Chapter Text
Sakusa stared ahead as he was pushed onto the court, bright lights nearly blinding him. He patted Atsumu’s back as he passed him, “Don’t let me get the first service ace,” he smirked back at him, Atsumu’s smile didn’t seem as challenging as it typically did. He shrugged it off and the game began.
It was one of the biggest of the season, Olympic scouts were scattered in the stands and voices were booming, all cheering for different teams and shouting different names. Although he may not have been the most supportive player, he was definitely observant, and he had picked up that Atsumu absolutely hated gyms like these. He hated when there was more than one game going on at a time, more than one set of buzzers and more than two sets of fans. But he never knew why.
So he threw a thumbs up to the setter, hoping it would serve as some sort of positive reinforcement. He had always seen Miya and Bokuto do it to each other, so maybe it would help in some capacity. The blond huffed as he silenced the crowd, which hardly did anything to dull the roar of the gym, but he carried on nonetheless. Atsumu took a few steps forward, letting out a heavy breath as he opened his eyes and ran, hitting the ball hard across the court. It was easily received and sent back, Inunaki having to dive to get it.
Atsumu seemed off the entire game. He didn’t bite back when Sakusa teased about getting the first service ace and looked more disappointed than determined when his sets didn’t land the way he wanted them to, but the game carried on similar to how it usually did.
They were on the last of three sets, everyone on fire as the scoreboard bumped up. The Alders needed one point to claim victory, and Sakusa would be damned if he let that happen. It was their serve, and Wakatoshi had more flame in his eyes than Sakusa had ever seen.
The ball flew sharp and precise, Shoyo barely managing to hit it. It toppled messily into Atsumu’s direction, Hinata shouting his name louder than he ever had. All eyes flew back to the blond as they waited for what was to come. It felt like an eternity as the ball fell, Atsumu doing absolutely nothing to stop it.
The buzzer was deafening as the ball bounced off the wood, Atsumu staring at it’s landing spot blankly.
He hadn’t moved an inch.
Sakusa stared at him, hardly processing what had just happened. All he knew was that they just lost the game that would earn them nation-wide recognition, all because Atsumu didn’t hit the fucking ball. He didn’t even try.
He saw red as he stormed over to the setter, his body on autopilot. He grabbed him by the collar, hearing a small gasp escape him, and everything else around them fell away. All he saw was Atsumu, and all he could think about was Atsumu.
“What the fuck, Miya?” He shouted, shaking him around. “You go on all year about how we’re all trash for not hitting your stupid fucking sets the way you want us to, but lose us nationals all because you’re what, tired?” He was louder now, but none of his words were piercing the surface. Atsumu looked glazed over, lifeless, his body practically limp in Kiyoomi’s grasp. “I’ve worked myself to the point of passing out all because you said I wasn’t good enough, and you can’t even hit a fucking toss. I’m sick of you, Miya. You and your stupid motivation or whatever you like to call it. It’s time you come off your high horse and realize you’re just as trashy as the rest of us, maybe even more, because we didn’t lose the team nationals.”
Atsumu just stared at him, no tears, no laugh, no nothing. Sakusa’s vision started to clear, quickly realizing everything around him was silent. The only thing to be heard was Sakusa’s panting, and holy shit, his throat was sore. The crowd was staring down at the spectacle before them, and both teams were looking at him like a monster.
Kiyoomi returned his focus to Atsumu and slowly released his shirt. He had no idea how tight he was actually holding it, only realizing when Atsumu’s feet settled back onto the floor and his hand returned to an open position that felt completely foreign. He didn’t bother to say sorry before he walked off, angrily collecting his things and speeding out of the building.
He didn’t talk to anyone for the next few days. He didn’t want to. He had made a fool of himself not only in front of the hundreds of people watching him, not only in front of the Olympic scouts, but in front of his team. He didn’t deserve any of the comfort or love they had to offer, but he couldn’t handle the idea of them hating or pitying him. He wasn’t sure which option was worse, and he could hit two birds with one stone by simply ignoring the issue.
He was still furious at Miya, that wasn’t about to change, but the man’s look kept playing in his mind. His hopelessness and exhaustion clear in his eyes for the first time ever. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Atsumu certainly deserved a reality check, even a harsh one, but maybe not in front of thousands of people, including ones that could decide his future.
He snapped out of his trance when a knock hit his apartment door. He would do the same thing he had done a handful of times that week, wait it out. Whoever it was would leave eventually.
