Archive of Our Own ^beta

Atsumu looks at the soccer ball in his hands and his classmates hopping up and down on the field. The sun shines brightly in his eyes and he scrunches his eyes against it, raising a hand.

"Come on, come on! Throw! Throw the ball!"

"Here! Open! Open, Atsumu!"

He shakes his head, tossing the ball and kicking it towards the middle of the field. From Watanabe's expression, he won't be invited to join them for lunch time soccer until Atsumu redeems himself, but for now, he runs off, ignoring Osamu's voice asking him where he's going.

"Oi! Tsumu!"

There's an old, bent tree by the outdoor storage unit where the teachers keep things like hula hoops and various balls for game day. Atsumu nearly trips over a wayward root sticking out of the ground before turning, catching a tiny boy in front of the tree with a mass of curls bending his head down, arms wrapped around his knees.

"Why are you crying?" He asks. On the other side of the fence, a car whooshes past, stirring a cloud of petals that had been collecting on the ground to rise.

The boy inhales sharply, "I'm not crying!"

"You are!" Atsumu says bluntly. Two giant drops of tears spills down the boy's red cheeks and Atsumu whips his head left and right, hoping none of the teachers sees this, "Wait, wait, wait, don't cry, please don't—"

The boy rubs his nose on his sleeve, "They called me 'Permy.' None of them want to play."

From the field, a figure comes running, dressed the same pants and shoes as him, but in a red sweater. Osamu's already opening his fat mouth, "Oi, Tsumu, what are you— Oh."

The boy seems to wilt under another gaze, waiting. Atsumu steps in front of him, causing Osamu to whack him in the arm.

"OW! I'm telling Haruki-sensei!"

Osamu scoffs, "Go ahead. I'll tell him you stole my clay last week and how you were the one who lost Amano-san's erase during music cla—"

"You—"

Osamu crosses his arms, "The sandbox's free."

Atsumu whips his head around to see that— the sandbox is free. It never is, usually full of people digging and burying items and playing castle and moat. He turns around to see his brother studying the little boy carefully, tugging on the boy's arm, "Hey, P— Hey! Hey! Let's play there."

"No."

"Huh? Why not?"

The boy mutters something under his breath. Atsumu asks him to repeat it, "I said, the sand gets everywhere. It's itchy."

"Then what do you want to play?"

The boy's expression turns blank. Atsumu's not sure if he said something bad again, looking to Osamu for support because if he makes another classmate cry, Haruki-sensei will write to his mom and Okaa-san's cooking shrimp tonight, so he absolutely cannot make someone cry again because he adores ebi-mayo.

He awaits with bated breath, wondering if he could sprint away before the teachers catch the boy's inevitable tears again when he softly mumbles, "Puzzle."

"What?"

"Puzzle," He says louder. "Puzzle. The hundred piece one of Kuma-san and the dandelion."

Atsumu has no idea what that puzzle even is, but the boy picks himself up, dusts off his pants by pulling his sleeve over his hands and runs for the building.

Bewildered and a little confused, Atsumu follows, dragging Osamu with him.

We started the class by bowing and greeting Haruki-sensei. Kiyoomi-kun bowed properly and greeted him in a soft tone! Kiyoomi-kun ate all of his apples during snack break at 10:30AM and played Hot Cross Buns on his recorder during music time.  

After lunch, he completed a puzzle with two boys in his class for the rest of the day and sat next to them. It's very impressive, he was so quiet before and this is the first time I've heard him speak so much!  

-Mamiko-sensei

"Do you have another pencil?"

Atsumu turns around, already pulling a somewhat dull pencil from his pencil case. The front is decorated with Kamen Yaiba which is a hundred times cooler than Osamu's, "Yeah! It's a bit dull but—"

He freezes, watching Kiyoomi's— Okaa-san sighed when Atsumu told her all about his new friend, drawing a blank when she asked what his name is before rummaging in her drawers for their class list— eyes shine with unshed tears.

"Hey, why are you crying again?" He mumbles quietly. He sneaks a look around the class. Everyone seems to be concentrating on their own workbook, copying their names that Haruki and Mamiko-sensei had written out on a piece of yellow sticky note in the shape of a lemon.

Across the room, Osamu shoots their table a glance, eyebrows lifting. Atsumu makes a shooing motion to him and he huffily swivels his head back to his workbook.

