Archive of Our Own ^beta

[Now — 2018]

Oh, you're bringing me down to my knees / First I'm your predator then I'm your prey / Give me your love and then take it away / you’re my number thirteen, honey —number 13

-

Joining MSBY is one of the easier transitions in Atsumu’s life. He’s become too self aware, sometime between highschool and now, to not know he’s to blame for the harder moments he’s encountered. He makes peace with feeling somewhat outside of himself before the self-realization kicks in, and that hinders his progress a little. A part of him wants to think that his own obstination is the reason he’s not struggling now, though, in the way of his life’s passion, his work, the reason he was willing to poke at and push Osamu harder than he’d ever done before.

It’s a worthy cause, hardship included. He buys an apartment and makes friends with his teammates, and a week not long after he moves in finds himself with an apartment full of people he may already consider friends. 

He knows of Hinata the way everyone does, at first. He looks up to him, nurses a baby crush on him, finds him exciting and kind and knows before he joins the team that he’s someone Atsumu will learn a lot from. He fulfills his promise of setting to him and then some. Bokuto is warm and loud and everywhere, and he brings an unhinged wisdom that both excites Atsumu and grounds him. It doesn’t take long for the three of them to understand each other. Their captain is understanding and as hardworking as Atsumu hopes a leader to be, and it’s good. He’s happy and he cycles through his days in a haze that is almost as wholesome as that of his childhood.

Sakusa Kiyoomi joins the team, and Atsumu feels the block of sunshine in his chest crack open. Kiyoomi is a walking stereotype, but of which stereotype, Atsumu is still deciding. He has long legs and dark hair and bendy wrists, and when he sees Kiyoomi do it again for the first time in three years, something in Atsumu gets stuck in place. A piece of metal thrown into the well of cogs in his heart, and that one piece is all it takes to stop the whole mechanism.

He’s happy though, he loves his teammates and he loves his life. Osamu eats his words about being happier everyday, and Atsumu does the same. They support each other with a ferocity that makes him tear up when he stops to think about it, and he knows that things will not come crashing down.

— 

Atsumu cheats himself, sometimes. He’s never thought to cheat with anything else, because what good is a victory if it’s not forcibly taken, if it’s not something he can be unbearably smug about and know in his heart of hearts is only his. So, he cheats himself, where there is no competition or stakes at hand, and he doesn’t even stop to feel all that bad about it.

He finds it when he unpacks the last of his things, a single box different from all the rest. The cardboard is worn and soft with the years of age it has on the rest of the boxes, caving in on itself. He’d know what it was, even without the block-y kanji on the side, bold and proud—and for some reason smeared with water damage—that reads: Kiyoomi. Atsumu remembers packing his stuff in here, years ago now.

He’s got his hands tearing through the peeling tape before he’s made the decision to, and it’s not until he’s staring down at the contents that he realizes just how out of control he feels in the moment. Young and ugly again, brash yet oversensitive. There’s not much in here. One book, two pairs of shirts, another couple pairs of sweatpants, a hoodie. There’s a small trophy, and Atsumu could guess from which tournament. A plastic cactus that Kiyoomi tricked him into watering for six months. A bottle of cologne that Atsumu doesn't remember the smell of.

Delusionally, he takes the sweatshirt out, and brings it up to his face, a couple of inches away. It doesn't smell like anything, and he feels a sharp twinge of something in his heart before he brings it up to his nose and presses in, trying to catch a hint of something. It smells of nothing, not even the smell that clothes get after you’ve had them sitting around in storage forever, which is exactly what it should smell like. Definitely not Kiyoomi, because it's been over three years since Kiyoomi has seen or worn this, and Atsumu is more than a little mentally unwell for sitting around smelling shit like some lovesick teenager. He shoves it back in the box and shuts it so hard the flaps of the box cave in and tear. He swallows the itch in his throat and leaves the box there, near the open doors to his closet. The sun sets and the box stays put in the setting darkness of the night.

