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“Kita-san, you needed help with what now?” Miya Osamu, Hyogo boy, Inarizaki graduate and proprietor of the fastest-growing riceball specialty store Onigiri Miya, asked his former senpai through the crackle of the spotty phone signal. His senpai was already driving from Toyooka to the OniMiya store in Osaka, and was probably winding down the mountain road by now.
Kita Shinsuke, Hyogo boy, Inarizaki grad and rice farmer, shifted gears as his trusty Forester finally reached the exit to the expressway, the crackling in the call righting itself as he carefully edged into the merging lane. “I’m thinking of going into something new,” he said into the hands-free. “I had quite the surplus of rice last year, and maybe it’s time that I tried drinking instead of eating it this time.”
Osamu’s ears perked up. “You mean…”
“Yep,” Kita replied, a happy lilt in his voice. “I tried my hand at brewing sake with our own Chanto rice. I’m on the Hanshin Expressway now. See you in a bit?”
“Of course, Kita-san! Rin will be here too,” the tall chef said with a smile.
“Oh good, a third opinion would be best,” Kita said. “I hope he can drink, though. You know those athletes. Always have to be in top condition.”
“He’ll be fine,” Osamu replied, waving in his boyfriend Suna Rintarou as he walked into the back kitchen, the EJP Raijin duffel slung over his shoulder. “Looks like we’ll have an interesting night.”
Osamu had no idea then how prophetic his words would prove.
Kita arrived shortly before the restaurant closed for the night, and brought along three brown bottles. Its contents were carefully poured, heated or chilled, and shared among the three men. True to form, they were obviously crafted carefully and properly, the way only Kita ever could. The rice wines were fine in flavour and balanced, and they enjoyed themselves immensely.
Suna knew something was up when Osamu pronounced them all “wonderf’lll” as he downed the fourth glass of the prototype strong nigori sake. The sweet, cloudy toddy was nicely heated by a small charcoal shichirin his friend and former captain brought with him, and produced the enticing smoky aroma of brazier-cooked sweet new rice. The young entrepreneur’s large frame dwarfed the hinoki wood counters of the onigiri restaurant, lips smiling and eyes half-lidded.
“Kita-sannnmm,” he mused, dragging his n’s a few seconds too long, fingers lazily tracing the edge of his sake masu . “I approve of all these. OniMiya ssss-seal of approval,” he mumbled.
“Suna,” Kita muttered to the tall young athlete beside him, “is he usually like this when he’s drunk?”
“Unfortunately,” Suna shrugged, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He was about to start filming when Kita covered his lens with his hand.
“You’re no fun, Kita-san,” the hazel-eyed middle blocker whined. Kita chuckled a little, his eyes disappearing into lines of grey lashes.
Osamu seemed to figure out what happened through his stupor, and smiled languidly at them. “Kita-san really is a good sort. Yer really a good person, y’kno?” he rambled, trying his best to steady his footing. “S-smart too, I bet,” the dark-haired twin continued. “Like, he’d know how gelatin worksss… Ya do know how gelatin works, right, Kita-sannn?”
Kita almost gave into a laughing explanation of protein strands and collagen when the usually more mild-mannered twin drunkenly cut in. “See, he’s actually gon’ do it! Rinrin, Kita-san’s actually gon’ do it,” he muttered. “Yer a good guy, Kita-san.”
The farmer’s eyes crinkled at the sides as he watched Rintarou attempt to sit Osamu down on one of the stools at the counter. “Thank you, Osamu.”
“My brother, on the oth’r hand, ‘s an asshole,” Osamu pressed on, finally settled into some strange position at the counter.
“He’s still your brother,” Kita protested good-naturedly, going around to the other side of the counter to pour the drunk young proprietor a warm cup of tea.
“No wait, Kita-san,” Osamu countered, momentarily taking off his cap to rub his hair wildly. “Tsumu’s an asshole. He still steals my food, borrows my clothes without permission, and lies about being late,” he said.
