Archive of Our Own ^beta

Love is a complex creature.

Kita knows it comes in many different forms. Can be experienced in a myriad of dimensions. That romantic love is not the only love that can or does exist.

He loves his grandmother. He loves his grandmother. The woman who has raised him from birth to adulthood. The sun rests on her shoulders as her palm, small yet strong, remains ever constant in Kita’s hand.

He loves his work. Farming is hard work. It’s rewarding work. And he loves that every morning he can get up to face a new day where he can step out and see his rice plants grow and grow under his care.

He thinks about the time closest to when he’s ever experienced love—the type he’s skimmed in the romance novels his grandmother used to read on while sitting on their porch on hazy, summer afternoons—was underneath the cherry blossoms. On the day of his high school graduation.

His kouhai stood before him. He was a few inches taller than Kita but, at that moment, looked incredibly small.

He thought about how their fingers nearly interlocked. How his lips burned and ached from memories of frantic kisses in secluded corners. Time was of the essence. Like smoke, vaporous and intangible, slipping rapidly through the gaps between their mouths—where they pulled apart for needed air before they devoured each other again.

He thinks, at that moment, if the circumstances allowed what he buried to take root and truly bloom, he would have known of the love his grandmother talked about as she rubbed his grandfather’s wedding ring while they held hands.

But love remains nebulous. A what-if—an afterthought.

So it’s funny, to Kita at least, how he’s now become a sort of love guru for strangers on the internet.

All because one day he decided to answer someone’s question on his dashboard about love.

/

Blogging was a soothing activity for Kita.

It started as a means to collect quotes. Inspirational quotes, to be exact. He liked to memorize those types of quotes to keep himself grounded. Quotes to pass on to others. Quotes to just know in general.

And the internet was a great place for that.

That’s how he created his first blog. On Tumblr.com. Coming up with an URL was perhaps the hardest part of the process. He felt like using his name would have been too personal. Not that he cared if people found out he had a blog. It was no secret. Nothing to be ashamed of. His grandmother had always preached being smart and safe on the internet, however. To put his whole name out there would surely go against her teachings.

For about three days he woke up and the first thing he considered after doing his prayers and eating his breakfast was: how should I go by?

It’s when he’s home, cleaning out his closet, when he stumbled upon his old jersey from his days as the Inarizaki captain that a handle becomes planted in the garden bed of his mind.

Zakita.

He said it several times.

“Zakita,” he typed out the username in the appropriate field. “Zakita,” he prayed as he hit the sign up button, hoping no one had taken the username before him. “Zakita,” he smiled. For his prayers were answered, the screen name wasn’t taken, and the screen had loaded to the next step to confirm as such.

He thought it was clever. A combination of his name and his alma mater. No one would be the wiser.

His blog became a simple home for quotes, pictures of gardens or crops. Even food. Sometimes, he’d ask questions to fellow farmers he managed to find and follow. They would exchange photos of their own crops and progress.

He also followed some sports blogs. Mostly those pertaining to the teams his former teammates signed onto post graduation. Kita was so amazed at how often these blogs were capable of sharing high resolution photos of the players, or even high quality clips from their games. He always left a comment in the replies saying, “Thank you for your hard work” or “I’ve never seen this interview before. Thank you for sharing.”

His following count was low at first. About thirty people followed him in the beginning, and he followed about twice that amount in return. His follower count never mattered to him, however. He wasn’t there for popularity. He was there for self-indulgence.

He’d log onto his blog once in the morning and once at night. No more than thirty minutes a day, since he had a booked schedule and his farm came first. For the first few months, he enjoyed this little hobby. Logging onto his blog, reblogging pictures and quotes, sharing his own pictures and farming updates, and then unplugging back into the real world.

Kita never imagined his blog getting any bigger than his own, personal little journal of small life updates and cute pictures of cows.

That changed one night when he was scrolling down his dashboard and saw a mutual of his had asked a question some hours ago with zero answers. It was a simple question really. And while Kita never considered himself an expert on the subject at hand, leaving the post unanswered would be wrong. They were asking for help. He could, maybe, help.

Again, it was a simple question to Kita.

My best friend kissed me but idk if he likes mee??

And Kita realized he had an answer for that.

The number of people I’ve kissed before is rather small. Though I do have experience kissing a close friend. Personally, the kiss I had was born out of proximity and curiosity. I learned that day that people can kiss you and there can be no romantic feelings involved. But, I am also aware that the opposite is true; people can kiss you and they can, indeed, like you.

Consider asking your best friend about it when you are ready. Clarity is key in these situations and will avoid you further trouble down the line.

I hope your best friend was not playing with your feelings. That would be rude.

Update me on how it goes if you ask them.

Zakita

His fingers trembled.Kita could hear the faint sounds of his grandmother listening to her late night game shows. He’d have to go out there soon and remind her not to stay up too late. But there was this… rush. An odd, silly little tingle. Not nervousness. No, there was nothing to be nervous about. His mutual would either respond or not respond. That was their right to. Kita only answered the way he hoped was most helpful. If they took his advice-incredible. If not-equally incredible.

The rush was perhaps a forewarning of things to come.

/

When he woke up the next day he had received a long thank you in his inbox from his mutual. They had taken his advice and it worked wonders! Their best friend did, in fact, like them. And they thanked Kita (or well Zakita, he thought humorously) for encouraging them to communicate. The fear of potentially failing would have rooted them to the spot forever; so much so that they never would have gotten the chance to explore these feelings and see where they’d go.

He congratulated them for being brave. For taking that first, terrifying step. He felt a smile pull on his lips. A tethered, though distant, swelling of pride bubbled and brewed in his chest—warming his entire body, right down to his toes.

It’s not that he expected a good outcome or a bad outcome. Kita believed that what was meant for you, would come to you. And what was not meant for you, would pass you. Sometimes you had to take a step forward but always, always, always, Kita believed that if you tried—and gave it your all—whatever ending you received aligned with your greater good. And nothing, not heaven nor earth, could take that from you.

He was glad that his mutual had a successful conversation with their friend. He wished them all the best for their new relationship. And posted his response to the dashboard.

Later, he discovered that the post he replied to was shared not only onto the original poster’s page, but by many others who either highlighted the sincerity and value of his advice, or added something more to his foundation.

He had gone viral.

His inbox became flooded with anonymous questions shortly after. With people pointing out that he had such a clear, straightforward, yet realistic approach to love. And wondering if he could help them too.

He stared at the messages. Breakfast finished. His cup of tea still had a few more sips left. He liked the last few sips because that’s when he could really taste the bitterness of his green tea. He wondered, was he qualified? A part of him cautioned on the fact that he was no love guru. He was no expert on the inner machinations of relationships. He never claimed to be one, anyways.

There were dangers of the blind leading the blind, after all.

But, there was another voice. Something quieter, more gentle, that urged him to follow this trail. While his blog was never meant to become such a space, there was nothing wrong with offering advice and sharing his own experiences if that could help someone else who may not have those in their inner network to rely on.

He could understand that need to be seen. That urge to be related to. The desperation and the exhilaration when you discover that someone out there knows your struggles and your pains and your confusion and can offer some guidance on how to navigate it.

So he did.

And by the end of the month, Kita’s somehow managed to run a very popular love advice blog.

/

Now don’t worry, Kita still shared pictures of his crops and cows and farm animals and morning sunrises on the horizon. The core of his blog hadn’t changed. Just that now, he had a tag on his blog wholly dedicated to answering the love questions in his inbox.

At first, it was very overwhelming.

“Yer runnin’ a love advice blog,” Aran said after taking a sip of his drink. “Ok, I-” he broke off into a chuckle. “That was not on my Kita Shinsuke 2021 bingo board.”

“Neither was it on mine,” Kita agreed, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his mug.

“Well… ya do have a very ‘no bullshit, see it as it is’ way of layin’ things out. I can see why people like that.”

“My advice ain’t any different than what someone else, preferably more qualified, could give.”

Aran reached for an onigiri and took a big chunk out of it. Chewing he grumbled, “True. But that’s just how ya are, man. Ya say things and it gets people inspired. That’s your superpower.”

A superpower? Kita frowned down at his mug. “I’m not saying anything of inspiration, though.” He never considered himself to be the spark to light a match. Never saw himself as a catalyst for someone’s change. Never considered himself a necessary cog in the machine. He was a simple man. An ordinary fellow. He was not a monster nor was he a wondrous creation.

He was Kita Shinsuke.

Only, Kita Shinsuke.

“Does anyone else know?” Aran pressed forward. Changing conversation topics.

Kita shook his head, “No. I don’t see a reason to share this with anyone.”

“Shin you were interviewed for a magazine,” Kita’s not sure how to really take that. He supposed by Aran’s state of disbelief over his lack of reaction, that he was meant to take the event more seriously.

He was honored to have been interviewed. Nervous, at first. Because the idea of someone knowing his face and associating it to his blog was not his intentions-and never would be. He had stressed the necessity to be kept anonymous. He told them that he’d answer any questions they had electronically, but an in person interview was out of the question.

Thankfully, they had accepted his proposal. And the interview went on without a hitch. They did a virtual interview where Kita had his camera off and it lasted about an hour. His interviewer was rather pleasant—conversation had flowed rather easily.

Aran rolled his eyes, “Yer something else. Only you would get interviewed by one of the most, like, popular magazines for people our age and ya don’t even care.”

Kita grinned, “Would you like me to recommend you for an interview next time? Is that it?”

“Hey!” Aran pointed his finger at Kita, “I’ll have you know I’m gonna be featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated this upcoming May. The cover.”

“Congratulations. I’ll buy several copies.”

“Please don’t.”

After Aran had left, wishing Kita all the best with his new blogging endeavors, (“Can I follow you?”, “No.”, “Not even on a fake account?”, “Absolutely not.”, “Tsk.) Kita accompanied his grandmother to the store. Their conversation replayed itself over and over in his head.

No, he hadn’t considered telling anyone else.

After graduation, Kita had kept in contact with the majority of his teammates. He checked in at least once a month, twice when he was really blessed with time, to see how they were. He knew almost everything about what people were up to. From Suna’s involvement in the V-league to Akagi’s high school gym class’ shenanigans (the videos he got were always funny. And he made sure to laugh react and respond with a paragraph in response).

He kept in contact the most with Aran and Osamu. Aran, because he was his closest friend. And the two were always intentional about making time to see each other, even though their schedules were so busy they ran mostly parallel and never perpendicular.

Osamu was his business partner, in a sense. Osamu’s onigiri business was thriving. Kita provided the rice that was wrapped and packaged and sold across the nation. They texted frequently, mostly about rice. But sometimes they talked about life—how they were doing in their personal adult life rather than their business adult life.

Osamu’s life was much more interesting than Kita’s. He had a boyfriend (someone from Fukurodani, who Osamu fell for because he discovered they were the editor behind one of his favorite mangas one night when he was out at the bar) and they’d been dating for almost a year now. It was incredible, to date someone for that long. To get to know someone each and everyday—something new, a different type of glory that hymn books wouldn’t be able to capture quite right.

