi’s scarf before taking the offered hand and pushing out into the crisp air.
Omi, his Omi, his beautiful, lovely Omi.
Omi, who loved volleyball as much as he did.
Omi, who accepted him whole or broken, who loved him no matter the day.
Omi, who taught Atsumu that this was what he wanted. This was it.
This was what love was.