Before Kita could even think of scolding him, however, Osamu’s eyes looked past his, to the kitchen behind him, to some place only Osamu’s heart knew.
“But I’m no different, Kita-san. I lied to him, big-time,” he confessed, his voice a soft whine. Unbeknownst to them, Suna had already whipped out his phone, clandestinely recording this all on video.
Osamu took Kita’s silence as a signal to go on. “I tol’ him I would make sure that I’d live the happier life when we fall on our deathbeds. But Kita-san,” he turned to his former captain, eyes glistening with tears, “I want nothin’ more than fer him to be as happy ‘s me. Maybe even more. With a smile on his lips, an’ no regrets. ‘Course I’d sooner burn the rice ya send me than admit it,” Osamu let the words out of his mouth, belatedly realising what he’d just said.
The young farmer tutted, patting Osamu on the head in forgiveness.
“That’s alright,” Kita assured him. “You wish the best for Atsumu, deep down. Isn’t that what brotherhood is all about?”
“But hol’ on, Kita-san,” Osamu parried once more. “I’m almost done.”
Kita let the next sentence stay in his mouth, amused. They might say he is the quieter, softer twin, but they do have the same DNA after all, he thought, recalling the other , louder, blonder twin fondly. Maybe a little too fondly.
***
Spring, 2013.
The Inarizaki Boys’ Volleyball Club enjoyed a crisp spring afternoon a week after coming home to Hyogo from Tokyo, and the loss at Harukou. The team walked home from practice, the sun already hanging low in the sky. Most of them had dropped by the tapioca tea shop, enjoying the guilty pleasure as a reward for hard work.
Kita was walking with Aran, Ren and Michinari, sipping quietly on his houji milk tea, enjoying the slight roasted bitterness of the cool drink. The sun had started to paint the road home in gold and peach, and washed the volleyball club in its amber glow. Aran commented that Kita seemed to smile a lot more now that his leaving the club drew near (this he said with no small amount of tears.) Kita had only laughed.
The relative quiet of the walk was pleasantly disturbed by Gin’s smartphone, which had his Spotify playlist on loudspeaker. He usually played rock or rap songs, so it surprised Kita a little to hear a slow, jazzy song play. The girl’s voice rang sweet as she crooned about a sunset walk, and the ashen-haired captain found himself humming along.
ずっと変わらない日々の中で そっと揺れるもの
Something swayed gently in the midst of our ever-changing days,
いつも支えられていたその笑顔 に
That smile that always supported me,
嘘のない真直ぐな瞳に やさしい声に
The direct eyes that don’t lie, and that gentle voice.
He felt someone looking at him, and turned around to meet Atsumu’s gaze. The setter’s stare was immediately diverted at the realisation that the captain was staring back, and it was then that Kita noticed that Atsumu was the only one who didn’t buy a drink at the tea shop. It seemed that he regretted this, and was contemplating stealing one of Osamu’s large tumblers of sweet milk tea. Not wanting a twin fight to disturb the peace, Kita hung back, falling in step with Atsumu and the other second-years.
“You should have gotten your own tapioca tea,” Kita gently admonished him. “Now you want one of your own, right?”
There was a strange look in Atsumu’s eyes as he met Kita’s own. The blond twin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Kita laughed as he reversed his straw, and handed his cup to Atsumu.
“Go ahead,” he said, bringing the cup to Atsumu’s eye level to show that there was still more than half left. “I don’t think I can finish this on my own.”
The befuddled setter awkwardly took the cup from Kita, and took a long sip. The captain smiled as he watched Atsumu drink the houji tea a little hungrily, the little balls of tapioca shooting up the translucent plastic straw.
Finally they had reached the station nearest the school, and Kita bid his goodbyes to the rest of the club, as he took a platform different to most of them. Leaving the cup of tea in the blond twin’s hand, he said, “You can have it, Atsumu.” He walked to the concourse, IC card already in his hand.
“Wait!”