Kita was always fascinated by romantic relationships. The way that sort of love moved and operated and could consume, could implode, could push evolutions from heartbreak or heart race.

And when they got onto the topic about Kita’s dating life, he would always say the same thing.

“I don’t have time to date.” which was true. Rice farming was hard, rewarding, but time consuming work.

Osamu would always reply, “Ya don’t have time because you won’t make time? ‘Cause that’s what it sounds like, Kita.”

Kita always took a pause whenever they circled back to this conversation. His skin would feel all hot. The palms of his hands would prickle with sweat. There was a layer to this conversation every time they had it. A tug and a pull. A live wire ready to burst.

They never pushed any deeper. Even though they both could have.

Nevertheless, he didn’t plan to tell Osamu about his viral love advice blog either. There was no need to bring it up in conversation. Since Osamu’s love life was, apparently, thriving. Plus, business matters about rice didn’t leave room to talk about how he helped a married couple of ten years consider that, maybe, communication had not been their strong suit and that, perhaps, they should work on strengthening that skill.

That had nothing to do with rice, so he never shared.

The only person he hadn’t talked to since, as his grandmother showed him two very similar watermelons. Held in her tiny palms, so large Kita was impressed by his grandmother’s strength to hold them, as she asked him which one looked the best.

The only person he hadn’t spoken to since graduation was Miya Atsumu.

“The one on the left, granny.” Kita smiled, patting the watermelon for good measure. “It sounds ripe. We’ll have fun eating this together with grandpa this evening.”

His grandmother smiled back, all toothy and bright. “When yer right, Shin-chan. Yer right.”

Praise from his grandmother was the sweetest sound to Kita. His smile, soft, grew on his lips as they continued grocery shopping. As the thought of Miya Atsumu rose to an innocuous, yet demanding prominence in Kita’s mind. A name solidifying itself even more when he received a buzz on his phone-a notification.

A notification he checked after he got home-because they could always wait, and he was with his grandmother, who’s attention he wanted to give and received undividedly-that was from none other than the MSBY Jackals blog he followed and set for notifications to let him know when an update was made.

Of course, the update was a photo of him. Doing his signature move: a closed fist, fixated and focused eyes, imposing shoulders, and an incredible pressure that brought every mouth in the stadium to a snapping shut. Kita could feel the intensity in the picture. Felt the same shiver down his spine that had him bone straight, fingers digging into the flesh of his arms, eyes dilating, heart race stuttering, when he’d have that same intense gaze upon him when-

He closed the app.

Miya Atsumu was someone Kita had not been in contact with since graduation.

For the sake of his peace, for his sanity, it had to be that way.

/

Kita received a bunch of questions in his inbox today. Some of them were long. Others were short and sweet. A few were incomprehensible. And some were unsolicited nudes.

Those submissions were a story for another day though.

Kita liked to answer his inbox of questions one at a time during lunch. He had no real rhyme or reason to which ones he chose to answer first and when. Usually, he’d read each one carefully and reply to the one he felt most strongly to answer at that moment.

However, Kita was stumped on how to answer a question he had received four days ago.

when do you /know/ you're in love? when was the moment you knew?

Kita sat cross legged at his computer. The cushion was soft, thankfully. As he’d been sitting there for the past fifteen minutes since finishing his breakfast. The lazy, afternoon sun crawled over his face and his shoulders. Taking its time to warm him down to the tips of his fingers that were tapping a fast rhythm that mirrors the uptic of his heartbeat.

He pondered this question for days. And for nights, the question would creep up in his dreams in the form of memories. Of whispered conversations. Of secluded corners of the school. Of moments stolen under the stairwell. Of times spent in the gym storage closet. His back pressed against the stack of mats. And lips on his. His body covered by someone slightly taller, but much wider. The feel of his fingers digging into broad shoulders as he opened his mouth to be devoured, and to devour in return.

He dreamed of the almosts, the what ifs, the we should have, the we didn’t do enough, the this is as far as we go / this is as much as we have to offer each other.

He woke up wondering if those moments and memories past were love. If what he felt back then, this confusing desire to consume and be consumed. That itch in his chest that never really went away-that had dulled down to a very minor throb that he could ignore on most days and keep pushing forward on others-to want to understand more of the person who had, for some reason, expressed desire to stay by his side. In a manner that was more than friends, almost lovers, and never enough.

Kita pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

He had no idea if he’d ever been in love before. If a few months (two months and fifteen days of almosts, what ifs, we could have been) counted as experience in love. Which is why he’s been so hesitant to answer that particular question.

With a frustrated growl he went onto another question: Zakita, what are some good first date spots? Do you have any suggestions!

Sometimes, the easier questions. The ones where he could give more detached and less introspective questions were better for him. He could answer about dates. He could share that a good first date really depends on the person. And encourage communication on that front to gauge what their partner might enjoy. Collaborate on the date. Pick spots you both want to share with the other as a part of you, of something you enjoy, of something you can both enjoy. Factor in money too, because a budget and finances is nothing to be ashamed of when planning a date.

He felt hollowed pressing the answer button. Even when his phone resting beside his computer had lit up with two responses within the minute of him posting, showing notifications from his followers adding their comments or thanks or suggestions to the response. Even as his post circulated and gathered up notes like dust to a lint roller.

He felt hollowed. Scraped done to the marrow of his bones.

“Would you like some tea dear?” his grandmother asked by the doorway.

Kita shook his head, “No thank you, granny.”

“Alright. Don’t stay up too late. You have to head out early tomorrow to go see your friends play.”

His stomach lurched something awful. Shutting his computer lid closed, he forcibly pushed an exhale through his nose. Center yourself, Kita.

There was no reason to let anxiety quell up about tomorrow. No reason at all to let fear win before the daybreak had even come.

“I will, granny,” he smiled at her over his shoulder. Putting a brave face. His granny smiled back at him, perhaps knowingly catching onto her grandson’s worry. She shuffled over and placed two, sturdy hands on his shoulders. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Rest well, Shin-chan.”

“Goodnight, granny.”

/

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kita stared at the crowd of people milling around the stadium. There were a lot of people here today, but that wasn’t too surprising considering this was the Jackal’s first home game of the season. They had a pretty big fanbase (Kita and Aran included) so it wasn’t so surprising to see fans with Jackals merch taking photos, buying up food, and hanging around.

Still, Kita’s stomach dropped several feet to the ground.

Aran casted a knowing gaze at Kita, before flickering his eyes back up to the crowd. “We can go.”

Kita frowned, “Why?”

“Because you look like yer gonna pass out.”

“I’m not,” Kita gripped his bookbag and forced himself to find the courage and rooted foundation he had when he was a captain, a third year, and he was stepping onto the court with the confidence of a man who knew he had his entire team behind his back. “That’s your imagination.”

Aran let out a low whistle, “Oh we’re lying now. I see. That’s where we are.” he turned his head to the side, eyes widening when he spotted Suna a few feet away talking to someone-probably Osamu-at a stall. “I think I see Suna. Come on.”

Kita followed behind Aran as they made their way to Osamu’s riceball stan. Kita felt a rush of pride seeing his junior so successful. Having a stand in the Sendai Center was huge. Osamu worked hard to bring his dream to light. It was nice to know that others would get to experience his cooking wonders, also.

“Hey,” Osamu greeted, a lazy smile on his face. Eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise as he waved. “I was wondering if ya’ll got lost.”

Suna was scrolling on his phone, swiveling back and forth on his stool. “Rude of ya to get lost and I can’t record it.”

“Rude of ya to even think we’d get lost!” Aran exclaimed, plopping himself down on the stool beside Suna. Kita quietly took the stool to the right of Aran, resting his arms on the counter.

He gave a nod to Osamu, “We only got lost a little.” he confessed, deadpan.

Aran whirled around, “Shin!” he pointed an accusatory finger. “Your second lie of the day.”

“What was the first?” Osamu folded his arms.

Suna raised up his phone, his thumb on the recording button. “Live with Suna: this just in. Kita Shinsuke’s pants have been on fire, non-stop, according to inside source Aran Ojiro.”

Kita felt a twitch in the right corner of his eyebrow. High and present and a giant throb. Three pairs of eyes were staring him down. And he knew, to some extent, that they all had some knowledge or idea of what would make their unflappable ex-captain sweat.

“Miya Atsumu is sooooo cool!” A fan said walking by. Kita flinched at the name, despite himself. She was holding a fan with Atsumu’s face on it. “When he goes,” she stopped, mimicking his pre-serve pose. Making her face look as imposing as possible. Then she laughed, along with her friend, “Oh I just get chills!”

The two walked off, consumed by the throngs of the crowd.

Kita ignored how the pairs of eyes on him all changed, slightly but still very noticeable. “None of you are subtle.”

“We know,” they said at the same time.

Kita knew he couldn’t avoid this conversation for long. He rather hated avoiding things in general. This wasn’t like him at all. To fear, to be nervous, to worry about seeing someone he, realistically, should be ok with seeing.

They used to be teammates after all.

“It’s been a while, as all.” is all he said at first. Wetting his lips as he wondered what words to say next. A rarity for him. “But I’m fine.” he made a point to look at Osamu directly. Osamu only appraised him with a crook of his eyebrow. Osamu could not read Kita, but he knew the pages of the situation-and that alone, would fill in the lines Kita didn’t say.

On the tip of his tongue were words tied to memories of the night before he had spent thinking about today. Not an agony, really. But a reoccurrence. When he wanted to work in the field, the sun on his back and sweat on his brow, he thought about meeting Atsumu. He pictured what their meeting would look like. How it would go.

Most likely not horrible, since there were so many other people involved to buffer a potential fall out. Or rather, a potential confrontation. He wanted to go into tomorrow and any interaction with respect and acknowledgement of the space that had grown between them since graduation.

The distance was a gaping chasm that loomed before Kita years after the fact. That reminded him of an ache created in a space he could never really fill. So it was hard to ignore it anyways.

“Ya know,” Osamu drawled, eyes glancing out over the crowd. His gaze followed a few Bokuto fans who had their hair styled to mirror Bokuto’s classic, spiked look. “He ain’t gonna be too happy when he sees ya.” he said casually.

Suna had the decency to stop recording then.

Kita already assumed that outcome, but Osamu’s calm vocalization of the truth was a soft punch to the gut.

He felt an arm on his shoulder from Aran. When he glanced his way, Aran’s soft smile and even softer gaze were a blanket of reassurance. He really must look out of sorts. For the comfort to come out in waves. He was normally better at masking this.

But then, this was Atsumu. Who had taken Kita’s normalcy and decimated it to pieces from the day they met.

“It’ll be cool. Ya’ll are adults now. It’s water under the bridge.”

Osamu hummed, but didn’t say anything more.

“Anyways guess what,” Suna held up his phone and Kita’s stomach dropped. “So I follow this blog, yeah?”

Osamu leaned in, squinting. When he got a good read of the page he threw his head back and laughed. “Ya following a love advice blog now?” his shoulders shook, shaking his head. “Rin, since when do ya care about love?”