The bottom lip of Kiyoomi's mouth wobbles, "It's hard."

"What? Writing?"

"Uh huh," Kiyoomi whispers. He scoots slightly closer to Atsumu and shows him his sticky note.

Atsumu makes a face of horror at his full name, intimidating with thick black lines from the sensei's fat marker, "F-Five characters...." He couldn't even read any of the kanji, not even the second one, which looks the simplest.

"My hand is sore," Kiyoomi grumbles, accepting the pencil from his hand and adjusting his hold. He writes slowly, the tip careening left and right as his voice pitches, "Everyone's already done their first page."

"You can have my last name when we're older."

Kiyoomi sticks his tongue out, brow furrowing, "Okay, thank you."

While Kiyoomi moves at a snail pace, kids are running to wash their hands and moving to the other classroom for lunch, Atsumu flips to a new page, pretending he's still writing, and doodles on the margins of his notebook and fills two lines.

"Hi, Atsumu-kun," Mamiko-sensei approaches, thrilling, "Ah, you're nearly there! Good job. How are you, Kiyoomi-kun? Almost done?"

"Almost done."

Mamiko-sensei cheerily whistles, clapping her hands eagerly, "Alright, sensei will be in the corner if you need help okay?"

"Okay," They both chorus. Atsumu watches Kiyoomi before tipping his head back and swiveling his head to see Mamiko-sensei beam a knowing smile at him.

"You don't need to wait for me," A quiet voice says, interrupting him, "You can go eat."

Atsumu lies. He's been officially booted out of Watanabe's friend circle. It'll be annoying to ask other classmates to play with him now during lunch time but he never really liked Watanabe anyway, "I'm not waiting for you, the sink's just too crowded."

Kiyoomi looks up, gazing at him with big eyes, "...Want to do another puzzle?"

"Okay but I'm picking this time."

The boy grins, "Deal."

Atsumu-kun bowed at the start of class and sang the good-morning song. At snack break he got into an argument with his brother about an action figure but cooled off on his own. At music class he sang the Song of Kyoto all by himself.  

Before lunch, we were all practicing writing our names and Atsumu stayed behind to keep one of his classmates company. How heartwarming! We hope they continue to be friends after kindergarten is over!  

-Mamiko-sensei

Atsumu notices it a few days later, how Kiyoomi always eats his lunches like he won't see it again, and he's the one living with Osamu, who he's sure is the reincarnation of the vacuum cleaner from Teletubbies.

"Hey," Atsumu says during arts and crafts. They're working with clay today, and sensei has already gone around the room to make sure everyone's sleeves are rolled up, "Does your parents not feed you?"

Over on the other side of the room like he's heard every word, Osamu whips his head around, glaring at Atsumu.

Kiyoomi doesn't seem fazed by the question, shaping his clay into a dolphin. His nose is slightly red— Atsumu had run for the bathroom during snack break and came back to Watanabe and Hyoudo calling him Permy again— but his eyes are clear, "They don't cook."

"At all?"

"Hitomi tries, but she's busy. Takumi has his job too, so sometimes we just all eat bentos from the conbini or from the freezer."

Atsumu marvels at Kiyoomi's bravery. He wouldn't dare to call his mother by her first name, squishing the clay between his fingers, "Do you want a bento? My mom always makes extra when she cooks."

"Eh?"

"My Okaa-san does this 'meal prep' thing because she's busy too!"

Kiyoomi ignores him, "Is that okay? Giving me a bento?"

"I'll ask, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind!" Atsumu bounces, "Oh! We're going to the park this weekend, why don't we meet up?"

Kiyoomi's eyes turn shiny. Atsumu stiffens before poking his elbow, "Stop crying! Samu's already glaring at me because he thinks I'm being mean to you and—"

"I-I want to go! The park by the garden, right?" Kiyoomi stands. He flushes, "Oh but Hitomi might have clubs."

"What if.... What if we pick you up from your house?"

Kiyoomi's eyes go round and he nods. Atsumu almost reaches to pat his head but pulls back his hand at the last minute, not wanting to dirty his hair or shoulders.

From across the room, he sees Watanabe glaring at them and Osamu turning away with his cheeks pulled into a big smile.