***
“Tsumu is an idiot, an unreliable asshat,” Osamu declared, bringing Kita back to Onigiri Miya, and 2019. “But the only reason I could actually play volleyball back in high school is because he is the most reliable, careful and amazing person when it comes to what he loves.”
Kita only blinked at him, and Osamu shrugged. “As of now, two things: Volleyball… and you, Kita-san,” he said, with the firm conviction that comes from alcohol, and knowing Atsumu from the womb.
The older man opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come out. The onigiri entrepreneur glanced sidelong at him groggily. “You might not believe that you two have been pining for each other for an admittedly stupid amount of time,” Osamu went on, eyes sharp in a moment of clarity. “I mean, I know I have a good sense of taste, but what monster can tell the taste of your new rice?”
“Not to mention that he locked in the technique after that ‘rice pep talk”, Suna commented quietly as Kita looked at him. “Yeah, that’s what ‘Samu and I call it. Also, that hybrid serve is so annoying to receive.”
Kita thought about these things as he slowly tipped the masu in his hand. “It’s been six years, now,” he said after some silence. “I’ve always thought of Atsumu as someone who only looked forward, living and breathing “Who needs things like memories”. As far as that’s concerned, I’m nothing more than a memory to him, right?”
“You are drunk, aren’t you, Kita-san?” Rintarou replied. “Memories and inspiration are two different things, and at the very least, you are one of his constant inspirations. As much as you would like to deny it, he’s the volleyball player—and person— that he is, in no small part because of you.”
Osamu lifted his head up from the counter at the sound of Suna’s voice, and smiled blearily. “Tell ‘im, Rinrin. Are you afraid, though, Kita-san?” he asked. “What are you afraid of?”
The usually stalwart captain, who almost always knew what to say, didn’t know what to reply. What was he afraid of?
“There’s no need to be afraid of doing things like eating or taking a dump, as I like saying,” he said, more to himself than to Osamu and Suna. “But this is new to me, and something I never thought I had to do.”
Osamu’s expression softened as he looked at his senpai . “Okay, here,” he said. “The dumbass has a game in two days. I’ll be there, too, selling onigiri, and I would love it if you could help me. Of course, you’ll be kitted out in MSBY stuff. I have some of his stuff that you could borrow.”
“What about you, though?”
“Heh. I’ll be rootin’ for the away team, this time,” he said, pulling Suna in for a quick kiss. “EJP Raijin all the way.”
Kita agreed, and the conversation for the rest of the evening lightened up until he bid Osamu and Suna good night.
***
Miya Atsumu could remember it as clearly as it were yesterday: that walk, that stupid song from Gin’s phone, the way the afternoon sun made Kita Shinsuke, then-third year student and Inarizaki volleyball club captain, glow like some ethereal kitsune god, his hair tempting, touchable spun silver. Heck, he could even remember the taste of the cold, subtly sweet houji tea— that was how he discovered Kita had always preferred only a fourth of the usual sugar level.
He was more surprised than Kita when the call to wait escaped his lips, and he heard Osamu and Gin sniggering behind him, and he was pretty sure Suna had his blasted phone out, recording.
“Kita-san, c-can I ride the train home with you?” Atsumu asked.
Kita lifted a naturally perfect eyebrow at him. What the… had Kita always been this pretty? Atsumu thought.
“Wouldn’t it be easier for you if you used the second platform?” the captain asked.
“It’s fine,” Atsumu said, scratching the back of his head as he did so. “I just feel like taking another route home.” He jabbed a thumb at Osamu and Suna, who seemed to look increasingly irritable with every second Atsumu delayed them. Kita nodded and motioned for him to hurry and cross the concourse, leaving an exasperated (although slightly happier) Osamu to go home with Suna.
ずっと変わらないよと根拠なし
We have no basis that it will never change,
言い切って「yes, no」だけじゃ心許ない
Just declaring “yes” or “no” is unsure.