“Um, I don’t. I like laughing at the people who send in questions,” Suna answered.

“That’s rude,” Kita snapped. He wasn’t sure where that annoyance was coming from. Underneath his skin, bubbling like a dormant volcano crawling to the surface to awake and destroy. “Those questions were sent by people who have the courage to seek out advice for their concerns,” he glared at Suna, who stared at him back. Unperturbed and smirking. “Unfollow the blog if you don’t actually support the content.”

“Kita,” Suna played with the pop socket on his cell phone, spinning it around and around in his hands. “Are you my mother?”

“Are you a child?”

“Alright!” Aran put up his hands in peace between Kita and Suna. Suna, who meant no harm at all and only liked to poke things until they bit back. And Kita, who’s frying nerves and anxiety about coming here today had morphed into an ugly bout of annoyance. “We’re here to see a game! There doesn’t need to be a fight between us now, too.”

“But if ya do fight,” Osamu started, leaning his hip against the counter. He smiled lopsidedly. “My money’s on Kita.”

“Oh same,” Aran started but then quickly realized he was about to fall into the trap of Osamu’s horrible humor. “No! No, I will not start this.”

“Wow, Kita. All these years tryna get under your skin and it’s a Tumblr blog that makes you lose it. I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Kita wanted to say that it was not the blog that set him off. But rather, the pieces of those who left their hearts in Kita’s inbox. Wanting advice or direction or guidance or just, really, someone who would listen. Who felt safe enough to leave their woes at the door of someone else who was offering an ear and a space to be vulnerable and seen. If only for however long it took for Zakita to respond to them.

It took courage to seek someone for advice. Anonymous or not.

He wouldn’t have Suna joke about that.

The Jackals game will be starting in five minutes! Please start heading to your seats now. I repeat, the Jackals game will be starting…

“Let’s go,” Kita stood up, adjusting his bag. “So we can get settled in before the game starts.”

Aran followed suit, as did Suna. Osamu would stay behind to tend his stall. But he promised he’d catch all the highlights from where he was.

“You can check my livestream too, ya know.”

“And give ya a serotonin boost from one more person watching your stream? No, I’ll pass.”

“Give me five minutes to barf back up your onigiri.”

“Do not barf here! Don’t!” Aran clapped his hands on Suna’s shoulders and pushed him forward. They waved their goodbyes and headed for the doors towards the gym floor.

“Wait, Kita!”

Kita stopped in his tracks. Suna and Aran looked back at him, either to ear hustle and stay watch in case he needed anything. Kita waved them on. He figured what Osamu wanted to tell him was directly related to Atsumu. While it was no secret between the four of them of their past, Kita would rather not have an audience for whatever Osamu needed to tell him, or warn him, about.

Suna raised his phone and snapped a photo, “I call this: the calm before the storm.”

“I’m confiscatin’ yer phone for the rest of the game, bro.” Aran kept pushing at Suna to keep going. “We’ll see ya in there, Shin!”

“Sounds good,” Kita nodded.

When it was just him and Osamu, Kita turned to face him fully. “He knows I’m here.”

“That he does,” Osamu leaned forward, palms pressed flat on the table. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. Osamu sighed, relenting. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “He plans to corner you after the game.”

“Is that so?” Kita hated how his mind flashed to scenes, inappropriate scenes, of being backed into corners and-“Did he tell you that?”

“He doesn’t have to. Man’s an open book. And simple,” Osamu added a beat later. “Simple as fuck.”

Kita couldn’t help but snort. “That he is…” he already prepared for the ambush. He figured Atsumu knew he was going to be here. Osamu had snagged them three extra tickets to see the game, after all. It was odd, he realized. That now there was a stutter in his chest. Born from the knowledge that Atsumu wanted to see him… after everything. After all these years.

Three minutes!

“I understand that as his twin-”

“His business is his business,” Osamu quickly cut in. “I can’t influence ya, and I for damn sure can’t influence him. I was just letting ya know in case ya didn’t want to see him. He’s disgustingly stubborn. And an idiot. And stupid. And a fool,” he listed off all these traits like he was going down a grocery list. Kita laughed despite himself. And Osamu grinned, an easy air forming between them.

“Yeah,” he said, a near dreamy air to his tone. “Thank you,” Kita said. “For the heads up. And for the tickets.” he added after a moment, tone going quiet. “It’s nice to be with everyone again after so long. And,” he allowed himself a moment of courage. “It’ll be nice to see him again.”

Osamu regarded him silently. In the same way he did everything-an apparent apathy that picked people apart to their marrow. Kita never wavered when this glance was this way. Not in the moments where it was him and the twins and Osamu, who knew Atsumu better than anyone, was privy to what they nearly were. Who saw it coming before either of them could ever comprehend the gravity blooming between the spaces in their rib cages they were unconsciously carving out for each other.

Enough was enough, apparently. Whatever it was Osamu needed to see, he must have found it. With a nod, Osamu adjusted the brim of his hat and went towards the back of his stall. “Enjoy the game, Kita.”

/

The game was incredibly enjoyable.

They couldn’t stop talking about it over dinner.

“Man that match was wild,” Aran slammed his empty beer mug on the counter. Cheeks all red and flushed. His drinking habits were fun to watch, Kita always thought. Aran was a happy drunk. He got a little beer in him and he was on cloud nine. “I was on the edge of my seat the entire time!”

“I have pictures,” Suna held up his phone. Open to his photo gallery where he swiped and swiped through pictures of Aran in various states of hype. “This one’s my favorite,” he pointed to a picture of Aran being scolded by a mother who couldn’t see what was going on in the game because he was blocking her view with all his moving around.

“Hey! Delete that!” Aran reached over the table but Suna’s limbs were incredibly long. Kita immediately thought gremlin length as he watched his friends bicker over Suna’s habit of snapping them in their least desirable state.

On a normal day, his friends’ antics were rather funny. Tonight though, as he nursed his second glass of beer, his friends were hilarious. His cheeks were hot. And he had worked himself out of his jacket to not overheat. Their little table was covered with stacked plates from the food they ordered and devoured within minutes of it being set.

Kita hadn’t realized until well into the night how much he’d missed everyone. Right now it was only him, Aran and Suna. While he wasn’t the most animated-Aran by far had him and Suna beat, conversation never stilled. Their old jokes from years ago were still funny as could be. If Aran spilling his beer all over his lap from laughing so hard was any indication (and Suna didn’t miss the opportunity to snap pics of it all).

He’s laughed so hard his cheeks hurt. He feels loose and good. All warm down to his toes. That he wiggled a bit just to make sure he was real, and still here, and present. A few times his phone had gone off while it sat on the table. Notifications from his blog. Around this time he’d be answering the questions that came into his inbox. Tonight though, he wanted to be in the moment. So he’d answer them in the morning.

“Should we get more food?” Aran picked up the menu, skimming through the options .

Suna leaned on his shoulder, looking over the menu as well. “On your dime?”

“We’re splittin’ this!”

“I mean, your wallet will be split. And we will encourage that for sure.”

“Suna you’re so funny,” Kita’s words were jelly. All sweet and loose. He rested his cheek in the palm of his hand. “Oji, let’s order more food.”

They ordered more food and drinks. Catching up on each other’s lives. Kita mentioned his rice farm and the crops' progress. Showing photos of his crops from seedlings to mighty golden barley stretching towards the sun. Suna talked about his upcoming matches and their current streak—going three games strong. Aran too, mentioned how they had a couple of games coming up that he was looking forward to. That the small break they were able to take to come out and watch today’s game hyped him up for his own upcoming matches.

This got them started on talking about the game. It was a really great game. While Kita didn’t play anymore, he still held a grand appreciation for the sport. And the MSBY Jackals were an incredible team. A new generation of monsters, Kita had thought as he sat in the bleachers and heard the thunderous clap of a strong spike from Bokuto Koutarou.

All the while Kita kept himself grounded in the conversation. Focused on the smell of soy sauce and pork. On the taste of beer, stale and bubbly yet filling. On the way Suna and Aran bantered back and forth, watching them go like a tennis match in action. Grounded, so his mind wouldn’t go down dangerous waters.

He hadn’t stayed long after the game was over. If someone were to ask him if he had booked it, he’d say it was more of a determined stride than him running away.

He’s planning on cornering you, you know.

Kita kept thinking about Osamu’s words during the game. Hard not to, when the man in question was right in front of him.

Atsumu Miya was twenty-three now. Instead of wearing jersey number seven, he wore the number thirteen on his back. Kita had wanted to keep his gaze elsewhere. Like on Hinata soaring like a bird into the clouds. Or on the wicked, sharp and efficient slice of Sakusa’s nasty spike. Or Bokuto doing backflips while he was waiting to be rotated. There was so much to focus on. So many moving pieces to keep Kita’s attention.

Yet his eyes always came back to thirteen.

His shoulders are larger, Kita had his hand pressed against his mouth. Nails slightly dug into his cheek. He couldn’t help but imagine what they would feel like now underneath the calloused palm of his hands. Would they be even sturdier? Would they be more secure?

The last time he gripped those shoulders it was awkward and clunky. They shook from their hushed laughter. They were ridiculously cramped up in a supply closet in school Atsumu had dragged him in to-

“Shin, you good?”

Kita blinked several times, pulled out of his thoughts by Aran’s curious gaze and Suna’s raised eyebrows. He stared at them in return for several seconds before taking a large gulp of his beer.

“I’m fine,” he said as the beer settled in his stomach. Being grounded was, apparently, easier said than done. Even with the buzz in his ears and the sizzle of food in the background. And the chatter of tables around them in the bar. Kita disliked being unrooted. He liked being secure and stable.

Yet even the thought of Atsumu Miya could knock him off center.

“What were you saying? I’m sorry.”

Aran still looked confused. Though now his face was contorted more in worry, “We were just sayin’ how Osamu texted Suna that he’s on the way.” He drummed his fingers along his mug. “He got tied up with some of the Jackals.”

“Hinata, Bokuto, Sakusa and Atsumu, to be exact.” Suna put an extra point to Atsumu’s name. A point Kita didn’t miss.

His heart stuttered against his chest. That made a crater so large Kita thought he’d drown in whatever it was crawling up his neck and making it suddenly harder to breathe.

He drank some more.

“We can go, Shin.” came Aran’s quiet suggestion. Kita lowered his mug, meeting Aran’s warm gaze. He appreciated the concern. It made Kita melt a bit in his seat. Aran was one of the few people to know the history between Atsumu and Kita. As he was the one to find Kita in tears in the volleyball team’s office, clutching his diploma in one hand, bent over in a chair. Was rather hard to not explain to Aran what had happened after that.

Suna put a piece of tempura in his mouth and took a big chomp from it. “Yer face is all green.” he chewed obnoxiously. “He really makes ya that sick?”

“Cut it out,” Aran hissed, jabbing Suna in the side with his elbow.

