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His wristwatch reads 4:30 AM.
Atsumu grumbles, palms pressing flat on both his cheeks, a wonted display of theatrics despite the lack of audience. A pout makes its way to his lips as he zips his Asics backpack up, grabbing the duffel bag of the same brand that sat on the Domus chair purchased by MSBY HQ for their apartment rooms. He takes one last poignant glance at his unit (because that’s just who he is) before closing the door.
Waking up early in the morning has become a routine as an athlete. If he hadn’t chosen this path, he still would have been asleep by now, probably too tired from completing university requirements or just merrily in dreamland ignoring collegiate demands. But he chose this and he has no regrets. Not even one. He was already sure before he had to choose, the heartbreak only materializing in the form of his brother pursuing an industry too far from him.
But all’s well that ends well, and both him and Osamu are in happy places making a career out of what they love—a testament of ardent bravery split into identical two. And if he’s asked again right now, yes, Atsumu is happy. He certainly is.
The descent from their units to MSBY’s parking lot is quiet, something he is unfamiliar with. Yet he basks in the silence the moment has to offer, because sometimes (well, most of the time), he’s also the catalyst and component of chaos.
Settling inside his Mazda 6, he fishes his phone out from his MSBY jacket and shoots a message in their LINE group chat: a farewell accompanied with the pleading face emoji. No one has read it yet but he’s certain that their Captain Meian would reply “drive safe and enjoy Hyogo!” while Sakusa would remark about him being overly dramatic. He grins and connects his phone to his car’s infotainment system, turning the control knob to the left as he decides to spend the usual estimated 2-hour drive jamming to music. He scrolls through his playlists and finds one that piqued his interest―a band recommended by a Filipino fan they met at a meet and greet event after their championship game against the Adlers, which they emerged as victors.
A lulling voice greets his ears, soothing and mellifluous as the first song plays in shuffle. It’s in Filipino, a language he’s not too familiar with, yet he recognizes the euphony in it despite not being musically-inclined himself. He appreciates and settles comfortably on the leather seat, excited to drive through the freeway and welcome the sunrise on the way.
The MSBY Headquarters in Osaka to his hometown in Hyogo is 22 kilometers away, a 35-minute drive despite usual traffic. Yet there’s currently none of it in this ungodly hour, thus he’s determined to make it to Amagasaki in less time. After all, there’s still another hour and a half until he reaches his real destination in Hyogo―to the rural side of Takasago where the rice fields are, where a boy with ink-tipped hair and gentle smile resides.
“MSBY in one, two..”
" MSBY!”
T heir huddle breaks and they walk back into the court, eyes ablaze and feet heavy with determination, thunderous cheers erupting from around. He focuses himself, closes his eyes for a second to listen to his own heartbeat pumping blood to course through his entire system.
25-22, 17-25, 23-25, 33-31
On why most championship games always end up in 5 matches, Atsumu doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the Western gods' doings―they must have taken a liking watching humans scamper to and fro, taking risks and making careers out of unbridled passion. Or maybe it’s entirely human―the result of small repetitive actions done daily and habitually, built gradually and molded into perfection.
The gods are always watching.
A pat on his back coaxes his eyes open. A beaming smile from Bokuto.
Let’s win this, Tsum-tsum.”
"‘Course,” he grins back, a brief serious moment shared between him and Fukorodani’s former captain and ace, now MSBY’s wing spiker and Atsumu’s partner in crime.
T he match starts and it unfolds into a mind-boggling one, the rally too intense from the way the crowd is perpetually on the edge of their seats, breath held and eyes following the ball, waiting for “that” moment. Whatever “that” moment realizes itself to be, Atsumu knows that’s when the Taiyo Yakuhin Ocean Arena drops and dissolves into a melting pot of cries, delivery dependent on who emerges as the victor and the defeated.
15-14
One more.
A spike from Ushijima. Sakusa digs. The Jackals move. Atsumu’s eyes flick. Hinata is flying. Bokuto is there. With practiced precision, he sets perfectly. In analogous grit, Bokuto hits the ball ringingly.
Blocked. Atsumu hisses. One swift move. Meian saves it.
“Miya!”
With eyes set on the spinning blue and yellow, desperate thirst and hunger flashes in Atsumu’s eyes, genuine leather almost tasting real in his mouth. With practiced precision he sets again, maneuvering the ball to a faultless parabola. One more time. Perfectly.
Hinata no longer decoy, spikes animalistic, palm hitting leather, leather hitting linoleum, the sound resounding inside the arena for a good three seconds.
Everything drops. MSBY Black Jackals emerge as victors.
He’s now being interviewed, their captain Meian also in another. Atsumu answers directly and offers the camera a striking smile, leaving the cameraman and reporter stunned from his unrivaled charisma. He winks and excuses himself out politely, dragging Inunaki in his stead, feet heading to where his friends are.
“Congratulations, dork,” Osamu smirks, holding a hand out.
Atsumu’s eyes narrow in petulance, “Aw Samu, aren’t ya proud of yer older brother?”
Yet a bright smile knocks out of his lips as he pulls his twin to a tight hug, Osamu patting his back with a mumbled reply, “M’always proud of ya, shithead.”