Osamu-kun's improving his music skills very quickly, he now can play the Kagome, Kagome song with the rest of the class! He eats very diligently and plays well with the other kids.  

Today, I found him watching his brother across the room and smiling. Even if they fight often and argue a lot in school, he has a very good relationship with Atsumu-kun. I hope this translates to their home life too!  

-Haruki-sensei

Atsumu dashes up the steps, tip-toeing to hit the bell as his mother and Osamu stroll behind him, hand-in-hand.

"He's not going anywhere, stupid," Osamu sighs, ears sticking out of his baseball cap. Atsumu bristles and moves to kick his shins when the lock behind the large metal door snaps and opens, Kiyoomi peeking out in jeans and a dark blue sweater with a white button down poking out of the collar.

"Kiyoomi! Good morning!!"

Osamu nods, "Morning."

"Good morning, Kiyoomi-kun," Atsumu hops and drags his mother forward, who crouches until she's at eye-level with him, "We're going to walk you to the park, play and wait until your family picks you up at three, right?"

Kiyoomi nods, oddly solemn. He bows, eyes hidden by his curls, "Yes, that's what my mom agreed to. They'll try their best to be on time, thank you for doing this."

Atsumu's mother bows too, "It's no problem at all, whenever you're rea—" Kiyoomi dashes inside and reappears in a matter of seconds, a floppy hat hiding his hair and a backpack on top of his sweater. He shoves his feet in a pair of runners and tightens the Velcro straps.

They take over a swing set and rotate on who gets to be pushed by Atsumu's mother. Osamu wanders off and runs after kids with a soccer ball over in a corner, Atsumu's mother eventually says her arms are tired and retreats to a bench, striking a conversation with a father who steps every few sentences to make sure his daughter hadn't fallen off the monkey bars.

All this while, Kiyoomi grins and beams, following Atsumu around as they chase after other kids (Kiyoomi's surprisingly quick on his feet when it comes to tag), watching Osamu win a game for his soccer team and lying in a heaping pile as Atsumu's mother pulls out a five-tiered bento.

"—This is fried chicken, tsukemono, tamagoyaki, ham and sausage skewers with quail egg, cheese sandwich and onigiri!" Atsumu yells.

His mother sits him down and runs over his hands with a wet wipe, scolding, "Atsumu, even though we're outside, we have to use our inside voice, okay? Kiyoomi-kun— Oh you're already cleaning your hands, how nice! What do you want first?"

Osamu sulks, pouting as he longingly stares at the onigiri, "Kaa-san...."

"Just this once, okay? Can you share with Kiyoomi-kun?"

"Guess so."

Atsumu takes his share next, grabbing an onigiri and some skewers as Osamu starts to inhale some rice, "Hey, did you see us run, Kaa-san?"

"I did, you two might even be faster than me— Osamu! Eating is not a competition, stop acting like you're possessed by a ghost—"

"Maybe I am."

"O-sa-mu!"

Kiyoomi quietly watches, nibbling on fried chicken decorated with a frog food flag as he looks left and right. Atsumu relaxes, watching the other kids being pulled away for lunch time and lessons. Soon, the playground is quiet again.

"Parent and Guardian Day is coming up soon, Kiyoomi-kun," His mother says, popping an octopus sausage in her mouth, "Will your parents attend?"

Kiyoomi wilts slightly. His bangs are growing quite long, nearly hiding his eyes fully, "Um, maybe. They're busy."

Atsumu purses his lips, chewing his cheese sandwich in distaste. What kind of parents does he have, to abandon him like this?

Kiyoomi's mood slowly declines the closer three o'clock comes. They've moved to another location in the park where they can see ducks resting by the pond and it's within sight of a clock tower, the long hand inching closer and closer to 12.

When Osamu is distracted, following his mom as she tells him to pose in front of a flowering bush, Atsumu nudges his arm, "How come your parents are so busy all the time?"

"They work over there."

He follows Kiyoomi's fingers, at the large white building with a helipad on top, "The hospital?"

Kiyoomi nods, sticking his hands into his jeans. His white runners are slightly dirty and he scuffs it on the sidewalk as Osamu races after a dragonfly, "They work alternating shifts, so sometimes they're home when I'm at school, but gone when I'm home. We get letters."

"Letters?"

"From former patients. My parents put it up on the fridge."