Kita wasn’t quite sure if that was the case. He stared into his beer mug, feeling the erratic pulse of his heart in the palm of his hands. He wondered, was this a sickness that was making his skin flush and his pulse race? Or was it something else. Something deeper. He wasn’t so sure he was prepared to see Atsumu after all these years. He knew it was a high probability. After all, they had gone to see his game. Running into Atsumu was a hazard and risk Kita signed up for once he accepted the invitation for today.

He closed his eyes and took in a large breath, then exhaled slowly through his nose. What would he say to one of his followers if they came to him for advice on this matter? He tried to imagine himself at his computer, seeing a message in his inbox asking for help on how to handle a sudden meet up with a not-so-much-ex?

Picturing his response made it easier for him to relax. He’d tell them that in life, many times we are met with the unexpected. We cross paths with people whose impact on us was long lasting-even if they’re time with us was relatively short. He’d tell them that in any moment, when parallel lines finally intersected, one had two choices: to run or to stay. And while running was the safe option. The comfortable option. The secure choice.

Wouldn’t it be something if you stayed?

Faced them forward, with a smile on your face, and your head held high?

Wouldn’t that be good?

“We don’t have to go,” Kita dug up resolution and planted it firmly in his chest. Where his heart slowed and finally took a breath of peace. “I’ll stay.”

Aran nodded, though his lips were still pulled downwards in a frown. Suna took another drink of his beer. Eyes narrowed with a fox-like glint. Kita wasn’t sure how much Suna knew about him and Atsumu. He knew Osamu and Suna were quite close. Though if that closeness involved them discussing the love lives of their ex-teammates, Kita wasn’t sure.

He sighed and looked down at his now empty beer mug. He’d need another refill.

As he raised his hand to get the waiter's attention, his eyes caught movement at the door. Followed by the sound of familiar voices. He spotted Osamu first. Who came in hunched with a jean jacket and his baseball cap. When he looked up, adjusting the rim of his hat. He caught Kita’s gaze.

“Ah man, I haven’t had barbeque in a while! Sho, remember when we had barbeque at that training camp a couple of years ago?”

“Oh yeah! That meat was so good, Kou-san! I dream about it all the time.”

“Is that where all your brain power goes? Makes sense.”

“Hey, Omi-kun! That’s like, where one-fourth of it goes!”

Behind Osamu were Bokuto, Hinata, and Sakusa. Who all piled in through the doorway one by one. Osamu nodded towards Kita and then said something to the three, pointing his finger towards the table Kita, Aran, and Suna were sitting at. Bokuto and Hinata’s reactions were instantaneous. Their entire faces lit up like a lightbulb. And they jumped in excitement before dashing over to their table.

“Hey guys!” Hinata was always so cheerful, Kita thought. He was glad to see that his ball of energy hadn’t dissipated. Hinata took a seat by Suna and shrugged off his jacket. “Sorry we’re late!”

“Yeah!” Bokuto took the spot beside Hinata and unzipped his jacket. “Traffic was crazy—oh my God. What’s that?” he leaned over Suna’s plate, eyes wide and drool sliding down the side of his mouth. “That smells good. Can I try some?”

“Yeah,” Suna said, holding out the plate. “For 1000 yen.”

Bokuto wasted no time reaching into his pocket for his wallet.

“We’ll order another round so ya don’t have to do that,” Aran said.

Thankfully the waiter arrived just in time. Aran put in another order of meat, and another round of drinks for the table. Sakusa had sat down at that time as well, taking the seat adjacent to Aran. He wore his mask still and didn’t take it off until their drinks and food came. Before digging in, Kita watched as Sakusa reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer. He squirted the liquid into his hands and rubbed them together for a count of thirty seconds.

“It’s eucalyptus scented,” Sakusa said as he caught Kita staring at his hands.

Kita nodded, “Nice.”

He kept himself focused on the conversation. Which was easier now with so many more people. Bokuto and Hinata asked him a lot of questions in tandem. Bouncing off each other’s energies.

“Whatcha guys think of the game?” Hinata asked.

“It was cool!” Aran answered. “Yer hops are insane, dude.”

“Hehe, thanks!”

“What about me?” Bokuto pointed at himself. “Huh? Huh?”

“I liked your backflips,” Suna said. “When you tripped on the ball during your landing.”

“Hey!” Bokuto frowned. The entire table broke out into laughter. “I was asking about my game! The game!”

“I quite enjoyed the way you smashed through the three middle blockers, Bokuto-san.” Kita smiled. “Their wall crumbled with ease from the force of your spike.”

Bokuto rolled back his shoulders and folded his arms, head thrown back as he laughed and laughed. “They did, didn’t they? I smashed them into pieces!”

“You’re so loud,” Sakusa grumbled, reaching over to grab meat for his plate. “Indoor voices.”

“Huh? What did you say?” Bokuto said. Whether the raise in his voice was on purpose or not, Kita wasn’t sure.

The table dissolved into conversation and Kita found his gaze falling to the doorway. Osamu hadn’t stepped in yet. Neither had Atsumu. Kita wondered if Atsumu ran away. Or if the two were in a heated debate about meeting him and how to behave. He frowned. While he and Atsumu were not on speaking terms, and while their end had been rather… messy, that shouldn’t stop him from enjoying time with the others.

“Oh, there’s Osamu!” Hinata’s head turned towards the door. Osamu walked in with a grumbling Atsumu behind him. Who was kicking at his feet while they walked.

“Cut it out, ya big baby!” Osamu snapped.

Atsumu’s lips curled sharply at the edges, “Shut yer trap! I ain’t no baby!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Osamu dragged Atsumu towards their table. As they approached, everyone said their greetings. Osamu let go of his hold on Atsumu’s sleeve so he could take a seat next to Suna.

There was only one seat left. And it was the space beside Kita.

“TsumTsum you took forever,” Bokuto waved. A bit of his beer sloshed out as he raised it up high. “Oh, and Myaa-san! Hi hi! Did you bring any of those rice balls with ya?”

“Yup,” Osamu grinned. “They’re in the car. Brought ya two whole cases. Should last ya for… well. Ya’d probably eat it within the hour.”

“You know it!”

The two started talking about Akaashi and rice balls. Hinata waved Atsumu over and the two exchanged their hellos along with the others. Before Hinata turned his head around and started asking the group what their thoughts were on who could win in a fight, Goku or Kirby. Which got Aran and Suna rather engaged and Sakusa looked on with mild disgust, that slowly dissolved into borderline interest when Suna started bringing up Youtube videos on his phone by users who had actually recreated the fight with some digital program. Kita’s not too sure what it was because he wasn’t really listening.

No, he was focused on Atsumu.

Atsumu, who was hovering over Hinata to get a better look at Suna’s phone. Atsumu, who’s laugh was still very much like a hyena. Loud, a near cackle that hopped and bounced around and around. Yet still had the effect of warming Kita down to his toes. Atsumu, who looked even taller from when they had last seen each other.

Kita found his gaze running over Atsumu. He looked good. Dressed in a MSBY Jackal black jacket that was zipped halfway and a pair of shorts. Casual for all intents and purposes, but it hugged his shoulders in a way that Kita couldn’t stop looking at.

This was his damnation.

Atsumu laughed at something Hinata had said, along with the others. Then, his gaze moved. And landed right on Kita.

Kita sucked in a sharp breath.

Atsumu didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Not when his eyes said it all. A sharp, narrowed gaze. Cold in its regard. Atsumu had a way of staring at someone like he was picking at their bones. Breaking them apart. Kita knew that gaze. He’d been under it so many times in the past. Had felt the repercussions of being the subject of Atsumu’s focus.

This gaze was different. It was one of a man who was seeing through you. Almost detached. A cool and distant regard for him being there.

There was no malice. There was no joy. Only apathy.

Somehow, that made the pit in Kita’s stomach crumble into a giant crater.

There was a horrible pang in Kita’s chest. A sharp and twisted sort of feeling. That made his eyes sting and his throat constrict something awful.

“That’s my seat?” Kita also noticed how quiet the table had gotten. Aran was shooting frantic looks back and forth between Kita and Atsumu. Suna was staring over the rim of his mug. Sakusa seemed neither here nor there with the situation. Hinata and Bokuto were staring with pieces of meat hanging from their mouths.

Osamu paid none of them any mind, though. He dug into his meal as he hummed in agreement, “Yeah. Ya gonna sit down or ya gonna stand there like a scarecrow?”

“What does that even mean?” Atsumu hollered. And somehow that broke the spell. Hinata and Bokuto threw their heads back and laughed.

“If I were a raven I’d be scared,” Suna said.

“Cause he’s ugly?” Sakusa followed up.

“Hideous,” Suna smirked behind his mug.

“Yer blind as hell!” Atsumu stomped over to the empty spot beside Kita and plopped down. He reached for a beer mug and guzzled about half the mug before releasing a large exhale. He slammed the mug down onto the table and reached out for a plate. “Someone get me some food, yeah?”

“Get it ya self. Yer an adult now. Surprise,” Osamu drawled.

“I worked my ass off in that game. I’m tired.”

“Remember when you got out on your first service ace?” Suna asked. “That was funny.”

Kita was horribly aware of Atsumu. How he sat beside him, yet didn’t acknowledge him. How he engaged everyone at the table. Kita’s warmth was gone. It was like there was this barricade. This wall. Erected to block-and the blockage was felt.

Part of him struggled to know where to go from here. Would the rest of the night progress with them not acknowledging each other? That felt rather petty and childish. Something Kita most certainly was not. Another part of him was mad. Angry. Annoyed that Atsumu was letting the past get in the way of the present. To ice him out so completely as if Kita wasn’t in pain too. As if the choice he had made all those years ago under the curled branches of cherry blossoms hadn’t gutted him too.

His grip tightened on his mug.

“Shin,” Aran said. Worry evident in his tone.

Kita ignored Aran and turned his gaze to Atsumu. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat. “Atsumu,” he tried again.

Atsumu kept talking to Osamu.

Kita’s eyebrows furrowed. “Atsumu.” he raised his voice a level louder. Aran’s worried face turned to near nervousness. Suna sneakily tried to raise his phone but Aran lowered it down.

Osamu’s eyes flickered towards Kita, who felt a rush of heat on his back that made him feel sick. “Tsumu yer being rude.”

“Huh?” Atsumu asked, chewing loudly on a piece of meat. He swallowed, washing it down with another gulp of beer. “How? I ain’t say nothin’.”

Osamu tilted his head Kita’s way. And that made Kita feel another spike of annoyance. “Kita’s tryna speak to ya.”

A tense silence formed. Kita’s palms grew sweaty. His shoulders turned taut. But he kept his gaze focused and unrelenting upon Atsumu. Who had yet to turn to him since sitting down.

“Atsumu, yer being rude.”

From the other side of the table, Kita heard someone suck in a breath.

Atsumu took a slow sip of his beer. He lowered it to the table and stared at it for several seconds. Kita took a good look at Atsumu’s face. A shadow had crossed over his eyes. And his jaw clenched. Then, he rested his chin in the palms of his hand. Casual, as if he was about to engage in conversation only to dismiss it afterwards.

“Did ya not get the hint? I don’t wanna talk to ya.”