He turns to Suna beside his brother, a peace sign up by instinct as Suna raises his phone for most likely an Instagram story. He then greets his former Inarizaki teammates who were there, exchanging greetings and light conversations.
When he’s certain he has given everyone attention and ample time to be thanked for, his steps gravitate towards where he had always wanted to be ever since they were declared winners. A strong figure with quiet eyes patiently following his movements, muted in the sidelines in his humble stance, yet a salient presence in Atsumu’s life.
“Kita-san,” Atsumu smiles shyly.
He senses Osamu and Suna’s side glances. Atsumu looks back at them, catching the two side-eyeing him with pursed lips and suggestive eyes. Atsumu returns their teasing with a soft glare. Instantly getting his plea, Suna chuckles and drags himself and his boyfriend away.
“You didn’t have to get rid of them,” Kita giggles. Atsumu’s heart soars like Hinata’s leaps. Maybe even higher.
Attempting to still the hammers inside his chest, he asks, “How’d ya get here?”
“I have a car, Atsumu,” Kita muses, a glint in his eyes.
“I know Kita-san, that’s not why I―” he reaches for his nape and rubs his palm on it, boyishly shy as faint pink blooms in his cheeks. Kita fondly smiles from the sight.
“Wouldn’t miss my favorite setter’s game for the world.”
His blush tinges deeper. Favorite. I am Kita-san’s favorite setter.
“Will ya let me visit ya when I’m already free?” Atsumu blabbers, fully knowing Kita would agree. He always does.
“You’ll still go even if I say no,” Kita answers pointedly.
“A’ight! Expect a handsome young man at yer farm in―” he stops to count, then continues, “less than two weeks!”
Kita hums softly in response.
Atsumu can’t help but purse his lips at the memory, a vain attempt at preventing smiles from erupting, bliss budding in his chest as he courses through the highway, not much cars on sight.
A lively instrumental of country music plays in the background, a vibrant mix of guitars, percussion, keys, and drums. He takes a glance at his car’s screen―it’s still a song from that Filipino band. Atsumu bops his head in enthusiasm, fingers tapping on the wheel as he steps on the gas a little bit more.
Took a morning ride to the place where you and I were supposed to meet
The city yawns, they echo on
My thoughts are spinning on and on my head, it seems
He’s now in Amagasaki, nostalgia hitting him strangely this time around. He courses through Hanshin Expressway, passing by Motohama Park where he tried skateboarding with Osamu and Suna’s classmates once (they never tried again), the Kumon where Ginjima’s parents enrolled him at and he quit two weeks after, Midori Hair Salon where Atsumu was given the worst summer haircut he sported during middle school.
They lead me back to you
I keep coming back to you
Inarizaki High. He spares the road going to their high school a soft look. A flash of brown and white with a stripe of maroon. The sound of volleyballs bouncing. The smell of kushiage.
He doesn’t get this sentimental when he arrives here, but now he does. Is it the hazy effects of a 5 AM drive? Maybe it is. After all, it’s his first time driving to Hyogo this early; a Line chat with Kita as his own personal engine, a series of pleading face emojis with an accompanied selfie as a ticket way to arrive at a promise of a breakfast date.
Only Atsumu knows that it’s a date.
Took a morning ride, found a place up in my mind, no one else can see
Maybe it's fate that we lose control
In circles around, we go
His white Mazda passes through toll gates, parks and hospitals, shops and sentōs. He reaches Kobe, the capital city of their prefecture, sophisticated cityscape quiet under muted tones of parisian blue. He sees glimpses of sakura from the road, in the parks a bit far from the highway. It is when he passes by the city of Kakogawa that yellow bleeds into hues of dusty pink and powder blue, sunrise bringing a flurry of early-morning movement from the locals.
We become who we ought to know
We just gotta let it go
We just gotta let it go
The past 6AM sun has risen when he reaches Takasago. Its soft rays bathe the city in a mellow glow, earning a soft sigh from Atsumu. Oh, how beautiful early mornings in the countryside are―a stark contrast from the hustle and bustle in Hirakata. In his silent admiration and an hour and 45 minutes of driving (watching the prefecture awaken before his very eyes), he sees the Ten River from a close distance and smiles.
He’s here.
So I'm coming home to you, you
You're all I need, the very air I breathe
You are home, home
Kita’s house is on a long strip of land at the end of one road. A vast field for farming rice stretches out on one side (which the Kita family owns) and 3 adjacent houses from another side, resided by two families of farmers who have worked in this farm for decades, helping out the Kita family. Mountains stretch over the far distance, and Atsumu pictures out in his head the scenery of greens and yellow, unreal as it is beautiful, almost straight out of a postcard.
Took a morning ride gotta leave this all behind
For with you is where I want to be
Maybe it’s fate that we can’t control
Oh, round and around it goes
Despite his longing for seeing the greens and yellows of summer, a field of brown greets Atsumu as he nears, tilled soil seen from outside his car’s window. It’s still April and Atsumu remembers Kita telling him spring is for “waking up” the fields. Kita speaks in personification―that, Atsumu always knows. He parks skillfully at the cemented open space outside Kita’s humble house, built from timber structure and fir facade cladding, renovated with rheinzink scale tiling after Kita’s two years of farming.