"If they're at work then who takes care of you?"

"Myself," Kiyoomi shrugs, "Sometimes a nanny comes but it's usually me."

It sounds like an incredibly lonely life. Atsumu stares at his profile before grabbing his hand and stuffing it in his hoodie pocket, "Well, that's ok, at least you have Samu and I."

Kiyoomi laughs.

(His father did come slightly later than the agreed time, but he sprints to them with a bag over his shoulder and bows repeatedly at Atsumu's mother before swinging Kiyoomi up on his shoulders, their silhouettes disappearing into the sunset)

"—You're moving back to Tokyo?! What about grade school? Can't you just stay here? We— My mom can take care of you!"

"My parents already made up their mind, the school I'm going to is better, apparently. Here, Atsumu, hold out your hand."

  A pink petal slowly drifts down the sky, landing next to the pink Vabo-chan keychain still in its plastic wrapping. Atsumu looks up, betrayed, as his parents hover behind him.

Thank you for being friends with me."

His alarm blares and Atsumu groans, automatically rising and bruising his head as he whacks it on the ceiling. There's a kick from below and Osamu cursing at him to shut his phone off.

It's still dark outside with a modest inch of snow blanketing the rooftops. Over in the corner, barely visible in the low light of their room, are their middle school uniforms, pressed and neatly hung. 

Kaa-san's already puttering in the kitchen below, the quiet murmur of an oil bubbling slipping under the sliding door as Osamu wiggles, poking his nose out of his cocoon of blankets for a sniff.

"You're so," He blindly makes his way down when another yawn interrupts him, "So rude in the morning."

"You're the rude one! Watch what happens next time when I have to do morning duties, I'll wake you up and dump a bucket of water on you."

"Yeah, yeah," Atsumu whacks his brother as he passes. He grunts when a foot finds his side, blindly patting for his toiletry set and sliding the door open wider than he needs to. What better way to start the day than to antagonize his brother?

He yawns in between brushing his teeth and arriving at the train station. A pink envelope decorated with hearts falls out of his shoe locker and he doesn't give it a second glance, tossing it into the nearest waste bin as he mumbles a 'good morning' to his duty partner. They wipe off the previous day's doodles on the whiteboard, straighten the desks, return the workbooks from the staff room and sweep up anything that was missed yesterday before people start to file in.

"Hey, Miya-kun, volleyball game today, right?"

Atsumu watches as a crowd of boys and girls gather around Osamu. He jerks his head towards the window, left hand slipping off the table as he flicks the faded Vabo-chan keychain on the strap of his bag.

"—You're moving back to Tokyo?! What about grade school? Can't you just stay here? We— My mom can take care of you!"

 He hadn't had a dream about Ki— Sakusa for a long time now. 

He doesn't really remember much from kindergarten but his mother said he bawled for days after the graduation ceremony. Atsumu has seen the pictures around his home— Kiyoomi, Osamu and him splayed out on the tatami mat with puzzle pieces all around them, field trips to the aquarium with their matching yellow hats and blue uniforms, special sleepovers at the school during summer, Sports Day, Movie Day....

He misses him sometimes. No contact information was exchanged when the Sakusas hurriedly moved to Tokyo so it's not like Atsumu could even find him in the city of millions.

"Settle down, settle down," Mikoshiba-sensei walks in. Everyone straightens and Atsumu sighs, dutifully opening his book and digging for a pen.

It continues to snow outside.

He lags behind his teammates darting forward for meat buns after practice as they head for the train station, adjusting the scarf around his neck and going for the magazine section. 

"—Yamamoto hands off, I wanted the cheese curry!—"

"Oi, Osamu, spare some for the rest of us—"

"Onigiri anyone?"

Atsumu doesn't quite fit in with his team, but he doesn't let that stop him from dropping by the convenience store, usually dragged by Osamu. It seems ironic that he's the one being dragged everywhere when it used to be the other way around when they were younger.

He scans for the newest Volleyball Monthly, fingers moving right to left for the telltale kanji when he catches sight of a pile of curls on the December edition, the face of the player neatly hidden behind a magazine on ramen.

Can't be, he thinks, lowering his hand before he pulls it, there's no way he plays v—

Volleyball Monthly: December Edition
Sakusa Kiyoomi!! Dosho Middle School Rookie— Future Favorite for the Olympic Games?