“Atsumu!” Osamu hissed.

The crater in Kita’s stomach grew into a chasm. “That’s fine. I wasn’t looking for conversation from ya. I only wanted to say hello.”

A stormcloud brewed on Atsumu’s face. His lips twisted into a vicious sneer. “Just hello?” he barked out a laugh that held no ounce of humor in it. “Yer a fuckin’ piece of work. A fuckin’ piece of work.”

“I don’t think I should say anythin’ more to someone who’s iced me out the entire night.”

“Well I don’t see why I should say anythin’ at all to the person who played me for a fool.”

“Oh so that’s what happened…” Kita heard Suna mutter across the table. Followed by Aran telling him to be quiet.

Hinata cleared his throat. “Is uh, everything good Atsumu-san? Kita-san?”

“Peachy, Shoyou-kun!” Atsumu beamed, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Kita felt a furious rush forming in the crater of his stomach. Volcanic and ready to erupt.

He wasn’t a fool. He knew Atsumu wouldn’t be happy seeing him. That whatever cornering Osamu had spoken about earlier would probably be more confrontation than connection. Yet eighteen year old Kita was finding his heart breaking in pieces to know Atsumu’s gaze could be so cold and made so cold because of him.

Twenty-five year old Kita, on the other hand, was pissed.

“It’s rude to ignore someone though, TsumTsum!” Bokuto happily chewed on his food, already two beers down and making great progress on his third. “Ya know when I’d get ignored I’d take it to heart. I’d be bedridden for days! Ask Kaashi!”

“It’s true,” Osamu interjected. “He’s told me all about it.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and snorted, “I don’t feel much like being niiice!” he drawled. “Not to people who don’t deserve it.”

Kita’s eyebrow twitched. “So being a petty child is the appropriate route?”

“I’m only actin’ the way ya see me. A little child. Dumb as hell.” Atsumu took a drink. Guzzled it down to the last drop. And then raised his hand in the air, “Anyways. I stopped caring about this conversation. Waitress, another round please?” he called out. The waitress at the bar gave him two thumbs up and went to work on the drinks.

No one said a word. There was a ringing in Kita’s ears. He looked down at his beer but the sight of it left a sour taste in his mouth. He closed his eyes and pushed himself through a deep, shuddering sigh.

“Excuse me,” he said, unable to be in Atsumu’s presence anymore. He pushed himself up from his seat, throwing on his coat as he stalked out of the restaurant and into the cool, night air.

His eyes burned. That was the first thing he noticed when he got outside. Sitting on a bench a few feet away from the bar. He pressed the flat of his palms against his eyes. Willing the burning to stop. He hated this feeling. As if every fiber of his being was coming apart. Like his heart was breaking and corroding and he didn’t know how to put it back together.

He’d envisioned seeing Atsumu many times. In so many different ways. He had pictured their reunion to be a chaotic thing. Because Atsumu was Atsumu—headstrong and caustic and could be equal parts cruel as he was vulnerable. And Kita was logical. Saw things from a surgical cut and had the habit of never mincing his words. They would clash. They have clashed. But underneath it all, a desperate part of Kita, the part of him that was still eighteen and unsure of what that feeling was in his chest that yearned to memorize the shape of Atsumu’s mouth on his, had hope.

A foolish, devilish hope.

“Idiot,” he whispered into the cool night air. He needed something to center himself again. A quote. Or some mindless scrolling down his dashboard. He reached into the pocket for his phone, only to come out empty. He scowled. Had he left it inside there? Back on the table?

A brief rise of panic hit him. What if his phone had gone off and someone caught his notifications while they were looking? They’d see the inbox messages on his screen. And then that would be another thing Kita would have to navigate. The what is this question. The since when and for why are you doing this follow up.

He’d have to go back in there for his phone. But he’d rather eat mulch than do that at the moment.

“Hey.”

Kita peered up from his hands. Aran was in front of him. Smiling down in that warm, comforting smile that made Kita want to wrap his arms around his middle and maybe, just maybe, have a good sob.

“Hello.”

“Mind if I join ya?”

Kita nodded wordlessly. Aran took a seat beside him and rested back on the palm of his hands. He tipped his head up towards the sky. Above them, stars hung in quiet reverence. Docile and quiet. He wanted to be up amongst the stars right now. In the embrace of the heavens. Where the burning in his eyes would go away. Where the tightness in his throat would buside.

“Well, that sucked.” Aran started.

Kita snorted, “Ya don’t say.”

“Definitely not how I saw that goin’. To be honest.”

“I expected as much. If not worse. I apologize for our issues getting in the way of dinner.” he rubbed at his knuckles one by one.

Aran shrugged, “It was… somethin’. That’s for sure. How ya feelin’?”

“Like I might puke.” Kita admitted. “Like coming down to see them,” to see Atsumu, he wanted to say, “was a mistake.”

Aran nodded slowly. Kita allowed himself a moment of vulnerability by resting his head on Aran’s shoulder. Aran wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Being near Aran was always a comfort. An indulgence Kita needed to say thank you more to Aran for allowing him to have.

They sat together under the stars. The burning in Kita’s eyes became less apparent as the time passed.

“We can go back to the hotel,” Aran offered. “I’ll let Suna know and he can meet us back when he’s ready.”

Would that be running away again? A spiteful voice muttered. Aran was offering him an escape route. He could take it. Go back to the hotel and go through his routines. Wash his face. Brush his teeth. Say a prayer.

There was another voice, though. That encouraged him to go back in there and stand his ground. To let Atsumu know that no matter what had happened between them in the past, that didn’t warrant this behavior now.

“No it’s fine. We can go back to dinner.”

“Ya sure?” Aran frowned.

Kita offered what he hoped was a comforting smile, “I’m sure.”

The two went back into the restaurant. Kita felt much more sober now. The buzz he’d accumulated before Atsumu’s arrival evaporated into smoke and left Kita painfully aware of… everything. Of the slight throbbing in the back of his head. Of the rawness of his lips. Of the dryness in his throat. Of the itch and sweat on the palms of his hands.

He would stay the rest of the night. And go home with everyone else. He’d apologize also. To everyone—Atsumu included. And then, when the night ended. When the moon settled back into the earth and the sun rose to take its place, Kita would title this the final chapter and move on.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Kita apologized as he settled back into his seat. He put his phone back in his pocket, happy to find it untouched and still in its spot.

He noticed, though, that Atsumu was gone.

“Nah, it’s ok.” Osamu waved a hand, “Personally, I was already braced for it to be messy. S’all good.”

“I dunno why Atsumu-san was so mean earlier, though.” Hinata frowned. His eyes were the color of chocolate liquor. His cheeks bright spots of red as he swayed in his seat. He hiccuped, “‘Cause today he talked about ya nonstop!”

Kita saw Osamu choke on his drink, stifled by laughter.

He hated the flutter that twisted itself in the center of his chest. “I’m not sure what to do with that information.”

“Nooo Kita-san, listen!” Bokuto slurred, leaning forward on the table. He burped a bit. “All day, all day, he was like! Kita-san’s coming. I gotta play cool. No no, I gotta play my best. Ima make him not be able to take his eyes offa me!” Kita had to admit, Bokuto’s impression of Atsumu was impressive. “He said that! He really did!”

“It was annoying,” Sakusa said. “He said your name seventy-five times.”

“You kept count?” Suna asked.

“For blackmail purposes. He’ll owe me seventy-five of something.” Kita had no doubt Sakusa would make good on that threat.

He was glad the table wasn’t too put out by their little… moment. Though that didn’t settle his stomach at all. He felt uneasy still.

“Where’s Atsumu?”

Osamu took a long drink. “In the bathroom,” he said after he finished. “After ya left he had a tantrum and then went bonkers with the drinkin’.”

“Is he alright?” Kita frowned.

Osamu shrugged, “Dunno. Was gonna check on him in a few after I had some more food in me. Why?” Osamu rested his cheek in the palm of his hands. “Ya wanna go find him?”

He found himself nodding. Osamu took another drink. “Yes. I need to speak with him.”

“Ya don’t have ta, ya know. If it’s too... “ Osamu looked like he was searching for the right words, “raw.” was what he finally came up with.

He was raw. An open wound. But Kita was not eighteen anymore. He was not one to leave things half finished. He was not one to turn away. Forward, always face forward. He couldn’t leave things unfinished tonight. Perhaps that was his stubborn pride. That had somehow resurrected itself in the face of Atsumu. Who was vicious and cruel. Who was, to Kita, someone acting from a rightful source of pain. From hurt that was left unchecked, unresolved, and unspoken.

“I’ll go,” Kita rose from the table. “It’ll be okay.” he said, catching Aran’s mouth opening, perhaps ready to give some warning. Kita nodded, “I’ll be okay.” he gave a small smile. One he hoped showed a confidence he was scrapping up from the dirt.

With a final nod towards Aran, Kita rolled back his shoulders and headed for the bathroom.

/

Kita opened the door. Once inside, he was met with the smell of vomit. Putrid and ripe. He pinched his nose. His stomach turned from the smell. The bright lights of the bathroom hurt his eyes after being in the dim lighting of the bar. But he carried on. Following the smell from stall to stall until he saw the black and yellow bottoms of Atsumu’s sneakers.

His heart quivered as he raised one hand, hovering over the bathroom stall. Hesitation held him by the wrist. Firm, in a tight squeeze while it whispered in his ear this was not his battle.

Kita Shinsuke, however, had hesitated for far too long.

He knocked three times. Knock. Knock. Knock.

Atsumu’s groans came in response. “Samu that you? I fucked up. I fucked up Samu… I shoulda listened.”

Kita’s breath stuttered. The world froze. He was acutely aware of the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above his head. Of the sound of Atsumu shuffling, and a bang. Probably from stumbling against the bathroom wall.

He didn’t respond.

“He was right there in fronna me. Right there. And man, fuck, I wanted to say hi how are ya long time no see but instead I said all that. I said all that and I shouldn’t have. But I did. Cause I had to, ya know? If-If I were nice I’d have kissed him. Right then and there. Woulda kissed him square on the mouth and I, I know he wouldn’t like that. I had to be mean. Cause if he rejected me again I’d die. I’d die Samu-oh fu-”

Retching, followed by the sound of Atsumu emptying out the contents of his stomach. The floor beneath Kita’s feet swam. He forced himself to breathe. Though the act made him cough, horribly, a rattling in his ribcage. His head swam. A deep fog settling, like he was trudging through mud and muck to make sense of what he had just learned.

He should tell Atsumu that it’s him. That he’s confessing the weight of his sins upon the devil that brought him down to the underworld in the first place. He should go into the stall and wrap his arms around Atsumu. Press his lips to the back of his neck. Beg for forgiveness at the altar for his own crimes. His own transgressions.

“Atsumu,” Kita spoke.

The tension snapped like a wire. Kita caught the slight hitch of breath from the other side of the bathroom door. A click. The bathroom door swung open just in time for Kita to take a step back.