Atsumu’s heart swells proudly at the thought.
And all that we seem to know
We just gotta let it go, we just gotta let it go
Turning off the car’s engine, he eases himself out of his car with a grunt and stretches. Fresh rural air fills his nostrils, the smell of earth wafting, Japan’s spring air bringing soft, sweet and musky scent spilling into his senses.
“Atsumu-kun?”
Kita Yumie, past her 70s yet as vigorous as Atsumu had last seen her, smiles as bright as the early morning as she walks with careful steps in their engawa.
“Obaa-san!” Atsumu runs to her and bends for a gentle hug, the elder returning it with equal affection. She cups Atsumu’s face in her calloused palms, examining his features up close.
“Oh my, as handsome as ever.” Atsumu preens at the compliment, his grin stretching wide as Kita’s grandma ruffles his hair with adoration. She exclaims, “I’m glad yer here!”
What is with the Kitas and their innate ability to make Atsumu’s heart melt? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he loves to be here just as much as he loves to be home in Amagasaki.
Holding the elder’s hand, he asks, “Is Kita-san inside?”
“Oh, I made him buy bread from the nearby bakery earlier. He’ll be back any time by now,” Yumie answers, eyes turning into crescents, wrinkles evident on her tanned skin. “Eager to see my Shin-chan?”
Atsumu jolts, caught off guard by the playful inquiry. A blush colors his cheeks, small pout forming in his lips. Yumie heartily laughs, delighted by Atsumu’s reaction. She squeezes his hand before letting go and motioning past his shoulders, “Shinsuke’s here.”
So I’m coming home to you, you
You’re all I need the very air I breathe
You are home
His breath hitches at the sight of Kita riding a bicycle, breeze ruffling his hair and fluttering against his clothes like a tranquil sailor in calm seas. The samue he’s wearing makes him look younger than his age, gray jacket and pant suits complementing his hair, his built, the way he carries himself, the way nature seems to surround him in good light. And then again, just as he has been since high school, Atsumu’s enthralled―irrevocably so.
Kita lodges his bike to the side, brown bag in his hand as he walks over to where Atsumu is. Sunlight rests on his lightly-tanned skin like butterfly kisses, a melody of that Filipino band’s country song echoing in Atsumu’s ears, percussions reverberating all the way to his chest―to where his heart is, to where he feels most of the vibrations from.
Kita smiles, a serene kind that can lull Atsumu to sleep, but lovely enough to force him awake.
So many questions, I’ve thrown to the skies
All of the answers, I’ve found in your eyes
“Hi,” the young farmer greets. He’s as beautiful as the last time Atsumu saw him and it hasn’t even been more than two weeks.
Atsumu tugs on the hem of his own jacket and closes the distance between him and Kita, stopping just enough for the older to see him up close.
When I’m with you home is never too far
My weary heart has come to rest in yours
“Mornin’, Kita-san,” Atsumu replies, bashful from the older’s gaze.
He’s rewarded with a warm smile, “Good mornin’, Atsumu.”
A hand grabs his wrist, grip firm but not too tight, “Come, let’s have breakfast.”
Atsumu willfully follows. He always does with Kita.
I found my way home
⸻
In just two hours after his breakfast “date” with Kita and his granny, Atsumu proved himself disastrous for the agricultural industry. During breakfast, Kita advised that there isn’t much going on since it isn’t rice planting season. Tasks are light, activities mundane. Atsumu believed. He should have known better.
First on Kita’s spring chores is feeding the ducks and ducklings in the bamboo duckhouse. With Kita practicing aigano in his farm (the actual secret of Kita Farm rising as the current best producer in Takasago), it is no doubt that the meticulous Kita Shinsuke does even the basic task of feeding. (Talk about micromanagement and Kita’s already demonstrating it with diligence and dedication.)
It was nice; endearing even. To watch Kita pour water carefully and feed rice and rolled oats unhurriedly is a sight to see, with Atsumu nodding as Kita walked him on in the story of how he managed to source the ducks and how amused he was to see ducklings grow fast in actual and not just in theory. And so here he is, raising ducks diligently, relearning and researching new and better ways to keep them healthy and protected.
So far, he’s been good at it. From the way the domestic ducks seem to flail around, happily healthy, Atsumu knows they’re having the time of their lives being tended and taken care of by the one and only Kita Shinsuke. Atsumu’s proud for behaving well despite the unfamiliar smell and ubiquitous chorus of quacks that are certainly foreign to his daily routine as a pro-athlete.
However, his pride usually lasts for a minute or so with the presence of Osamu, Suna, and Sakusa in his life, always the ones to ground and keep him in place from his snide remarks, smug claims, and nasty attitude. Now in Kita’s farm, with no irritating people to stop him from causing further mess (except Suna who revels silently in the sight of chaos), the disaster comes in the form of the bread that he brought with him from earlier’s breakfast.
He takes a small piece and drops it to the ground, the nearest duck prowling comes to eat it. He repeats it two more times, pleased with his unknowingly ill attempt at contribution.
“What’re ya doin’?”
Atsumu’s brows raise as he turns his attention to Kita crouching, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“Feedin’ ‘em?” he replies, head tilting to the side to accompany his confusion.