It's really him, it's the same curls— though they're short and parted to the side so he could see a bit of Sakusa's forehead— same delicate features, same eyes, his cheeks still round from remnant baby fat.

Atsumu trails a finger down his face, absorbing every detail before an arm wraps itself around his shoulder.

"Hey, do you want a meat—" Osamu cuts himself off before his voice comes out an octave higher, "Holy shit. Is that our Kiyoomi?"

His voice comes out strangled, "Nuh-uh, no way, no fucking way he plays volleyball too—"

"That's his name and everything oh my god," Osamu snatches the magazine from his hands, staring at the front cover where they've put Sakusa next to Meian Shugo, incoming favorite for the Japanese National Team, "He got to meet Meian-san for the photo shoot too?! What if we get invited to the Tokyo training camp?"

Atsumu snorts a little too loudly, "You're stupid, have you seen our team? We're not that good."

Several heads by the drinks aisle swivels, sending him nasty looks. Atsumu glares back at them, daring them to say anything when Osamu dances in front of his face again, "We have to go to Nationals now, we'll be able to play against Dosho, do you think he remembers us?"

"Eh."

"Eh? You cried when he—"

Atsumu puts Osamu in a headlock, hissing into his ear as they tussle between the aisle, "I did not cry over Sakusa leaving—"

Osamu smacks his stomach, "That's not what Kaa-san said—"

Atsumu's about to be an only child, jabbing Osamu's side repeatedly as his twin laughs until he pinches the inside of Atsumu's thigh, the pain enough for his arms to loosen as he darts backwards, eyes glittering. He doesn't seem upset that Atsumu had mussed up his hair, "It'd be nice to see him again, yeah?"

"Depends if he remembers us," Atsumu mumbles, walking to the register with the magazine and fishing out his wallet. Osamu pulls some coins from his pocket as a contribution.

"Oh he'll definitely remember me, I was nicer."

Atsumu rolls the magazine and whacks him on the head. They bicker the entire way home before washing off as fast as they can, lying Osamu's bed as they flipped the glossy pages cover to cover, reading the brief interview Sakusa gave and pointing at his spiking form.

On paper he knows Sakusa the volleyball player— currently five centimeters taller than them, flexible wrists, an excellent receiver despite not being his team's libero, lover of umeboshi— is not the same Sakusa who sniffed behind the tree during lunch break and cried at how long his name was.

It's strange, it's a little weird and he tries to see traces of the old Sakusa in the picture.

"...He looks good," Osamu says sleepily, facing the top bunk as his eyelids fluttered shut, "Maybe we can play with him someday."

"...Maybe."

And if Atsumu fell asleep on Osamu's bunk when their mother checks on them, well, she doesn't say anything when she finds Sakusa's face peering through his arms, bundling her sons with a large blanket and making sure the heater is toasty.

Atsumu is determined to play on the same team as Sakusa, or at least be good enough that he can meet him on the same court. He eats well, spends long nights in the backyard once the weather warms tossing the ball over and over again, stretches properly, and tries to sleep as much as possible.

He receives award after award. He glows when he spots his photo on magazines, wondering if Sakusa would recognize him five hundred kilometers away.

Middle school starts and ends. Come spring, they tuck away their gakurans and make faces at Inarizaki's brown blazer and pants combination.

Atsumu becomes a setter. He and Osamu are shoo-ins for the starting line up. 

And then Atsumu's catches a fever right before he's set to go to the All Japan Youth Camp.

"I'm fine," He says in between feverish hallucinations of his mother sprouting fox tails and Osamu gaining fangs. His mother slaps his hands away and blows pointedly at his porridge, "I can eat by myself, Kaa-san."

"You're not going, Tsumu, your fever hasn't come down yet. You'll infect the others."

Tears stings his eyes as he opens his mouth. He's sure his mother put salt in here, but it's tasteless, exactly like everything he's been given to eat today. Downstairs, he can hear Osamu speeding around in the kitchen— Kaa-san has to go to her second job in the evening soon, "I'm fine! Really!"

"Just rest," She tugs the compress on his head and replaces it with a new one, "I'm sure you don't want to do flying seals in this state."