He pulled out a tub of ice cream, hoping the sweet treat would distract from the guilt stretching his stomach in a thousand different directions and pulling his ribcage tight around his lungs.
“I hear you in there!” A voice yelled from outside.
Kiyoomi sighed and returned to his couch, digging a spoon into the strawberry section. He shut his eyes and let the ice cream melt in his mouth. A small sigh of relief escaped him as the man outside fell silent, Kiyoomi assuming he had grown tired of knocking and was giving up. Until the lock started rattling.
The door swung open, his cousin standing in the doorway. “I was holding back on using your key, but this is the longest you’ve ever gone without talking to me.” He bit, slamming the door loud behind him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sakusa stared, he had only seen his cousin this angry twice. Once when he discovered his new toy was crushed on the floor beneath Kiyoomi’s feet, and once when he got ghosted on prom night.
“You got nothing to say? You certainly had an earful for Miya Sunday night.” Motoya kicked off his shoes and stormed further inside, eyeing the tub of ice cream. He made a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing a spoon before he threw himself down on the couch, right beside Sakusa. “You blew it.”
“Miya blew it.” Sakusa muttered, watching his cousin scoop a chunk out of the chocolate.
“He didn’t blow it for you, though.” Motoya sighed. He seemed more frustrated than angry now. “You would’ve been just fine if you had just let it be, but you blew up in front of the whole fucking world. Scouts saw that, Kiyo.”
“I know!” He shouted, a little louder than intended. “I know, Motoya.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index and thumb. “He’s just so- so irritating.”
“Clearly.” Komori mumbled and wiped brown from the corners of his lips. “What have you been doing holed up in here anyway? Meian said he hasn’t seen you at all. You haven’t even been going to class, and I know that because Hinata and Bokuto sit outside of your door every morning, just waiting for you.”
Sakusa hid his guilt behind a shrug. He wasn’t even sure what he had been doing. All he could recall was eating, sleeping, and watching a heinous amount of reality TV. Those people had screaming matches all the time and all it did was get them more money. Maybe he would fit that job well.
“Jesus.” Motoya whispered, leaning back onto the couch. “You can’t hide in here forever, you know? You’ll either drive yourself crazy or run out of groceries, and I’m not sure which’ll happen first.”
Sakusa didn’t acknowledge the attempt at a joke, because it wasn’t really a joke at all. He would go crazy being stuck inside all day, but leaving meant inevitably running into one of his teammates, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.
Motoya wiggled out his phone and opened a group chat, Sakusa peeking over his shoulder at the texts. It was his entire family. “I gotta let them know you’re not dead. Your mom’s freaking out.”
“What a convenient time for her to start caring.” Sakusa muttered, earning a glare from his cousin.
“I’m leaving you alone now. If you’re not out of whatever funk this is by tomorrow, well, you don’t want to know.” Motoya sighed as he stood, tossing his spoon in the sink before seeing himself out. The threat was as empty as always, but Kiyoomi took it to heart. He needed the lecture.
So tonight, he would remain inside. But tomorrow, he was going to class. He had to. His first period was english, which he had no friends in, so hopefully it would be easy enough. If he was miserable, he could always run back and hide.
Kiyoomi painstakingly gathered his things the next morning, pulling on sweats and a hoodie before leaving his dorm. Just as Motoya promised, Kiyoomi was greeted with two smiling faces.
“Good morning, Kiyo-kun!” Hinata smiled. “How are you feelin’?” He asked, beginning to walk down the hall.
Kiyoomi groaned to himself. It was far too early for their shenanigans, but at least they seemed relatively normal. “I’m fine.” He lied, shoving both hands in the pocket of his hoodie.
“I’m glad.” Bokuto joined in, “How’d you sleep?”
“Just fine, Bokuto-kun.” He sighed, already fed up with their questions, clearly only being asked to fill the space. “You two don’t need to sit outside of my apartment everyday.” He said, cutting to the chase.
Both boys exchanged looks before Hinata looked back at him. “The team misses you, Kiyo-kun.” The ginger explained, his smile smaller now. “Or at least we do, and you’re not gonna talk to us if we don’t annoy you every day. You hardly talked to us before.” He explained with a bitter-sweet chuckle. Kiyoomi never understood why he was their favorite.
Sakusa puckered his lips beneath his mask as he considered the statement, hating that they were absolutely correct. They weren’t as numbskulled as they appeared. “I didn’t think you had any desire to see me.”