Kita sighs yet a gleam of amusement shimmers in his eyes.
“Ducks shouldn’t be fed with bread. It’s unhealthy for them.”
“Oh.”
Instead of being scolded (which Atsumu expected, thanks to Inarizaki days), Kita gives him a brief lecture on duck feeding. After receiving the end of Kita’s abrupt duck raising lesson, Atsumu crouches down to speak to a duckling that has taken a liking to linger near Kita.
“So... lil guy, yer having a healthy diet like me, huh?”
Kita smiles at that, also looking at the duckling waddling along near his boots.
“Can I borrow yer nutritionist here and bring him with me t’feed me in Osaka?”
Kita only shakes his head, soft chuckles spilling out of his mouth as he listens to Atsumu. He turns to face him, “You know I can’t cook for real. I’ll feed ya pellets in Osaka for breakfast.”
“Heard they’re nutritious, Kita-san. Our trainer would approve.”
Kita answers again with a shake of a head and a smile. If Atsumu’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Osaka and breakfast, he tries hard not to indulge in it further.
The next disaster comes in the form of trying to drive the tractor. Kita relents after three minutes of patiently dismissing Atsumu’s insubstantial appeals, eagerly repeating I have a driver’s license to my name, Kita-san! With a sigh of resignation, Kita accedes, not without reminding him that tractors are different to maneuver than cars, and to be careful with the u-turns. Atsumu only nods in excitement.
Lo and behold, he fucked up. He turned the plough tractor without pressing the controls to raise the disc behind it, the machine caught in the soil, producing a strange sound. He meets Kita’s expectant eyes. Atsumu only grins.
When Kita brought him to the greenhouse where the nursery trays of rice seedlings are, that’s when he tried to behave. Note: behave. His behave had a compromise: his potty mouth. In his restrained behavior, his mouth does the filling in. He asks Kita whatever it is that comes to mind and for the nth time this morning, Kita lets him be and indulges him. He’s adored, he just doesn’t know it.
He watches as Kita pour water to the side of the nursery beds, crouching down to splash some of it on the trays of soils. A helper in Kita’s farm is also inside the vinyl house, doing the same as what Kita does on the other side.
“A rice farming corporation in Tottori Prefecture already started smart farming last year’s growing season,” Kita says. “They purchased chemical-spraying drones and GPS-ready rice transplanters.”
“Oh? That thing that injects the seedlings in the paddy?” Atsumu asks, remembering that one video Osamu sent him when he visited this place last summer. It was of Kita maneuvering a tractor-looking machine that plants the seedlings in the paddy field. Atsumu thought it was amazing.
“You got plans going much more techy, Kita-san?”
“Mm, not much. I kinda like how things are faring now. Still requires human labor. Makes me feel more at ease when I spend time workin’ on the field.”
Atsumu crouches down adjacent to Kita and squints at a rice seed, “Must be nice for ya, huh.”
“Why?”
“‘M’talkin’ to the baby rice, Kita-san.”
“I can see that,” Kita muses. “Why would it be nice for ‘em?”
“Uh―” Atsumu hesitates, his last brain cells coming together to meet for a votation of “to lie or not.” Unfortunately, his brain cells chose the latter.
He purses his lips, “‘Cuz they’re being tended by ya, Kita-san.”
Atsumu feels the flush in his face as he rubs his nape to alleviate the shyness.
Sensing Atsumu’s predicament, Kita bites back the urge to tease. Instead, he stands and holds a hand for Atsumu to rise to his feet. The younger accepts it.
“They said they’re pleased to have a pro athlete grace the farm his time and presence.”
“Doesn’t seem like it came from ‘em.”
Kita grins, “Yeah, maybe it’s from me.”
⸻
Persistence and diligence produce results. And Atsumu could see that in the way Kita’s being regarded by the workers in the farm, in the way he’s being cared for by his granny, in the way everyone, even the animals and plants, are all so… content.
And Atsumu loves this, loves being here. Now that he has grown older, he has come to understand that passion comes in various forms, that champion can be construed in different interpretations, and that one can love two things at the same time. When he and Osamu had the major dispute of the century (it’s what Suna calls it now), he could not understand why someone can walk away from volleyball so easily, can cut ties with a sport which brought life and meaning.
But now, he is delighted to surround himself with individuals loving their own craft and career. He may not seem like it, but his experiences have taught him enough to humble himself and appreciate.
He surely did mature. He just doesn’t want people to know.
“Rice grows slowly, and their foe in the field are weeds who grow fast. They sprout and germinate faster in rice paddies,” Kita says, taking a bite from the frozen fruit sticks the grannies gave him and Atsumu. “That’s why I do aigano. The other fields around stick to the traditional rice only.”
Atsumu nods, focused on devouring the slice of strawberry, banana, and mango in one go. He then turns to Kita, “Ain’t there herbicides, Kita-san?”
“Yes, but it contaminates water resources. There are other creatures who call this paddy field home, Atsumu. We can’t endanger them. The rice field is an ecosystem by itself.”
Atsumu nods again, pleased by the farm lessons he’s been receiving. He crosses his legs inside the hut, the vast brown field before them. He hums in agreement as he realizes the similarities of farming and volleyball.