Atsumu’s mouth hung open. His eyes were wider than the light bulbs above them. His face was blotchy, sheen with sweat. His lips were wet. His pupils were unfocused. Unsteady. He wobbled a bit as his mouth opened, then snapped shut. Then opened again. A stutter, a false start.

“Hello,” Kita spoke again.

Atumu’s eyebrows pressed tightly together, “Why are ya here?'' Then a moment later, his face went blank. “Ya heard all that.”

“I did.”

Atsumu looked vulnerable. A raw nerve. Open and red and bleeding. Kita searched his face over and over again. There were very few moments he saw Atsumu this way. Not hiding behind ego and arrogance. Now he looked like he was barely keeping himself together.

We can make this work. We can! So don’t give up on us before we can even start.

Kita’s back in high school. Under the cherry blossoms. Where the sun hid behind the clouds that day and there was a bittersweet breeze blowing. Kita was looking at Atsumu’s face then too. Memorizing the slopes and lines of a face he’d seen so close and personal and intimate—only to be separated by time. By different choices. By different end goals.

He knew those moments they stole kisses in the spaces afforded to them were luxuries. Small indulgences that youth and proximity were able to grant them.

Time had passed. Years had piled on top of each other. Yet Kita somehow still reached Atsumu’s chin. And Atsumu could still peer down at him. Back then, he’d do it with a crooked and boyish grin. That alluded a shyness only a teenager unraveling the furls of their heart developing a crush could have. Now he just looked… pained.

Atsumu jammed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, “Why didn’t ya stay after the game?”

“So we’re talking now? Like adults?”

“Fuck you, Kita.”

Kita caught wind of the growl. Of the warning. Golden eyes remained steady. Holding without relenting the ferocity and fire of Atsumu’s blazing, brown eyes.

He’s beautiful, Kita thought.

“Excuse me?” The question ended in a high squeak. Atsumu’s eyes popped out of his head. Kita frowned. What? Why was he looking at Kita as if he’d just grown three heads and turned green?

. . .

Ah.

Ah.

“I said that out loud,” Kita blinked.

Atsumu covered his mouth, but Kita could still see red scarring the tip of Atsumu’s ears. He was still looking at Kita like he was a three-headed alien. His eyes darted to the side. No longer angry. No longer molten, volcanic heat holding onto years of righteous anger. Kita could see gears turning. As if Atsumu was trying to connect dots and make a picture from one, measly hint.

Kita’s instincts told him to run.

“You did.”

Kita nodded, but it felt stiff. Robotic. It was like suddenly someone had untied his shoelaces and his shoes slipped off in the process. The world tilted a fraction off its axis.

Run, run, run. He’ll catch you. You’ve never been able to escape him. Not really. Not fully. Not when all your answers to the anonymous questions in your inbox have thorns and roots and limbs spanning from the tree of something more than friendship, more volatile than affection, more damning than adoration that was planted in you by Miya Atsumu.

Kita didn’t say a word.

Neither did Atsumu.

Kita turned on his heel with sharp precision. His legs carried him to the door. He thought he could do this. He really did. He thought he could not be the scared eighteen year old who let his head win out over his heart. Because that’s who he was. A man dictated by logic. Who saw things clear cut. Who never cut corners. Who never cut people in half or into ribbons for the sake of himself.

Atsumu has ruined him. Utterly ruined the way in which he operated around the world. Demolished and devastated him the same way he slammed balls down for a wicked serve. With brutality. With intentional destruction.

Kita had to leave. He had to. He wasn’t ready. Not how he thought he was. What could he do, to Atsumu’s love that had transformed and twisted and curled? The love he gave to Kita so freely that day on graduation. The love Kita had cut at, and cut down, because Kita saw a future where he was in his golden, wheat field. And Atsumu stood on the center of the world stage. On opposite lines. In different directions. Stretched thin and always apart, rarely together.

Here was a secret: Kita was territorial. He could be calm. He could be patient. He could be secure in the knowledge that his partner was his, and his alone. But when he was eighteen and barely knew a thing about love—the only difference now is that he’s in his twenties and slightly more muscular—every emotion was heightened. Like the volume was always turned to the max.

So when he saw a girl brave enough to talk to Atsumu, who was known for his poisonous tongue, he would imagine himself going in there to assert his space. Slyly, of course. With a touch to Atsumu’s back. His lower back, to be precise. Because he knew that was Atsumu’s ticklish spot. That his touch there would make flutters run up Atsumu’s spine. And a tingle linger on his back that would always, always, always remind him of Kita’s touch.

He’d smile, fox curled, and say something like:

“Hello, Atsumu-san. We’re still on for your promise to help me reorganize the storage closet?”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And Atsumu’s face would light up. Bright and brilliant. Almost puppy like in his excitement. The ugly curl in Kita’s stomach. The wicked delight of knowing he brought that out of Atsumu and no one else could come close to do the same, was intoxicating.

He has drowned in it several times.

Kita was nearly at the door. His fingers gripped the cool metal of the handle. All he had to do was pull.

He pulled the door open a fraction. Then Atsumu’s hand pressed the door back close.

The dominos fell like this:

Kita was consumed by the heat.

The presence.

And the build of Miya Atsumu.

Atsumu smelled like sandalwood and sugar.

A subtle and warm scent that wafted under Kita’s nose.

Kita’s back was acutely aware of Atsumu’s chest. Pressed against it with just enough warning that the trap has been set. Enough distance to say if he wanted to run, he still could—but time, time was of the essence.

Kita was holding onto his breath. He forgot to let it go.

“Atsumu,” he did not recognize the voice that tumbled from his lips. Weaker than any teary prayer he’s gasped under cloudy, crescent moon nights. “I’m trying to leave.”

“Yer always doing that. Yer always walking away.” Atsumu was so close. His words burned into the back of Kita’s neck as Atsumu continued speaking. “And I let you last time. I did. I let ya go. But not again. Not this time. Ya can walk out but I’m coming for ya. Always. Wherever ya go. ‘Cause if there’s one thing that haunts me. If there’s one thing that keeps burning me in the back of my throat. If there’s one thing I fuckin’ regret, Kita. It’s not knockin’ some sense into that pretty lil’ head of yers so ya could see we coulda made us work.”

Time slowed to a crawl. Sweat pooled in Kita’s palms. Thud. Thud. Thud. A high-pitched, rhythmic, erratic beating of his heart. Every pound was loud. Every pound made his skin vibrate. His ears buzzed. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“Atsumu,” he worked the name out. Hard, rough against his tongue. “Please move.”

“I won’t.”

“Atsumu.”

“Kita, please.”

A moment’s worth of hesitation followed. And then, Atsumu’s head dropped. His forehead pressed to the crown of Kita’s hair. A shuddering inhale that Kita could feel from his back. That sounded as wrecked as Kita was feeling.

“Atsumu,” was more broken, more pleading than the last. “I let you go for a reason. Don’t you see how far you’ve come? Without…” he hesitated. His heart ached. “Without me?”

“I woulda been great regardless! That’s not the point! I wanted to be great with ya right by my side. I wanted to share my greatness with ya, and only ya.”

Atsumu’s hand on the bathroom door dropped. He wrapped his arms around Kita’s middle and hugged him tight. Six years worth of a hug. Kita could feel Atsumu’s arms tremble.

Kita’s hand was still on the door handle. His knuckles white, his fingers pulsing.

After a few moments, he dropped his hand. And let it fall on top of Atsumu’s own white knuckles. Let his fingers give Atsumu’s hand a soft, tender squeeze.

He felt the air Atsumu sucked in on the back of his neck.

“I would have held you back.” Kita whispers.

“Ya don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve played it in my head multiple times. Over and over. How much distance would be between us. Long distance is hard, Atsumu. We wouldn’t see each other as much as we had grown accustomed to during our school life. We could go months without seeing each other. And,” Kita licked his lips. He wondered how to phrase these next words. How to word the confession that was demanding to be shared.

He opened his mouth to speak.

The door opened, startling both men apart. A man stumbled into the bathroom, bumping into Kita. Who tipped a bit back into Atsumu’s chest. The man grumbled an apology and teetered over to a urinal.

The sound of the man relieving himself broke the spell. The tension.

Kita felt small and closed in and far too raw.

“Atsumu,” he started again. Turning to face him. At least once, so he could be selfish and memorize his face once more. “I’m sorry.”

Atsumu’s eyes frantically searched his face. His jaw clenched. “Don’t.”

Kita didn’t stay to let him finish. Couldn’t bear to listen to the way that single word came out so wrangled. Mauled. Ripped apart and broken down to finite pieces of granite and stone. He flung open the door, nearly out of the bathroom when Atsumu’s hand grabbed his wrist.

“I’m going to make good on my promise.”

Kita selfishly took those words. Hid it deep in the pockets of his heart.

“It was nice seeing you again, Atsumu-san.”

The bathroom door swung closed behind Kita on his way out.

/

Kita reached over 1,000 followers nearly eight months into his blog.

He was surprised, to say the least. He had no idea over 1,000 people were interested in the stuff he had to say. Many came for his love advice. His inbox became flooded to the point he needed to install XKIT on his Chrome to help manage all the messages. He even made a FAQ page for his followers to be aware of the timeline for his responses, the manner and method to which he created his responses, and an above all rule that he was not a professional. That his advice should be taken with a grain of salt. That, at the end of the day, it was their heart—not his words—they needed to follow.

It’s a Thursday.

The sun was beginning to sink low and heavy amongst the clouds. Taking its time to descend back into the earth. Kita had a great day in his fields. He harvested many crops. With enough of a yield to ship out to his business partners and still have some left over he could distribute to his local markets and food banks.

Farming was never not rewarding.

With dirt under his nails, and the sun’s heat pressing and sinking into the back of his neck, Kita didn’t have to think about two weeks ago. He could busy himself with farming. Busy himself with errands around town. Busy himself with sitting down and watching late night game shows with Granny. Busy himself with answering messages in his inbox.

Seeing Atsumu was definitely… nerve wracking. Kita was known for his unwavering resilience. Unflappable, a man who could face anything with a cool regard and a strong, steel spine. He was all those things. But then Atsumu. Atsumu would come along and shatter the steel in his spine in a matter of seconds. Would come along and turn to the coolness in his regard to the warmest, sunniest, brightest of adoration.

Even after all these years, his love for Atsumu never died out.

Of course it hadn’t.

It’s not like Kita had ended things between them because the love went away.

Zakita, I’m meeting my partner's parents for the first time and I’m really nervous—any advice?

I don’t think there’s anything to be nervous about. Your partner wouldn’t bring you to their parents if they didn’t see something worthwhile and long lasting in not only you, but the relationship. Believe in yourself. Your partner already does.

I find myself getting jealous a lot when my partner talks to other women. Even though I know they love me and it’s nothing. How can I stop?

Communication is the foundation of any good relationship. Let your partner know how you’re feeling. Many times, our insecurities come up when we least expect them. Build up your confidence outside your relationship.

Kita was in the groove today for answering messages. Some days were harder than others to gather his thoughts enough for an answer. He wanted to do things right. And doing things right meant, providing thoughtful responses. He wouldn’t want to give a half-assed answer to any of these heartfelt responses.