The two boys rushed through the concourse, and to the platform, boarding the train at just the right time. They sat together on a (luckily) empty seat as the train left the station. Kita’s stop was about five stations away, and soon his exhaustion also set in, eyes closing slowly as his head found a place to settle. Kita’s hair gleamed with the soft glow of sunset as it tickled the underside of Atsumu’s chin, rendering the setter still with nervous anticipation, the half-empty tapioca tea in his hand, watered down and forgotten.
Kita smelled of mild floral soap and sun, and Atsumu squeezed his eyes shut as he reached out to steady Kita’s gently bobbing head. He might have no need for memories, but he prayed to all the kami he knew that he could hold on to this one, at least.
“Do you really have to leave the club so soon?” Atsumu whispered silently, more to himself than to his senpai .
その笑顔と嘘のない真っ直ぐな 瞳とやさしい声で
With your smile, your unlying, direct gaze, and gentle voice,
ちゃんと言って 会えない時間でまた強なれる?
Can you earnestly tell me to be strong when we can’t see each other?
Kita didn’t seem to hear, as Atsumu heard his soft breath whoosh out from his parted lips. They looked soft, and unblemished (obviously a product of his diligent use of lip balm), and Atsumu found himself thinking about them.
What if he—
The train PA crackled and hissed as it announced the next station, Kita’s station, jolting the third-year on reflex. His head lifted off Atsumu’s shoulder like clockwork, shattering his kouhai’s thoughts of glowing hair and parted lips.
“This is my stop, Atsumu,” Kita said, walking to the train doors. He smiled softly at his teammate, his expression softened by residual sleep and maybe something more, Atsumu hoped.
“Walk me home?”
許されるならこのまま少し
If you’ll let me, in this moment
君の髪が赤く染まる間 ここで眠っていたい
Let me sleep here while your hair turns red in the afternoon light.
***
The annoyingly persistent sine-wave alarm Miya Atsumu used to wake him up for his daily run was replaced by the equally annoying marimba tones of an incoming call, breaking the remnants of a dream of sunset glow, silver hair and parted lips. The MSBY Black Jackal starting setter rubbed his eyes and peered at his phone. He let out a groan at the “Asswipe” caller ID and accepted the call.
“‘Samu, what—”
“Oi, aho , give me one of your shirts,” Osamu’s voice crackled in Atsumu’s ear. “I want one that you actually won a game in, okay?”
“Wow, good morning to you too,” Atsumu replied through the phone, voice thick with sleep and sarcasm. “I know I’m playing against your boyfriend tomorrow, but you could at least be a little kinder this early in the morning, ponkotsu .”
“Oh, you have no freaking idea,” his brother laughed snidely. “Just send it to me if you don’t have the time to drop by the store. But I need it, so DON’T forget, okay?”
“Okay, okay, jeez,” Atsumu said, rubbing his head furiously as he rolled out of bed. So much for sleeping in on the rest day before his first game of the new season. Still, he would be lying if he said he wasn't excited at all.
He dropped by Onigiri Miya after his morning run, the clean jersey from his last game in an OniMiya ecobag in his hand. Osamu, the smug little bastard, didn’t even look up from where he was cutting up a gargantuan body of maguro tuna behind the counter.
“You got some nerve not looking up when I came in,” the star setter said by way of greeting, dumping the ecobag on the counter, a safe distance from the fresh fish. “What if it were some crazy scumbag out to rob ya blind?”
The young chef gave Atsumu a stern look. “He’d be crazy, alright, robbing a licensed itamae with a 12-inch yanagiba knife in his hand,” Osamu began, completing the deep filet cut with clean, unnecessary flourish. “Of course I’ve had enough experience with crazy scumbags to know which ones actually barge in before opening hours.”
“I’ll let that slide since I have the upper hand,” the blond twin said, sliding into the seat in front of his brother. As much as he (or Samu) vehemently denied it, they really were opposite sides of the same coin, the same face with different looks. “Of course, being the older, handsomer twin, I have that most of the time.”