“It’s like volleyball then,” he smiles.
Without knowing, Kita spares him a glance. Atsumu continues to look straight ahead, the sky above gradually changing its hues to the sunset palette. The young farmer looks at him with fondness, emotions gliding across his irises.
Atsumu surely did mature. He just doesn’t want people to know.
“Yeah, like volleyball,” Kita reiterates. He blinks a few times to stop himself from staring more. “‘M just gon’ return the plate to the grannies.”
Atsumu looks up at him and smiles, “A’ight, Kita-san.”
⸻
It was all good. Despite the bouts of disasters that Kita let him get away with, it was overall a good day. Atsumu doesn’t give a damn wreaking havoc and paying attention to what other people say. In fact, he likes it. Likes that he irks people, likes that he leaves trails of destruction wherever he goes (in or out the court), likes that his name spills out people’s lips for all combined reasons. He honestly doesn’t mind. And if his display of outright idiocy wrapped with sheer intent to help is all that it takes to evoke smiles and soft chuckles from Kita, then he sure as hell would love to be Miya “can’t farm for shit” Atsumu. At least he’s a great setter. He can boast about that.
Yet, in the yins and yangs of life, the light is balanced by darkness. The darkness comes in the late afternoon, with Atsumu waiting for Kita to return and join him in the hut. He watches as yellow bleeds with orange, orange bleeds with red, the colors sinking into the horizon, blues slowly taking center stage. In its prettiness comes the real disaster in the form of an aunt who also farms in the area. She has dropped by Kita’s farm, probably together with the grannies who played mahjong.
“Are ya that volleyball athlete people around have been talkin’ about?”
Atsumu stands to greet her and replies, “Ah, uhm, yes. I’m Miya Atsumu. Didn’t know people have been talkin’.”
“It’s cuz ya were with Shin-chan the whole day,” she laughs. “Sit, sit. I just came here t’watch the sunset, but I guess I’m a bit late.”
Atsumu settles back, feeling a bit awkward on whether he’s going to continue the conversation or just stay quiet. Nevertheless, the aunt does the first for him.
“Must be tiring for yer body, huh? Not to mention the mental strength ya gotta have.”
Atsumu slowly nods, “Yeah, but it’s rewarding. ‘M doin’ what I love.”
“Yer from Hyogo,” the aunt says matter of factly, having heard his accent. Atsumu grins. The aunt hums and continues, “And yer a man drunk in passion.”
He doesn’t know what to reply, so he only purses his lips as he stares at the distance.
“Ya datin’ Shin-chan?”
Atsumu almost jumps.
Seriously. What is with Takasago and their locals’ bizarre habit to ask direct questions?
“No, I-I’m just here to visit,” he stammers, heart in his hands.
“But ya like him.”
Yes. Yes, I do.
Atsumu chuckles, scratching his head.
“How’dya know?”
“Shin-chan’s never had a guest who stuck with him all day. Yer even wearing his boots.”
“I-Is that.. Uhm, I don’t think that―”
“Answers yer question?”
Atsumu only nods, baffled.
“Life here is different than in the city. If ya plan to pursue Shin-chan and be with him, ya gotta haf’ta be mature on a lotta things. City boys want convenience. Urban life dictates ‘em that. ‘M not scarin’ ya or anythin’, Atsumu-kun. Just gotta haf’ta be straight with ya. If ya only come here for peace, then it’s not Shin-chan ya want. It’s the life, the rest, the comfort.”
The aunt gives him a small smile as she pats his back, “Are ya mature enough for it, Atsumu-kun?”
⸻
The next day flew by quickly, with Atsumu hanging around the farm, feeding the ducks and even joining a worker retrieving eggs inside the duck house. He didn’t ride the tractor again, instead joining Yumie-san in preparing their lunch. He went through the day trying to think in between, but the answers did not find its way to him. Instead, he’s met with another disaster in the form of the “Miyas+Atsumu” group chat.
Samu [17:31:04]
I miss Kita-san’s farm
Hope ya aren’t being a pain in the ass!
Rin [17:31:29]
pls be a pain in the ass. i’d like to see u expelled from THE kita farm
what do they call it babe? that persona thing
Tsumu [17:32:15]
persona non grata u dumb jerk
Rin [17:33:02]
u’re not my babe
Samu [17:33:52]
LOL
Tsumu [17:34:11]
wow sunarin u smell like shit
block 5 of 5 from omi-omi’s spikes and i’ll talk to u
Rin [17:35:14]
asshole
that’s why u can’t be with kita-san
the gods watching over kita-san doesn’t want u
Great. Now he’s pissed.
⸻
Atsumu absentmindedly flips through TV channels, his mind in another place as he blankly stares at whatever is playing before him. He doesn’t sense Kita approaching him, a wooden tray in hand with two yunomis of deep-steamed green tea from Kakegawa in which Atsumu gifted earlier while having dinner, only remembering he has it when he opened his duffel bag.
“Planning to join Osamu?” Kita asks. Atsumu startles and blinks at him, “Huh?”
The young farmer sets the tray on the tatami table, head motioning to the TV program of bento expo.
“Or are you planning to take over his shop and convert it to bento?”