“Eh, the rest of the team’ll get over it.” Bokuto shrugged, “A few of them still need a minute, especially Meian, but I don’t think it’ll be weird to see them again.”
Sakusa nodded in acknowledgement, thankful that his teammates knew him well enough to answer all of the questions he wasn’t ballsy enough to ask. Especially this next one.
“Tsum still needs a minute. He’s a mess, won’t talk to any of us.” Bokuto kept his eyes forward as he spoke, “I dunno what’s wrong with him. He’s like, out of it.”
“Maybe he needs to talk to Kiyo first.” Hinata suggested, seeming to forget that Sakusa was walking right behind him. “I mean, that’s the source of conflict.”
“You’re right!” Bokuto smiled, “Kiyo-kun, what if you go talk to him?”
“I don’t know.” He looked down, “I’ll see you guys later.” He took an early left, attempting to reroute his way to his class. He didn’t want to think of the conversation any more.
All eyes in his class landed on him as he walked inside, his suspicions unfortunately proven correct by the few glares he received. The whole school had seen. He sighed softly and took his regular seat in the middle of the room, pulling out a notebook as people looked away. Some students just seemed confused as to where he had been all week, and others seemed to know exactly what had happened, despite not being there.
He kept his head low and lips sealed the entire lecture, scribbling down neat notes. Half way through a kid he had never spoken to leaned into his personal space, Sakusa leaning away.
“You’re Sakusa, right?” The boy whispered, Kiyoomi nodded hesitantly. “You really went crazy on Miya, huh. Does that happen a lot?”
Kiyoomi blinked at him before he let out a heavy sigh and looked forward, choosing to ignore the question. They did fight a lot, but never like that. Never full blown explosions. They typically had more respect for each other and their teammates, he just happened to get pushed over the top at the wrong time and place. He glanced over to see the man was still looking at him intently.
“No.” He finally replied. The word was enough to shut the boy up and go back to pretending to listen to the professor despite his completely clean sheet of paper. Sakusa slowly returned to his own notes, toying with the edge of the paper.
He could deal with this for another two periods. It’s not like he had much of a choice.
The rest of the students seemed relatively normal, but Kiyoomi did receive some odd comments from the ones who recognized him. One asked him how much he could bench if he could pick Miya up with such little effort, he seemed more interested in the numbers than he did the fight. He was also asked about his temper, a girl curious to know if he had gotten in any previous fights. He quickly brushed the questions off, glad that it was the worst he had heard.
He headed back to his dorm after he stopped by a vending machine to get a couple snacks to hold him off until the next day, his pantry had started to run dry. He sighed softly as he entered his apartment, reminded of how hot and stuffy it was inside, he hadn’t bothered to open windows or turn on fans in a few days and the weather was quickly warming. He pushed a few windows open, the fresh air waking him up.
He eyed the massive pile of laundry building up, shocked that he went through that many clothes in just a week. He opened a mason jar filled with change and fished out a few quarters, shoved them in his pocket, and picked up his overflowing hamper. He made his way to the door and reached for the handle, only then realizing how busy the college laundromat would be at three o’clock on a friday. He set it down with a sigh and placed his quarters on the counter beside it, deciding he would do it later.
He filled the time with more shitty shows and greasy snacks, not wanting to think about what this must be doing to his skin and body. He could already feel acne pressing against his face, and him neglecting his skin care routine every night certainly wasn’t helping. He felt disgusting.
He hopped into the shower and scrubbed himself head to toe, attempting to ignore the hair stuck to the walls and dirty tiles. He rarely missed living at home, but public showers made him want to go back. How hard is it to clean up after yourself?
He pulled on a fresh set of sweats and made his way back to his dorm, putting away his shower tote and grabbing his laundry and a book. It was already ten thirty, the laundromat would shut in an hour and a half, which meant it was the perfect time to throw a load in.
To his luck, the laundromat was completely empty and the only noise was one dryer going, but it was clearly on the end of it’s cycle, meaning Kiyoomi would only have to deal with one more person tonight, and judging by the time, they wouldn’t want to talk to him, either. He opened two washing machines, tossing his colors in one and whites in the other, and placed two quarters in each. He shut them and started them, quietly sitting down on one of the benches offered. He opened his book and began reading, having a hard time getting as indulged in the story as he typically would. He glanced up when a boy walked in, only offering a shallow bow in terms of greetings, and began pulling his things from the dryer. He tossed them into his hamper quickly and left without a word.