Every sent or reply after a careful read through made him feel content.

He still hasn't touched that one message, though. The one about when he knew when he had fallen in love. He had no idea when he would. If he would. The question still haunted him. As did seeing Atsumu the other day.

Kita rubbed at his forehead as he stood over his stove. The high pitched whistle of his kettle rang through the air. He pulled the kettle off the stove top and poured the hot water into his mug about halfway. He reached for the box of tea bags and pulled out one green tea leaf, dropping it into the water to steep.

The scent of green tea wafted to his nostrils. He still had more messages to answer. But his body was tired. And he had to wake up early tomorrow to head into town to distribute his rice.

He needed to answer a few more messages though before he could start his bedtime routine.

(The Kita Bedtime Routine consisted of: yoga, shower, brushing his teeth, washing his face, face mask if needed, prayers, bed).

Back to his computer, Kita opened up his dashboard again and found that one new message had popped up. He clicked it. And inhaled sharply after reading it.

Zakita, have you ever been in love before?

In his eight months on this blog, no one’s ever asked him about his love life. He can’t say he anticipated this development. Though, on reflection, it made sense. Someone would feel curious enough to ask if this popular blog that answered people’s questions on love had any experience in the realm themselves.

He immediately thought of blond hair, brown eyes, a wicked swerve, and imposing aura.

He could leave the message alone. Or delete it. No one needed to know his personal life. He could create that boundary here and now.

His fingers twitched. Hovering over the keyboard, he lowered his eyes. Fingers wiggling.

He clicked the reply button and the text box to write his response opened up.

I have.

He didn’t write anymore. Didn’t write any less. He just pressed sent and powered down his laptop.

The next morning, when he awoke, his inbox was on fire.

Messages upon messages sat in his inbox.

What’s your favorite flower? — Honeysuckle.

What do you look for in a partner? — I enjoy people who know who they are. Who live in their truth.

Favorite scent on a person? — Warm scents. Sugar. Driftwood. Sandalwood. Fire.

Brown or blue eyes? — Brown.

What was your ex like? — I never said I had an ex.

Ok but what was the person you loved like? — He hesitated on this one. Wondering how truthful he should be. And then he decided, if not here, then when. When else would he have this moment of emptying out the pieces of himself he never had the chance to.

They were a menace. They marched to the beat of their own drum. Telling them what to do was impossible. Yet they expected everyone to meet their level—all the time. The nastiest tongue I’ve ever seen. I ain’t ever met anyone who could be as down right nasty as they could.

The one I loved was someone who was okay being on their own. Because what they saw on the mountain top was so glorious, if you couldn’t see that; that’s your own fault.

Despite it all they were goofy. A real idiot. A real fuckin’ buffoon. More simple than people may have expected. They were fun. Walks home with them were always enjoyable. We’d talk about tv shows and books and funny comics we’d read in the paper. I’d ask to take the long route on purpose. So I could spend more time with them.

I liked watching the way they loved things. They loved this one sport. And they were amazing at it. A supernova. A once in a lifetime genius. They loved it in a way that was so inspiring. Working day and night, even at the cost of their own health—I did not approve of that by the way, and told them so many times.

When I praised them, they glowed like the summer sun on a hazy afternoon. When we kissed, they were clumsy. But then again, so was I. Whenever we pulled apart I’d always open my eyes to watch their face. And they’d have this stupid, gooey grin on their lips. Their cheeks would be red like a cherry tomato. And they’d open their warmed over chocolate eyes at me and I wanted to give them everything and anything. I wanted them to do that in return.

His vision blurred. His eyes burned. His cheeks were wet and runny. He wiped away the tears from his eyes, but they kept coming. And so did the messages.

Do you still love them? — I think so.

Why did you let them go? — I would’ve held them back. They were destined for greatness. I couldn’t be a blockage.

Isn’t that cowardly? LOL — Probably, yes. I wanted to run from what I thought would be a painful ending if we got together and didn’t work. I thought I could cling to our memories, our fleeting moments, through graduation. Time moves on. As do people. I thought with distance, we’d be ok. The feelings would fade. And we’d just think of our love as a moment.

Was it a moment? To you? — . . . No. Not it wasn’t.

/

“Thanks for the delivery, Kita!”

Kita laid the last bag of rice on top of the stack, “No problem.” He wiped at the sweat on his brow. “This should last you for the next six months.”

“A lifesaver you are,” Osamu looked pleased, smiling from ear to ear as he leaned against the stack of rice. “My empire would be nothin’ without yer rice as the backbone. Or hm,” he pursed his lips like a duck and tapped his chin, “the rice paddy? ‘Cause ya know-”

“I don’t,” Kita held up a hand to stop Osamu from going down that rabbit hole any further.

Since his very candid answers on his blog, Kita had swarms of messages asking to divulge more details on his love affairs. He answered them sparingly. After the first few, he felt naked. Sore. Opening up about feelings he hadn’t touched or interacted with in a while was tough work. Harder than pulling up weeds or pruning crops. While many questions were intense, invasive, or deep. Others were more light hearted.

When was your first kiss? — Third year of high school. In the storage shed of our gym.

Do you like to be on top or on bottom when you hold hands? — On bottom. It’s more comfortable to me that way.

Do you like to top or bottom PERIOD? — I’ll be refraining from answering that.

He had no idea he was interesting enough to warrant so many questions. But they were fun, in their own way, to answer.

One anon, he realized, was much more… pointed, than the rest. While a majority of his messages were pretty general. Asking about surface level things like where he’d want to get married. How’d he want to be proposed to. If he had any funny dating stories.

This anon asked him questions describing who was the person he was in love with. What did they think about them. Did they miss them. Were they on their mind, or not at all. Had Kita moved on?

These were the questions that rubbed at the wounds Kita ignored to heal all these years. Until one day he decided to just answer them. One by one. A catharsis in the form of Tumblr messages and pressing send.

“Ya busy tonight, Kita? Lemme treat ya!”

“You always want to treat me.”

“I do, cause I barely ever get to hang out with ya.”

Kita frowned, “We hung out a while ago.”

Osamu shrugged, “Yeah but that was a group of us. Let’s just hang, me and you. There’s this good spot I know that makes a mean batch of curry. And they’ve got picked plums,” he offered, waggling his eyebrows.

Picked plums huh…

Kita was a simple man. Of simple pleasures. One of them being pickled plums.

Thus, Kita found himself at dinner with Osamu. Who spent most of the time showing him pictures of Akaashi and him on their latest vacation to California.

“And here we are reenactin’ my favorite scene from the manga I was tellin’ ya about.” Osamu zoomed in on the photo of him, dipping Akaashi for a kiss. While Akaashi held up a book in his hands to block out their faces.

Kita nodded, “Impressive. You dipped him very low. That requires a lot of core strength.”

“Can’t ya say it’s cute like a normal person?” Osamu sniffed, pocketing his phone.

“It was implied,” Kita quipped, albeit dryly. Osamu rolled his eyes and rose from his chair.

“Ima go take a piss! Meanwhile, ya sit there and think about several compliments to say about me and my boyfriend when I get back.”

Kita waved him off as he walked away. Saying that if Osamu's pride in his relationship hinged on compliments from Kita, that was something he should double check about.

On his own, Kita finished the rest of his meal. And once that was finished, took out his phone to check his messages. He had one new message, from that strangely curious and precise anon from earlier.

You said earlier you don’t regret what happened to you and the person you were in love with. That you don’t regret letting them go. But that, if you could go back in time, you’d want to relieve the moments you spent with them. Just once more. Just to remember. But those are just memories. You can’t cling to them forever.

What if you had the chance to be with them now? Nothing stopping you.

Would you say yes?

Kita stared at the message. His heart pulsed quickly. It was a very… intense question. He had an answer for it. An indulgent answer. The answer that he would be selfish to say, selfish to want, selfish to speak into existence. But this was the space for that, no? This one little place he’s created for himself where his whims and desires could be fleshed out. Could take root. Could be born.

So he responded the way he wished he had back under the cherry blossoms.

I would.

Kita felt like he just finished a good harvest. The sense of satisfaction in the palm of his hands, tingling and burning from the rush of being honest. No, not honest. Of being vulnerable. Of allowing his wounds to heal, just a little. By admitting that if he could, if he had the chance, he’d do it all again with Atsumu.

Coming to this conclusion did not require a grand force of divine intervention. He didn’t need to sit down with someone and talk about what happened. What could have been. What may have occurred. No, because this was something Kita knew in his spirit. This was something Kita was aware of from the time he felt Atsumu’s fingers slip from his grasp.

This was something Kita knew as truth, as dictum, as holy scripture the day he saw Atsumu again.

Atsumu who, despite all the glory he’s tasted over the years. Despite the way gold slipped through the gaps of Atsumu’s fingers. Despite the fact that he could have the world in the palm of his hands. What he wanted. What he craved. What he wished for—was Kita.

Kita Shinsuke.

Only, Kita Shinsuke.

He took a long gulp of his beer. Hoping bubbles and liquor would settle the waves in his stomach. He picked up his phone again and started scrolling down his dashboard. Reblogging pictures of cows to calm his nerves. He wondered what was taking Osamu so long to return. He had half a mind to go check on him when he heard the sound of the chair across from him scratch the wooden floor.

“Welcome back, Osa-” the words died on his tongue. Evaporated into ashes. It hurt to swallow.

Osamu didn’t return.

It was Atsumu.

Kita’s mouth hung open. Atsumu wore a black shirt, tucked into dark pants with a black belt. A few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a brief expanse of skin. Kita found his eyes running down the slopes of his body. His outfit hugged him in all the right places.

Eyes and heads had turned towards Atsumu. Rightfully so. He looked incredible. He looked handsome.

Kita’s mouth went dry.

His mouth snapped shut. His eyes narrowed on the fact that Atsumu had his hands behind his back. Atsumu, tall, imposing and powerful Atsumu looked nervous. Looked out of place. This was different from their first meeting. Where the barrier Atsumu had erected between them was ice and tundra.

He looked like the boy who stopped by Kita’s classroom everyday to ask if they were still down for lunch. Who got happy when Kita said yes. Who nearly skipped out of the classroom and then ran into a teacher because he was so excited they got to share lunch together.

Kita was in danger.

“Before ya run away I want ya to know I warned ya this would happen,” Atsumu blurted out.

Kita racked his head for what he could possibly be referring to. Then, it clicked. “You’re chasin’ me.”

“Damn straight. And don’t be mad at Samu either. I basically blackmailed him to let this happen.” Atsumu stomped over until he was standing beside Kita. From his back, he pulled out flowers. Brilliant flowers.

Honeysuckle, to be exact.

“You…” Kita’s voice wobbled. His eyes dilated. And for a second, he saw red. He shot up like a rocket and gripped Atsumu by the collar. Pure fury radiated in his eyes. His knuckles were white as he tightened his grip. The people around them stopped talking. All eyes were on them. Kita’s nostrils flared. His eyes were wide and his words were venom. “Am I some fuckin’ joke to ya? Cause I ain’t laughin’.”