“Ha! As if he’d let me,” Atsumu snickers, moving a bit more to the side to give space for Kita. The latter sits on the couch and Atsumu continues, “He’s in love with his onigiris.”
A soft chuckle escapes Kita’s lips, choosing to not disclose the fact that Osamu’s already found the balance in Atsumu, Rintarou, and his career. Kita turns to look at the first beside him, head tilting to the side.
“I figured. I heard his rice distributor is one of the best in Hyogo?”
The twinkle in Kita’s eyes sends a tug in his heartstrings.
Am I mature enough for ya, Kita-san?
Atsumu replies, “Correction. Japan. One of the best in Japan.”
“Yer flatterin’ Osamu-kun’s rice farmer.”
Are we too far from each other? Would it work? Would the rice fields allow? Would the court allow?
Forgetting to reply, he tears his gaze away from Kita, attention back to the television in front. They settle in silence for a few minutes, with Kita sipping from his tea and watching the bento expo Atsumu’s blankly watching as well.
Breaking the uneasy silence, Kita speaks, “When are you going back?”
Atsumu raises his brows, “To where?”
“Amagasaki,” Kita answers.
Oh.
“Ah, Kita-san, I just arrived here yesterday. Now yer kickin’ me out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Let me stay here for awhile!”
Kita sets his yunomi down and faces him, “You can, Atsumu, but maybe ya have to visit yer family also? You didn’t drop by Amagasaki, right?”
“Mhm..” Atsumu nods.
“It’s not like I don’t want ya here,” Kita supplies, brows slightly furrowing in worry.
Then what is it? Why does it feel like yer pushin’ me away? Why are y’all so wary of me?
Confusion etches Kita’s face, “What’re ya sayin’?”
Oh fuck.
He said it. He said it out loud.
“Nothin’,” he huffs and turns away.
“You’ve been acting weird today,” Kita points out. “Haven’t also been talkin’ much durin’ dinner.”
Because I’m tryin’ to figure myself out. Which is very difficult by the way, because I’m never one to self-reflect and shit. I’m a jerk, Kita-san. And I don’t think a jerk is mature enough to be with ya. Imma just kiss the volleyballs and marry those shit since the gods must have bound me with ‘em for eternity.
Not receiving an answer, Kita’s brows furrow further, “Atsumu, stop being a brat.”
Yeah, a brat. That’s what everyone always painted me to be.
He stands abruptly, the tatami table pushed back a bit by his knees from the sudden action, his untouched tea spilling.
“Where are ya goin’?” Kita asks firmly. He gets no reply from the other and so he calls his name again sternly, “Atsumu, it’s already dark outside.”
Kita gets a dull reply with a harsh bite.
“None o’ya business.”
Both their hearts sink at that.
⸻
He feels awful. Awful because he’s 23 and still throwing a fit, 23 and walking out from a conversation, 23 and sulking. He sits on the edge of the open hut near the small koi pond, shredding with his fingers a leaf he plucked out from somewhere a minute ago.
He shouldn’t have said that. Kita doesn’t deserve that. If Yumie-chan hasn’t been sleeping already, he must have probably been kicked out right now, the granny protective of her Shinsuke.
He hears footsteps near the hut where he’s at, and he doesn’t need to look up to know.
“I’m sorry,” Kita starts, voice soft. “Are ya still mad?”
“N-No, I’m the one who’s sorry, Kita-san,” he replies, head low.
“I’m honestly sorry, too. I called ya a brat. Yer not a brat.”
Atsumu chuckles and kicks a pebble, “I do think I am.”
“No, ya aren’t. You work hard for everything.” Kita sits on the edge of the hut, a considerable space between them.
“I just don’t want to take too much of your time, Atsumu. I shouldn’t impose on your―” Kita pauses, biting his lip as he mentally searches for a better word, yet to no avail continues, “...willingness.”
“Why?” Atsumu whispers. He turns to the man beside him. Kita almost holds his breath from the sight of Atsumu’s orbs spiraling in conflicted emotions. “Don’t ya want me here? Is my presence too much?”
“No,” Kita breathes out, feeling his heart constrict from the sight before him, from the self-control he has always kept in tact, from the curled fists he has always done to keep himself from reaching out. Since high school. “Yer never too much, Atsumu.”
If it’s enough, if I’m enough, then what’s there to lose?
“I like you, Kita-san. So much that the moment I stepped foot here, I felt like crying. So much that when I saw you riding that bike I felt like my heart would burst open.”
“Atsumu...”
“I’ve liked ya since high school, y’know? Thought it’d go away,” Atsumu chuckles, memories starting to drizzle on his shoulders, light yet felt.
“But I saw ya again on that day in Onigiri Miya. Our team’s abrupt mini reunion. Ya were wearing such beautiful smile and I just can’t―” Atsumu inhales, letting the cold breeze invade his nostrils, lost for words. “It’s not just about yer face..” he trails off.
“... Atsumu,” Kita calls softly. He tilts the blonde’s chin up, their eyes meeting, honey on hazel, conflicted on calm. “I like you, too.”
Huh?