He's too weak to even bat her arms off, pathetically wheezing and sweating through his clothes. They've dragged him down to the futon, the chairs in their room moved to his mother's room to make room. There's a puff of steam coming out of a humidifier, and he has his phone hooked to his charging cable nearby. A squeeze bottle full of water is sitting nearby half opened packages of fever medication and cold patches.

His mother strokes his sweaty hair, the locks freshly bleached several days ago as his eyelids grow heavy, cutting off any chances he has of meeting Sakusa at the Tokyo training camp he's invited to.

Sakusa. He's missing this chance then. Maybe, just maybe, he'll be invited back next year.

"That's right...." His mother's voice lulls him to accept unconsciousness, "Sleep, Atsumu."

"Ugh, how am I related to you?"

"Shut up," Atsumu grouches, stomping into the conbini after Aran and immediately veering a sharp right to the magazines. Osamu and Suna sigh in tandem as Atsumu swipes the first two Volleyball Monthly he touches.

He has a subscription now on his phone; he reads the newsletter sent to his email a day before the magazines are released to the public.

He knows when Sakusa will be featured, destroying any chance of sleep as the blue light sears his eyes. Who cares about sleep when Sakusa's shooting up taller and taller, the intensity of his frowns become clearer, his stats and height overtaking him almost completely?

"He buys two. One of us to read and the other one for his personal copy," Osamu, the traitor— Atsumu should've eaten him in the womb, really— tells Suna, who's no stranger to Atsumu's obsession with the publishing company.

"You don't need to make it sound like that! One is for reading with you and the other one is for—"

"Defilement," Suna silkily says.

Osamu cackles, giving Suna a high five as Atsumu seethes, "It's so I have a nice copy just in case the first one gets wrinkled!"

Their laughter quickly dies as Kita steps into their circle. Suna shuffles to the side as Kita hums, bending and pulling a copy to see Sakusa dressed in that atrocious highlighter uniform, his cousin this time posing next to him.

"Itachiyama, huh? They're usually seeded for Interhigh," Kita says calmly, tucking the magazine back onto the rack, "Let's do our best—"

Atsumu's growing smile vanishes as soon as Kita opens his mouth, eyes twinkling.

"—So Atsumu can meet his partner."

"Kita-san!"

It's 2013, Atsumu caught a cold that forced him to miss the All Japan Youth camp for the second year in a row and Inarizaki lost their first game in Interhigh.

Across the net, Karasuno is jumping for joy, tears mixing with their sweat. Atsumu doesn't even register the cluster of neon slouching half-hidden in the balcony, too frozen to do anything but stare at his shoes as he bows to the cheering team.

He just follows Osamu's shoulder, robotically running a towel through his face and neck while his mind replays everything he's done in the past hour. 

They're herded by Aran and Oomimi to a smaller gym where they can do cool down stretches, looking for any evidence of disappointment on Coach Kurosu's face. Kita and Aran descend first, shoulders still sweaty, as the rest of the team follows.

"S—" He inhales, shutting his eyes as Osamu echoes, "Sorry—"

"Are you two trying to feel less guilty by apologizing?" Kita turns, tone even, before waving it off when Atsumu makes a strangled noise.

Aran sighs, stopping halfway down the stairs, "Those two were the worst people to receive the quick. Kageyama and Hinata."

Kita is silent, staring at something, maybe the wall, but he drops his shoulder, "...When you two are really on your game, you usually leave us behind. It's just that this time, the other team were in the same condition as you two as well."

Atsumu feels heat crawl up the back of his neck.

"It's not every day we get to have a match like that," Kita finishes, resuming his steps. Aran follows him, but Atsumu's still processing his words—

Their captain stops, tilting his head downwards.

"...It's frustrating," Kita says, "We did everything we could and our results are nothing more than a by-product of that but I still...."

He laughs a little, turning to face them fully, voice soft.

"I still wanted to say, 'Well? Isn't my team amazing?' at least one more time."

Osamu's voice pitches higher, Atsumu knows without even looking at him he's close to crying, "Please say it then."

"We'll be the juniors you can brag to your grandkids about," He rasps, holding back his tears by sheer will. Kita smiles at them, turning and spreading his mouth wider, "We'll definitely make you say that."

"I look forward to it then."

Atsumu yells.