“On the contrary, brother mine,” his dark-haired mirror image parried, smirking, ”I think I may have the upper hand this time.”
Atsumu looked quizzically at him. “Look, you need a shirt because you’re gonna cheer for the home team, right?”
“Only if by ‘home team’, you mean EJP Raijin, ‘cause that’s the jersey I’m wearin’ tomorrow,” Osamu half-teased, a stupid, annoying smile on his stupid, annoying face. Leave it to this ponkotsu to rile me up right before a game, Atsumu thought.
“Seriously, I know he’s your boyfriend, Samu, but I’m your brother! How is he more family than me?” he whined.
Osamu grinned widely now, the sides of his eyes crinkling up as he held up his left hand. A small silver band on his finger glinted under the shop’s downlighting, two small dots of amethyst and opal set within. Atsumu’s breath hitched mid-tirade as his eyes—and heart— caught on. He jumped up from his seat, sliding behind the counter to wrestle Osamu and clap on his back in joy.
“You bastard, you just wanted to gloat, didn’t cha?” Atsumu bellowed, his happy tone and tears belying the harsh words. “Wait, this happened yesterday?!”
“Yep. Last night,” Osamu said, gripping Atsumu’s shoulder happily. “You’re the first to know. Well technically second, but yeah. Thanks, Tsumu.”
Atsumu grilled him for the details, excited to hear how Osamu, giddy with some drink and a lot of love, proposed to Suna at Onigiri Miya the night before, and how Suna did him one better and took him to the family registry office early that morning. His brother’s stoic facade of the morning quickly gave way to the relaxed, happy smile he wore more frequently these days, humming an old tune as he sliced up some choice fatty ootoro from the tuna he was cutting up earlier. Setting the plate of tuna belly sushi in front of his twin, Osamu smiled at him. “On the house. Legally. This is not on your tab.”
The gentle, sweet smell of new rice wafted towards Atsumu as he admired his brother’s handiwork, taking him back to the spring afternoon in his dreams.
“ Shinmai , huh… So Kita-san came by recently…” Atsumu murmured.
“He never misses any of your games, you know that,” Osamu said, wiping the counters clean. “Always watches them when he’s done with the farm.”
“I know,” the blonde twin pouted. “But I wish he’d come to watch even an actual game, y’know?” Atsumu said, his voice tinged with a bit of sadness, chopsticks moving to pick a piece of fatty tuna on a bed of seasoned rice.
“ Just to watch the game? Not watch you try to preen and look cool for the camera?” Osamu teased, raising an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean!”
Osamu said nothing and started scraping tuna into a small bowl of the same new rice as Atsumu realised he knew the song playing on the speakers.
“This song? Really, Samu?” MSBY’s star setter groaned, sinking his face into his folded arms on the countertop.
***
The walk from the station was surprisingly quiet, and Atsumu could feel the captain’s inquiring gaze on him as they drew close to the traditional kominka Kita called home. Once inside the genkan , the second-year saw his senpai’s usually stiff shoulders relax as he shook his shoes off and laid out an extra pair of slippers for Atsumu to use.
“Seeing as you’re already here, we might as well have the initial turnover for the captainship of the volleyball club?” Kita’s voice faltered as the last word left his lips, making his statement sound like a question, one Atsumu did not want to answer yes to. He could only muster a barely perceptible nod.
The older boy then launched into a longish lecture on training schedules, locker room maintenance, and overall team strategy; but Atsumu could barely hear a thing. Not with the stupid song from Gin’s phone still in his head. He kept looking everywhere but at Kita, for fear of what he’d say if he did.
Kita took out a clutch of keys from his pocket, and jangled them in front of Atsumu’s face. “So, finally, here are the clubroom keys,” he said. Kita had attached to them a small arctic fox he had sculpted from polymer clay. The setter’s gaze was unreadable when he saw the trinket.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Kita said by way of apology. “I wanted to add to the club legacy in my own way, and in retrospect, it might not have been a good idea—”
“Kita-san, can I hug you?” Atsumu blurted out, golden eyes afire in the last rays of sunset.