Atsumu’s eyes widen, brows furrowing together, a myriad of emotions flickering in his honey orbs, and Kita waits. He waits until Atsumu’s expression molds gentler, his gaze focusing, irises spiraling into a fixed gaze.
“What did ya say?” he chokes out.
“I like you too, Atsumu. I―I wasn’t planning on confessing, though. It’s just―I just, um, thought ya didn’t like me.”
Atsumu only blinks.
He likes me. Kita-san likes me, too.
Fuck.
What. The. Fuck.
“Dumbass,” he huffs. He doesn’t stop himself anymore and buries his face on Kita’s neck, astounded by his former captain’s stammering. “I’ve been sending ya ugly selfies and pleading emojis for a whole year. For a whole year, Kita-san! Does that sound like something I’d do with others?”
Kita feigns innocence as he pulls a serious face, “Honestly? Yes.”
An audible gasp is heard from Atsumu. He detaches himself from Kita, the older only chuckling in response.
Brows still furrowing and lips pursing, Atsumu groans, “Dumbass, Kita-san.”
Piling into the moments that make this night memorable for Atsumu, Kita grabs him back into his arms.
“No one’s ever called me that.”
“M’sorry.”
“Sounds like ya aren’t.”
Atsumu buries his face in the slope where Kita’s neck and shoulder meet, an intimate spot, a place where he’s being granted the luxury to rest.
“Mm yeah. M’not sorry.” He softly sighs and murmurs, “Dumbass, Kita-san.”
He feels Kita’s shoulders rise and fall from a chuckle, “That makes me feel younger.”
It’s a human violation on how Kita Shinsuke smells so good despite being under the sun the whole day, tilling the soil and tending seedlings, playing with ducklings and feeding his nishikigois. Phantom scent of his soap from his night bath linger on his skin, fresh and sweet, achingly irresistible. Atsumu feels his heart swell from how he’s tolerated to just bury his 6-feet monstrosity in the warm embrace of Kita’s averagely-sized and toned build.
“Don’t push me away anymore,” he mumbles against Kita’s neck.
Atsumu feels a hand stroking his hair, fingers running through his blonde strands. Kita hums softly as a reply, the same way he fondly granted Atsumu permission to visit him two weeks ago, under the bright lights of Taiyo arena.
⸻
What makes early morning walks magical is how nature slowly wakes while the rest of the world is still in deep slumber. It’s nearly 6AM when they started walking, Atsumu’s hands sinking deeper in the pockets of the cardigan that was Kita’s. While everything around him smells of morning dew and humid air from dawn’s rain, he inhales Kita’s scent lingering around him a little bit religiously.
“Why are we walkin’?” Atsumu asks, blushing from the sight of his MSBY jacket worn by Kita.
Yes, he made them exchange clothes saying he wanted to try Kita’s cardigan with the intent of wanting to see Kita wear his jacket too. A win-win situation for him and him only. After all, he’s now a jerk who Kita likes.
Kita likes me. He remembers and blushes even deeper.
“I only have one bike. ‘Sides I want to walk down this road with ya.”
Atsumu blinks. It was still cold in the early morning but nature decided to make the man with him look so bright and angelic. The gods really do favor him a lot.
A comfortable silence settles between them as they walk towards the bakery, still far ahead. Kita woke him early for this. He musters the courage and walks closer with Kita, his hand brushing against the other, until their hands find its way to each other.
His thumb grazes small circles on Kita’s hand, the touch sending sparks that continuously kindled the creeping flame inside of him. Atsumu tries his best to mask the blooming feelings in his chest, almost wanting to burst, by looking around and silently admiring the scenery around, the calming sound of birds chirping, freely singing beautiful melodies while the world is unaware and asleep from the magic.
Enamored by it all, his senses are then fully swept back to the man beside him as he coughs and holds Atsumu’s hand a bit tighter.
“I don’t want ya worrying too much, Atsumu. ‘M not here to disturb ya. That’s the last thing I’d want.” Kita bites his lip and continues, “I’m used to people leavin’. No one ever stays in the farm except the farmers. Here, people come and go. The young ones leave for university, others pursuing their dreams in the city. Everyone arrives with the intent of leaving, and I’m used to that. That’s what it’s like to be here. And I consciously chose that.”
"God," Kita let out a dry chuckle as he lets go of Atsumu’s hand and presses both palms on his face, running his hands upwards as his fingers rake through his hair, leaving a mess in its way.
It takes all of Atsumu’s self-control to not step forward and run his fingers through Kita’s hair too, to smooth and fix it right after. He doesn’t know why, but in that exact moment, Kita glowed. Rays of sunlight hitting just the right angles on the farmer's face, the warm soothing light resting on his astonishing features. He looks like an angel.
"I—I don't even know why I'm telling you this. Maybe—"
He turns to Atsumu. Kita’s words drown in his throat as, with all pained effort, he finds the younger staring at him again, with a look that has always knocked him off his feet. It wasn't certainly just because of how Atsumu looks with such ardent gazes, he knew it―felt it. He lost track of catching that look on Atsumu’s face whenever he looked at him. Why does Atsumu look at him like that? Like he did miraculous wonders such as carved Japan’s mountains and painted the skies blue. It doesn’t make sense but it feels so good.