Kiyoomi resumed his book after switching his laundry from the washer to the dryer. He hadn’t intended on waiting down there, but the change in scenery was nice. It was quiet and clean and the rhythmic thumps of the machines kept him awake.
He heard footsteps enter again and didn’t bother looking up, he wasn’t greeted so he didn’t feel the need to say anything or note the other person. He just kept reading. The stranger plopped down on a bench across from him, a heavy sigh leaving his body. Sakusa looked up, his eyes widening once he realized who it was.
Atsumu had his back to the wall, his head tilted up and lips parted as he rested his eyes. His arms were crossed against his chest, his sweatshirt stretching to accommodate the position. He looked half asleep. Kiyoomi frowned slightly, unsure if Miya had recognized who he was or even knew that anyone else was in the room. He slowly returned his focus to his book and did his best to read, but he wasn’t processing anything. He reread the same paragraph four times before he flipped the page and gave up, folding the corner and setting it down beside him.
He pulled out his phone, but his eyes quickly drifted back up to Atsumu. His hair was a mess, his shorts were stained, and bags had made themselves comfortable beneath his eyes. Miya’s foot slid out, just next to Kiyoomi’s, and Sakusa’s eyes jolted up to make sure the man was still asleep. He definitely was.
A buzzer went off after what felt like forever, and Atsumu showed no reaction, his eyes still peacefully shut. Kiyoomi sighed and stood up quietly, walking to the washing machine Atsumu had taken. He opened it along with a dryer, and began setting the soggy clothes inside with more care than he had given his own. He untwisted each pair of pants and flipped each shirt the right way out as he went, wondering why he wasn’t making Miya do it the entire time. He didn’t even have the desire to comment on how the whites and colors weren’t separated.
He sat down on the bench after he started the cycle, and studied the man in front of him. Although he had called Atsumu careless and stupid more times than he could count, he had never seen him look this peaceful. He always seemed to have a thousand different thoughts racing through his head and always looked alert, his body straight and eyes wide open, but sleeping Miya was a completely different person. He looked soft. His body was loose and slumped over, he looked at ease for once. He wasn’t being obnoxious and his lips weren’t stretched into the stupid smirk he always sported. Kiyoomi almost liked it.
His laundry buzzed shortly after Atsumu’s and he wasted no time collecting his things. He looked at Miya for a moment, concluding he would wake up whenever he wakes up, and walked out of the room. He may have done one nice thing but he wasn’t a saint. Miya could sleep down there all night for all he cared. It didn’t matter to him.
Kiyoomi made his way downstairs at midnight, peeking into the laundromat. A tuft of blond hair poked over the half-wall and the dryer was now still. He sighed softly and walked to the dryer, shoved Atsumu’s things into the white bin that had ‘MIYA’ written in sharpie on the side, and turned to his teammate. He glanced at the time on his phone, 23:57.
He stood a few feet away from the creature, holding the bin in both hands. “Miya. Get up.” He ordered, getting no response. “Miya.” He repeated, taking a step closer. He reached out to shake his arm but quickly thought of their game, shaking the life out of Atsumu in the middle of the court. He pulled his hand back and refocused his attention on Atsumu’s black slides. He nudged one lightly and said his name again, which seemed to do the trick.
Atsumu stirred and rubbed his eyes, his face puffy and voice raspy. “Mmph.” He groaned.
“The laundromat closes in three minutes.” Kiyoomi stated coldly, watching the man stretch out like a starfish, long legs hitting the underside of the bench across from him. Atsumu’s eyes landed on him, blinked slowly, and looked forward again.
The blond stood up lazily and held his hands out, Sakusa setting the laundry bin in them. They looked at each other for a moment, Atsumu looked no better than he did during their game. Kiyoomi thought he could clock the kid and get no reaction. He sighed, turned, and left without another word, he had no idea what he would even say.
He didn’t give himself a chance to think until he was already in his dorm, his back pressed against the cold wooden door. He shut his eyes as his hand tightened around the silver doorknob, his knuckles white.
He lost track of time in his cloud of confusion. His mind was slow and coherent thoughts rarely came, but the ones that did made him want to scream. He was angry. Angry at Miya, angry at Ushijima, angry at the scouts, and angry at himself. He hadn’t stopped thinking about what Motoya said all night.
It didn’t matter how much he blamed Atsumu. How much he said they wouldn’t have fought if Atsumu had just tried. He still blew up, on national television, in front of Olympic scouts. That was no one’s fault but his own, and he hated that the most of all.