A flock of birds startles as Osamu grimaces. It's summer and they're all trudging to conbini in one pitying line, like ants searching for crumbs. The heat coming off the cement is enough to bend the air, but Atsumu doesn't think that he could also—

"Yeah," Suna says, scrolling through his phone, "He's captain this year, right? And Itachiyama and Fukurodani had a scrimmage a few weeks back. Akaashi wondered where he was since he was missing, so Komori said he took an exchange program to Italy for most of the school year."

Osamu: "You exchanged numbers with Komori?"

"Oh no, I heard this all from Karasuno's Tsukishima, who heard it from Chibi-san, who heard it from Akaashi—"

"You exchanged numbers with Tsukishima? You hate—"

"Who cares where he heard it from," Atsumu butts Osamu out of the way, grabbing Suna by his shoulders and pressing their faces close, "He's in Italy?! Italy?!"

Suna tries to lean back unsuccessfully, "Yeah, Itachiyama has an ex—"

"I don't care about their exchange program! When will he be back?!"

"Dunno, Tsumu. Go ask Komori yourself."

"I don't have his number!"

"Cool it," Osamu shoves him back. Atsumu stumbles, almost face-planting into a wilted bush, the leaves browning at the tip. Oomimi walks past them, entering the conbini with Gin and a few first years trailing behind; they're all familiar with Atsumu and his history with Sakusa, "I'm tired! Either ask Komori for his number and do something or stop whining, Tsumu! I can't believe we're related!"

Atsumu whacks Suna with less force, but hits them both around the shoulder the same, "Just because you two got your happy ending!—"

"I did get my happy ending, thank you very much," Suna smiles, sweet and innocent. Osamu beams, leaning in to peck his cheek as Atsumu mimes vomiting in the bush, "This could be you, Tsumu. Just ask Komori for his number and put all of us out of our misery, yeah?"

Atsumu kicks a stray pebble, watching it roll down the slight incline they just hiked up. The summer sun is relentless, beating down on them, the skies an octane blue, free of clouds.

He's the last person to feel insignificant on the court. He knows he's good— good enough to win awards and be featured on Volleyball Monthly time and time again, good enough to be invited to training camps all around the country and special workshops, good enough that scouts were looking at him in his second year, nodding to each other.

But that's volleyball.

"What if he doesn't remember me?"

Osamu stops, freezing as Suna enters the conbini without him, perhaps missing Atsumu's quiet voice as he stands outside, hands stuffed into his shorts, duffle bag grounding him.

The door shuts, a waft of cold relief immediately replaced by the muggy, suppressive heat.

"...He wouldn't," Osamu promises, "But if he does, I'll punch him for you."

Atsumu tilts his head up. His vice-captain grabs his hand like they're five again and pulls him forward.

"Come on, I'll get you a pudding."

Atsumu grumbles, but squeezes his hand nonetheless, "I don't even like pudding that much."

"Okay, then it's for me."

"Hey!"

The end of high school is bittersweet.

Osamu tells him sometime during winter break that he's not going to go pro, collecting pamphlets of culinary schools around Kyoto and Osaka instead as Atsumu's desk is littered with letters inviting him to play for any and every team around the country.

They crushed Karasuno, securing their revenge, but were knocked off in the semifinal. Atsumu catches Kita and Aran among the audience when he tilts his head up after the final whistle blows, breathing the charged stadium air until his heart rate evens out.

In the end, it didn't matter that Sakusa went off to Italy, Inarizaki couldn't even advance for them to meet.

Several months later, Atsumu is settling into the MSBY dorms, trying to escape Bokuto's rib-crushing hugs.

Because Atsumu's friends with Suna, who is now Komori's teammate, he gets first hand news that Sakusa's gone off to Waseda but is taking online classes from there because he's busy making a name for himself in the international leagues.

He's playing alongside Ishikawa for Power Volley Milano, their faces often plastered on international news outlets whenever the Italians meet Japan in oversea tournaments. Atsumu only watches, seeing the easy smile on Sakusa's face when he speaks fluent Italian for interviews, edging away from fans and hiding behind Ishikawa during fan meets, all hidden pieces of what Sakusa is without a volleyball.

He had a wish when he entered MSBY: Kurowashiki always took place in Osaka, so maybe they could've bumped into each other if Sakusa hadn't gone abroad.