“Maybe I just want ya t’know that it’s okay if yer still figuring yer feelings out.. It’s okay if ya don’t want anythin’ more than this.. That if ya decide it’s hard for the both of us, I’d understand it.”
"Wha–What are you sayin’, Kita-san? Why–No, God, of course, no."
Atsumu crosses the distance between them, bringing up his hand to rest on the older’s cheek. Before Kita realizes, he instinctively leans to the touch, head tilting lightly to the side.
Now that they’re both a breath away from each other, they could see a bit better, see how beautiful they find one another, see how their irises reflect the same steady fire of restrained yearning, like the sun almost ready to rise, almost ready to spread its rays like wildfires.
“Kita-san,” Atsumu mutters. His hand leaves Kita’s cheek to tuck some strands of hair behind the older’s ear.
Kita’s gaze turns softer by the second, heart almost melting from the sun that was Miya Atsumu.
Atsumu lets out a soft breath as he cards his hand through Kita’s hair. In what seemed like seconds of exchanged close breaths and thumping heartbeats hoping to be silent, Atsumu snakes his arm around Kita’s waist and pulls the man even closer to him, chest against each other.
“Why were you staring at me?” Kita softly asks, head tilting to the side as he basks in the beautiful features of the man holding him in his arms. A laugh leaves Atsumu’s lips, head falling on Kita’s shoulder.
"I don't know if it's because yer a farmer, but nature puts you in a wonderful light, Kita-san." Atsumu plants a gentle peck on Kita’s left cheek, "You look really handsome now."
A giggle.
"Just now?"
Kita’s giggle turns into a stifled gasp as Atsumu turns his head slightly to catch his lips and kiss him.
And there it rises, the sun, its rays like wildfires. The shackles melt from its burning light, two lovebirds freely out of the cells they’ve been caged in for years.
The kiss is soft, steady, and unhurried. Like the way Kita does his chores in the farm, cautious and calm. Like the way Atsumu sets and serves in the court, deliberate and resolute.
They smile in between kisses, touch in between breaths. For the first time in his life, Kita’s being kissed in the middle of their country road, a road he has only regarded for the purpose of transportation. He melts more in Atsumu’s embrace, lips shuddering from the overwhelming sensation.
A whine is heard from the back of Kita’s throat, making Atsumu chuckle. He rests his forehead against Kita’s, eyes fluttering shut for seconds, thumb grazing the young farmer’s cheek ever so lightly.
A sigh. A smile.
Contentment. Acceptance.
“Shinsuke,” Kita says.
Atsumu tilts his head as a question. Kita softly smiles, eyes looking into Atsumu honestly, almost vulnerable, “I’d like you to call me Shinsuke from now on.”
And there it hit him. It hit Atsumu straight in the gut. Not painful, but sweet. Very sweet, unlike any other.
Shinsuke.
Of all things Atsumu’s granted the luxury of having: Osamu, his parents, volleyball, Inarizaki, MSBY, V.League, it is Shinsuke’s name that he least expects to take a grasp onto, a 3-syllable word, 18 strokes, fluttering in the air with grace, free yet unreachable.
But now here he is―granted the right to hold onto the name and wear it like a victor’s cape, with the undertones of being granted the power to use it at his disposal and trample over its golden strokes.
Atsumu doesn’t want the latter to happen.
"Shinsuke..." Atsumu murmurs, testing the name in daylight as it rolled off his tongue.
"Mm?" Shinsuke responds, heart soaring through the clouds, up and up, until he felt like he reached the heavens.
"Can I stay again for the night?"
Eyes closing, Shinsuke ghosts another kiss on the athlete’s lips, "Stay as long as you want."
Atsumu sighs from the chaste kiss. He melts into Shinsuke’s touch, a shudder travelling downwards from a realization. For years, he has always feared being away. Being away from Osamu, being away from volleyball. When they had their last real fight, Atsumu spouted nonsense. He was afraid of the drift―afraid of those he cherished being too far, afraid of not being depended on, afraid that home would not be the same anymore from the differences. Sports and food are industries he did not see coming together.
Osamu proved him wrong. He was there in his first-ever game as a pro athlete, wearing a Miya BJ jersey as a spectator. On his third game as a rising star in the V.League, his twin brother already had an Onigiri Miya stall set up at the venue. When Osamu opened a branch in Osaka, Atsumu ate onigiri for a week straight, harassing Osamu’s ears with his frustrations on his serves.
He was there to witness food and sports coming together, there to witness how happy his brother is with his job, with Rintarou, with him. And so here Atsumu is, a changed man. He stands and holds Shinsuke in his arms with a rekindled lesson burning warm in his chest.
Everything is connected.
The breeze blows gently past them, Shinsuke nuzzling closer in his chest.
Home is never too far.
Atsumu stares into the older’s eyes, soft and warm under the rising sun.
“Yozakura with me? Later?”
“Why not this morning? I can leave the chores to Itsuki-kun next door.”
Atsumu grins, “A night date is more romantic, Kit―Shinsuke.” He purses his lips, a glint of mirth reflected in his orbs, “I’ll drive us to Akashi. The sakuras are pretty there. Whaddya say?”
Shinsuke hums softly in response, this time, thoroughly enamored.