The outgoing captain blinked his chestnut eyes at the incoming captain.
“Hug me?”
“Well, it’s okay if ya don’t want to, I just, ya know, I jus’ thought—“
Kita stepped forward and spread his arms wide in front of the blond young man, a smile Atsumu had never seen before, and yet still very Kita-san —gentle and kind. “No worries. I just asked, really. Come here.”
He had a rough idea of the strength the twins had, but Kita was surprised nonetheless when Atsumu scooped him up in a big bear hug, almost lifting him right off the ground. He thought he heard Atsumu whisper something that could only be a hallucination.
恋しくてにまうや. I’ll miss you.
The words were whispered so softly that Atsumu could probably deny them had he asked, but Kita surely felt it in the arms around him, and the warm wetness of tears pooling on his right shoulder. He rubbed the younger man’s back gently as his own eyes began to tear up.
“You will be great, I just know it,” the former captain said soothingly.
俺､こちらこそ恋しくてしまうやろ. I’ll be the one missing you.
It was barely a whisper, but to Kita, it was a loud declaration of longing, not loneliness.
***
“Congratulations to the 2019 V-League champions, MSBY Black Jackal!”
The announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system of Osaka-jo Stadium, the designated home stadium of the Black Jackals. The game was over, they had beaten EJP Raijin in a blistering five-game heat for the championship. “Bokuto Koutarou delivered yet another staggering minus-tempo spike that sealed the deal, of course in no small way thanks to the magic sets of ever-reliable, steadfast Miya Atsumu!”
Hinata Shouyo bounded over to Bokuto, hugging the owlish ace happily. “Bokuto-san, you were so great! You went like ‘pow!’ and ‘boom!’ Suna-san didn’t know what hit him!” the young rookie gushed.
“That’s the great thing about being a normal ace— you won’t know what hit you until it’s over!” Bokuto grinned, pointing to his legion of kid fans in a wide Bokuto Beam arc. He clapped Hinata on the back happily. “Of course, Tsum-tsum was on point today too! That set was the best, like seeing the tragic— trudge—“
“Trajectory,” Sakusa Kiyoomi quietly supplied from behind Bokuto. Hinata knew that Sakusa was still a bit miffed that he didn’t play the finals against his boyfriend Wakatoshi, but the handsome outside hitter’s dark eyes sparkled with an inner light—a sure sign that Wakatoshi-kun was around here somewhere, about to whisk him away to a celebratory dinner. “This game wasn’t half-bad, after all,” he said by way of congratulations. “At least Motoya looked like he had fun.”
Hinata laughed. “Yeah, he looked so happy, even though he missed Atsumu-san’s hybrid serves!” he said. Something suddenly clicked in him. “Wait, where IS Atsumu-san??” he asked, scanning the large crowd that had descended onto the court.
“He mumbled something about needing to catch something. Or someone. I don’t know,” Sakusa said, putting on a black flu mask he had fished out from his pocket. “I couldn’t hear, he ran so fast.”
“EHHH??!!!”
***
Atsumu pushed past the crowd of well-wishers and onlookers, smiling at most of them but hardly stopping for anything more. He needed to get to the Onigiri Miya booth before that idiot Osamu finished packing it away— he always packed up once the last onigiri sold, which was almost always ten minutes before the end of the game. The star setter needed to confirm something. That flash of spun-silver hair beneath an Onigiri Miya cap he saw at halftime couldn’t have possibly been who he thought it would be, right? A guy could hope, right?
His feet skidded to a stop at the main lobby, where he saw the OniMiya space devoid of even a sign that it was even there. Atsumu could feel his calves burning from the game and the run. Damned Samu! he thought. I skipped cooldowns just to catch him and he had the gall to leave? Without telling me? He bent down to catch his breath, trying his best to fight a leg cramp (and tears.)