“No!” Atsumu grabbed his wrist with his free hand. “No, lemme explain. Before ya get us kicked out for brawlin’!”

“Explain how ya made a fool of me? Askin’ all those questions. Was it fun? Did ya enjoy yourself? Had a good laugh?”

“I wanted to talk to ya, but I didn’t know how!” Atsumu cried out. “That night when you left the restaurant you’d left behind ya phone. I happened to glance at it and saw the notification for ya blog. It had the name on it so I got curious and checked it out and that’s when I found ya do love advice but!” Atsumu tightened his grip, his eyes stern and sincere. “I promise ya, I didn’t send those messages to play with ya. I sent them cause I was…” He licked his lips carefully, “Desperate. And I just wanted to know if the bathroom was a fluke. Or if I had a chance. Or what the fuck was goin’ on in yer head when ya dumped me because it’s been years and we haven’t spoken! Not once! About it! And Kita, dammit, I’m still in fuckin’ love with ya even after all these years. Even when you left me! So—”

“Sit down.”

“I-” Atsumu blinked, his grip loosening. “What?”

Kita released Atsumu from his grasp and sat back down in his seat. He fidgeted with his watch and then waved the waiter over. The waiter jumped, startled, but came over anyway.

“Can I get a refill, please?”

“Certainly, sir.” the waiter darted off to fulfill the request. Kita stared at Atsumu. Who was looking at him like he wasn’t sure if he’d said anything at all. Or if he was even real.

“Sit.” Kita commanded.

Atsumu sunk down into the chair across from him.

When the waiter came back and filled his beer neither man spoke. Kita stared at the bouquet of honeysuckle laying on the table between them. Their golden petals were beautiful, and horrifying. All in one blow.

This was not what he was expecting. He felt like someone had taken the wind from his sails and he was that eighteen year old boy who didn’t know what reaction Atsumu was going to have when he pulled him by the tie to press their lips together. To know if Atsumu’s mouth tasted horrific. Only to find out he was the sweetest honey Kita’s lips had ever tasted.

Kita took his newly refilled mug and took several gulps.

“I know yer mad,” Atsumu started.

“Mad’s an understatement.”

“Well, what would ya have done in that situation? If ya were in my shoes!”

“Contacted Osamu.”

Atsumu scowled, folding his arms. His hair was immaculately styled. In a golden swoop that curled in the front of his face. “I tried contactin’ Aran. Before. When we graduated. He said getting me in contact with ya was probably a bad idea.”

Kita took another sip, “It probably would have been.”

Atsumu flinched. “Do ya…” he darted his eyes. Swallowed. Probably around his resolve.” Nah, Ima not ask ya that. Cause I’m not givin’ ya an out.” he met Kita’s gaze once more. “I’ve been chasin’ after yer ghost for years. And when I saw ya again, it was like getting slapped in the face with all the things I ever wanted, and couldn’t have. I was mad. But I also realized that I couldn’t get over you. I never could.”

“You don’t need me. You-”

“What I need isn’t for ya to decide, Kita!” Atsumu slammed his fists on the table. The glass and silverware rattling. His voice raised. “I do. Me. Miya fucking Atsumu. And what I want. What I need. What I’ve always wanted no matter how many people I tried and used to get over ya, is you. Kita motherfucking Shinsuke. So please,” his voice grew quiet and shaky around the edges. His fists uncurled and his shoulders drooped.

“Please, stop runnin’ from me. Please, gimmie a chance to show ya this could work. We could work.”

What if you had the chance to be with them now? Nothing stopping you.

Would you say yes?

I would.

His response to that question—-Atsumu’s question—played over and over again in his head. Swarming, with an incessant demand to be felt. To be recognized. To be heard. This was the moment. Fabricated and schemed, but he knew Atsumu meant his word from all those weeks ago. Hell. From graduation.

When he told Kita with tears down his face that Kita was gonna regret not letting what they had come true. That he couldn’t let fear dictate how they moved. That the what ifs/almost/maybes were just that, possibilities. And they’d never know if they didn’t try.

Here was his chance.

Kita stared at the honeysuckle on the table. He could run, he could. Use anger as an excuse and leave. Never turn back. Finally be rid of this, of Atsumu. Kita searched Atsumu’s face. This man who was always so confident when holding a volleyball, but who looked so vulnerable and open when handling his heart in the palm of his hands. He could be rid of this, forever.

But he didn’t want to be.

Kita reached out for the flowers. He took the bouquet and held it in his hands. He caught the hitch of breath from across the table. Flickered his eyes up to see Atsumu watching him with eyes as wide as saucers, and a smile stretching across his face.

“Yer sayin’ yes,” Atsumu choked out. His bottom lip wobbled.

Kita smiled down at his flowers, albeit a little crookedly. “Ya brought my favorite flowers. And I am a rather simple man to please.” His eyes cut up sharply, narrowed to golden daggers pointed at Atsumu’s neck. Atsumu snapped to attention. His posture is straight and perfect. “Don’t ever do that again, though. I like my blog and the safe space I’ve curated on it. I kept it a secret for a reason. I don’t appreciate you usin’ it to get what ya want.”

Atsumu’s face was glowing. His smile was so wide. He nodded eagerly, but he didn’t apologize. “It was either this or I was gonna wait outside your house everyday until ya let me in. Samu said this was better.”

“Osamu knew?”

“Oops!”

Kita rubbed a hand over his face. God, Atsumu was a menace. A real piece of work. As he peeked through his hands, though, Atsumu was looking at him as if he were a masterpiece. A work of art. A one in a million type of guy. Kita’s heart ached terribly. But this time, it was a pleasant ache. That had him smiling despite himself.

“Yer awful.” he said, with every ounce of affection he had stored up for years.

Atsumu smirked, “I know. But seriously though, Zakita? That has yer name in it! That’s not subtle at all—OW!”

For the sake of his sanity, Kita chucked a used napkin at Atsumu’s face. Grinning triumphantly when it hit its mark.

/

On the way back to Kita’s home, they held hands.

Atsumu’s hand was on the top. Kita’s hand was on the bottom.

It was odd. Kita flexed his hands in Atsumu’s grip. Doing little squeezes. It’s been years since he’s held Atsumu’s hands. Yet their fingers interlocked as if they were never apart. Slipping into the grooves and gaps between one another’s fingers like puzzle pieces.

Atsumu even hummed, swinging their hands a bit.

Kita held onto his flowers in his other hands, and brought them up to sniff. “Yer a real piece of work, you know.”

Atsumu peered down at him, “So I’ve been told. It was a brilliant idea, though. Ya can’t be mad at my ingenuity.”

“Is that a challenge? I think being conned by the man who’s trying to win me over is a good reason to be mad.”

“Please no we’re having such a good walk! I was joshin’!”

“Who’s josh?” Kita asked, dead serious.

Atsumu balked at him. Like he couldn’t believe Kita was so dense. But then he narrowed his eyes. Staring Kita’s expressionless face down before his mouth broke out into a smile. He chuckled, “Ya son of a bitch. Nearly got me there.”

Kita smirked, bumping his shoulder into Atsumu’s side.

The walk to Kita’s place from the station was about twenty minutes. In those twenty minutes, they didn’t talk about the six years of distance between them. They talked about their day. Atsumu had a personal day that he took advantage of to come and see Kita. Once he found out Osamu was meeting with him today, he knew it was the perfect chance to try and win him back.

“You have a lot of faith in yourself,” Kita murmured, rubbing the back of Atsumu’s hand with his thumb.

Atsumu stopped once they got to Kita’s door. Standing so he can look at Kita properly and directly. He leaned forward till their foreheads almost touched. “I did. But I also had faith in ya. That ya still believed this could be. Even if ya were bein’ a stubborn bull about it.”

Kita softly bumped their foreheads together. “I’ve been told my stubbornness can be my downfall.”

“I find it kinda sexy,” Atsumu’s nose pressed against his forehead. The night was warm. Warmer now, that they were exchanging heat and in each other’s space. Six years have passed since Kita knew what it was like to stand in Atsumu’s presence. To be so close he can feel his heat radiate personally and intimately.

To see his face up close.

“Course you do…” he sighed. “Atsumu,” Kita pulled back so he could get a real good look at him. “We need to talk. We need to figure out this.”

“Do we?” Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “Yer overcomplicatin’ things, Kita. Listen, it’s you. And it’s me. And we take things day by day. But!” he raised a finger, “I’m calling ya my boyfriend.” he pressed the tip of his finger against Kita’s nose.

Kita scrunched up his face, “The media-”

“Can suck my toes.”

“... Alright. And the distance? Our schedules?”

“We take that as we come. Osaka’s not too far from here. Two hours at most. And game days,” Atsumu shrugged. “Would ya wear my jersey and come watch my games?”

“If I’m free.”

“Kita!”

Kita smiled, pressing the tip of his finger to Atsumu’s nose. “We can coordinate that next time we talk. On the phone. Now that we have each other’s numbers.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to it,'' Atsumu muttered. His eyes searched Kita’s face. What he was searching for, Kita wasn’t sure. Kita dropped his hand.

There was a moment where they were staring. Eyes on each other, then down to their mouths. Atsumu wasn’t even trying to hide his desire. He looked like he wanted to devour Kita. Swallow him whole. Gobble him up.

Atsumu tilted his head down. Closed his eyes. Closer—

Kita covered his mouth with his hand. Atsumu’s lips pressed against the back of his hand instead of his lips. A little damp and puckered. Atsumu’s eyes snapped open.

“Kita, what the fuck!”

“I don’t kiss on the first date,” came his response.

Atsumu sputtered, “Who the fuck have ya been datin’?!”

“I don’t see why I need to share that.”

“Oh my God,” Atsumu groaned. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“Are you askin’ me out on a second date?”

Atsumu’s face suddenly got serious. He grasped Kita’s hand that was covering his mouth and took it into his own. He pulled Kita’s hand until he had it pressed against his lips. Atsumu kissed the back of his hand, then each individual knuckle. He never broke eye contact with Kita. Who felt his cheeks turn into warm, red suns.

Atsumu turned Kita’s hand over to kiss his palm, “On second dates. On third dates. On five hundred dates. From now, to always.”

They stood in front of Kita’s home. Not under cherry blossoms. And this wasn’t an ending, it was a beginning. Something familiar yet dangerously new all at the same time.

Kita smiled, stretching across the expanse of his face until his cheeks hurt. Atsumu smiled back at him, right into the palm of Kita’s hand.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

/

when do you /know/ you're in love? when was the moment you knew?

Kita finally had an answer for this: The moment I knew I was in love was after graduation. When I cried my eyes out because I let the one person I saw forever with go. Because I thought it would be better. I cried so hard my eyes were all red. I didn’t think I’d do that. I thought I could let them go and it would be ok. I wasn’t. That’s how I knew. But love works differently for everyone.

You’ll know when you do. Whether it’s in the heartache, or the gaps of your heartbeat.

You’ll know.