It's a little ridiculous, to be hung up on one person for most of his life when he hasn't even spoken a word to him. Sakusa could have a shit personality for all Atsumu knew; they could be completely incompatible, like cats and dogs.

He might not remember him.

But despite that, he still wants to see his face again, at least confirm if he's as tall as his profile for Rio 2016 says.

There's a certain buzz when he walks into practice today. He tries to pinpoint it, frowning, but shrugs it off. Meian's back from Rio and probably is hiding omiyage for them as if they're the same age as his three year old son who loves to play hide and seek.

He finds an unoccupied bench and shrugs off his hoodie, yanking on the zipper of his duffle so he can switch from his dusty runners to proper court shoes. He gives his faded Vabo-chan a gentle flick when he hears it.

"So you still have it."

He never got the chance to hear that voice in person, stiffening. In high school, he got a fever during his first and second year and the owner went on an exchange program to Italy during their third year. And then he went back to Italy again, meeting Team Japan in Rio with Ishikawa by his side.

There was never a good chance for them to meet in the high school circuit despite both of them being big names.

He turns, seeing Sakusa stand in the flesh. He's wearing a nondescript black windbreaker and shorts, curls as voluminous as ever and carefully swept over one eye. He really is taller than him now, slightly broader than his Itachiyama pictures, eyes soft.

"Of course," Atsumu hears himself say, "What are you doing here?"

Sakusa tugs a black surgical mask below his chin, motioning to where Foster is chatting to one of the managers. Atsumu barely realized Coach Foster hovering nearby, looking at Sakusa in the flesh, "He convinced me to take a flight home to Japan to meet his team. Supposedly, the Jackals have a very good setter."

"He said that, did he?"

Sakusa's cheekbones have filled out. Upon closer inspection, the curls now resemble waves. His eyes are still as round as ever, large and soft. Atsumu has heard his voice before through the tinny speakers of his phone and his TV in Amagasaki, but it doesn't compare to hearing it in person.

"He offered me a position when I graduate," He scuffs his runners slightly, ducking his head. Atsumu's heart swells at the gesture, a bit of five year old Kiyoomi coming to the surface of his mind, "Outside hitter."

"But that's still a long way, right?"

"At least two years until I finish Waseda, but you know, I've always wanted to see what kind of setter you are," Sakusa leans, setting his duffle bag down. There's several keychains on there— a plastic imitation of an umeboshi surely won from a gacha machine, Vinicius and Tom, who were the Rio 2016 mascots, and a matching, faded, pink Vabo-chan, "I saw you on magazine covers."

Atsumu watches him tug at the loose kneepads around his ankles, feeling heat crawling up the back of his neck and ears, "I saw you too. I bought all the magazines with your picture in it."

Sakusa tilts his head up, in the process of tightening his laces. Atsumu flushes, watching carefully as Sakusa's cheeks deepen in color.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," He clears his throat, "You're not leaving today, are you?"

"My flight is tomorrow at noon, but my night is free," Sakusa straightens, a hint of a smile showing. He's teasing him now, "Why are you asking?"

"I know a place that sells puzzles. Or if you want something nostalgic, Samu has an Osaka Onigiri Miya branch, I could take you there."

"Your mother's onigiri is the reason why I like—"

"—Umeboshi in the first place." They say together. Sakusa's eyes widen slightly.

"Yeah, uh, I read your interview," Atsumu confesses, "All your interviews, actually."

He could see their past, of finding the smaller boy, spending hours upon hours completing puzzles with him, running around in parks, crying with cherry blossoms falling through the air during graduation as Sakusa cried, his arms reaching for him as he's tugged away by his parents. 

Atsumu remembers being so alone in middle school, and then not so alone with Inarizaki behind his back, all of those memories shaping him to the person he is today as Sakusa pulls him into a hug in the middle of the gym.

How heartwarming! Mamiko-sensei had written, We hope they continue to be friends after kindergarten is over!

Atsumu sniffs, letting out a watery laugh, surrounded by warmth and the smell of Sakusa's laundry detergent. Damn it, Kiyoomi really is the taller one out of the both of them, this should be illegal.

"I have so many things to tell you," He says into the crook of his neck, hiding his face from view.

Sakusa leans back, eyes misty, mouth curving into the same smile he has when he was five.

"I do too."