“You shouldn’t skip cooldowns, Atsumu,” a voice behind him said calmly. Years had deepened the timbre, but the firm yet gentle tone took Atsumu back to that spring day at the steps in Tokyo, in 2013. He snapped at attention, spinning around to face spun-silver hair, familiar chestnut eyes, and a gentle smile.
“Atsumu,” Kita said. It took all of Atsumu’s self-control not to sweep the smaller man off his feet and carry him off.
めっちゃ久しぶりやん､侑. It’s really been a while.
Atsumu could feel his chin smack the lobby floor as Kita spread his arms wide to him, his half-lidded, grinning face shining brighter than the stadium lights. The Black Jackal knew not to hesitate and grabbed the young farmer in a big bear hug, earning a laughing groan from Kita.
“Too tight, Atsumu,” he said, a tad out of breath. “I’m not going to disappear into thin air.”
“Can’t be too sure,” Atsumu said, a lopsided smile on his face, but his eyes told Kita all he needed to know. The blonde reluctantly relinquished his hold on his former captain, stepping back to take the sight of him in. Kita-san was actually here, in the flesh, at one of his most important games…
“Is that my jersey??”
Kita blushed a little at Atsumu’s realisation. “Osamu lent it to me. I wanted to cheer for my home team,” he replied. He had folded the sleeves up and tucked the jersey into his jeans, and Atsumu felt a warmth spread from his neck to his cheeks, until he felt the blush to the roots of his hair.
“Kita-san, I—“
“Walk me home again, Atsumu,” Kita said, his grey lashes catching the sunset glow as he locked arms and gazes with the kouhai he watched and supported from afar.
The sun was bathing the streets dark oranges, pinks and blues as the two Inarizaki captains arrived in Nanba. The Glico running man was starting to glow brighter as the sun set further, the Doutonbori slowly coming to life as Atsumu and Kita made their way past throngs of tourists and people out for a good time.
“Osamu booked you a hotel out here, huh? Leave it to him to pick out the worst tourist traps,” Atsumu huffed.
Kita laughed, sending the blonde back to a simpler time, on a road flanked by rice fields. “Well, it’s rare that I get time off to myself, so I might as well enjoy this city that you now call home, tourist traps and all,” he mused, his foxlike eyes shining.
They talked animatedly as they walked, slowly easing into each other’s rhythms. Atsumu talked about practice sessions, trips, away games, and his monster teammates. Kita talked about planting season, preparing the aigamo ducks, and the trade fair in Osaka he intended to join next month. Their lives were busy, each in his own niche in the world.
And yet…
“This is my hotel,” Kita said, stopping in front of the Hotel Dotonbori. Atsumu let out a loud guffaw at the squat pillars making up the hotel’s facade, comically large heads with legs jutting out underneath their chins.
“Osamu booked this hotel for you?” the other twin asked incredulously.
“I actually requested this,” Kita said, suppressing his own mirth. “I really wanted to have a taste of what Osaka has to offer, yeah?” the ashy-haired farmer continued as they both reached Kita’s room. Kita rummaged in his bag for his keycard at the same time Atsumu rummaged in his heart for courage.
“Kita-san!”
Kita’s name was off Atsumu’s tongue before he could even stop himself, much to his horror. His senpai turned around, the same look from that day six years ago again on his face.
“Osaka… Osaka can offer me,” Atsumu said, holding up his keys, with a familiar white polymer fox dangling on a chain. “My home is yours, I’m yours. Only if you’ll have me, of c—“
Atsumu’s words were cut off by Kita’s lips as his senpai kissed him tentatively, searchingly at first. The setter pressed his lips into Kita’s, releasing the hunger of six years of longing. They both pulled away breathless, glowing and finally happy as the sunset faded to deep blue.
ああ 見上げた空は余りに鮮やかな赤
Ah, the sky I saw gleamed red too brightly
走り出した声の鳴る方へ
As I ran towards the sound of your voice.
“ Tadaima , then,” Kita said, his eyes the colour of sunset glow. “I’m home.”
####