Eventually, the box gets shoved into his closet, unpacked and frozen in time.

But he does cheat, and it's only a few weeks before he goes back to open it and look again. He’s too scared to actually touch anything inside it again, in case he really does lose his mind (because staring into a box of your exes old beloginings isn’t already insane, sure), for when he feels like harboring a dirty little secret with himself.

When Kiyoomi joins the team, he panics about the box and the secret with himself (about the cheating, because that is what it is; he is cheating the system of getting past something he should be long past), and decides that three years broken up from someone should be more than enough to see them and smile and be friends. He does all of these things and he does them well, he calls Kiyoomi Omi-Omi, and Omi-kun, and he loves to wrap his arm around his broad, broad shoulders and he loves to call him prickly and mean.

Kiyoomi protests the nickname one time, and when Atsumu sees the flash of something like panic in Kiyoomi’s eyes when he actually does try calling him Sakusa, he realizes that Kiyoomi hasn’t changed much at all. He still says things he doesn’t mean, and his heart is still too big for his body. Atsumu knew that, though.

Sometimes, he cheats.

They agree to be friends after the breakup. Atsumu is shell shocked by the entire thing, and then incredibly numb about the entire thing, even as he knew it was coming and even though it wasn’t very surprising. When Kiyoomi is giving him the whole “Lets be friends” speech, Atsumu accidentally laughs and then has to apologize a lot. He’s already in the pro-circuit, and he’s grown out of a lot of those immature and vindictive streaks he’d had, but it cuts out of him with a sharpness he’s never felt before.

He agrees to be friends. They text each other, and even call on birthdays and holidays. Atsumu goes to one of his university games and loves watching every minute of it. There was no decisive cut to all the wires they have crossed with one another, but Atsumu feels the loss like a missing limb. He texts Kiyoomi more than he needs to, maybe even as friends, definitely as play-pretend friends who are exes.

He talks to Kiyoomi about MSBY, and he encourages him when things play out the way they do, and they end up on the same team for the first time ever. It’s still one of the better times of his life, even as he cracks open more everyday. He might be cutting himself on his own stupidity, but he’s happy.

— 

Kiyoomi ends up at his apartment eventually, which is something Atsumu both expected to happen and tried with all his might to prevent. He’s just as much friends with Hinata and Bokuto as Atsumu is, and the three of them pre-Kiyoomi used to come to Atsumu’s place a lot. Apart from growing up with a twin and having to share space and learning to be clean, he did date Kiyoomi, and that affected the way he runs his own household, too. They take advantage of this fact and his roommate-lessness. (Even though it's less about not having a roommate and more about being single. Hinata has someone and Bokuto has someone and that progressed into living together, as is expected. Atsumu knows that if things hadn’t turned out as they did, he and Kiyoomi would be living together too, and then they’d have to pester him to come over all the time.) Instead, he’s showing Kiyoomi his two bedroom apartment as a friend and colleague for the first time ever.

That’s fine. The fact this is happening is surreal, even, because usually exes don’t do this. No.

“And this is my room,” Atsumu says, pushing the door open and extending his arm into the room. It's already dark out, so the only light comes in from the big window that faces the street, the streetlamps coating the room in a dark shadowy orange. Kiyoomi gives the room a half-glance before his eyes are on Atsumu again, as they have been this entire poorly-done apartment tour. Atsumu can hear Bokuto and Hinata arguing over something in excited tones from the living room.

“It’s nice,” Kiyoomi says. His eyes flick over Atsumu’s face, clearly not his room, and Atsumu breathes deeply through his nose. 

They’re standing awfully close, crowded up in the open doorway and saying nothing. He can smell Kiyoomi’s scent, clean and steady, different from how it used to be. He thinks of the box and his secrets, and he stumbles back into the door, which swings and hits the wall loudly. Kiyoomi steps in after him, like he doesn't realize he’s doing it, and stops.

“It’s really not that interesting,” Atsumu says into the space between them, ripe like a fruit that's gone bad.

“Could use some decorating. It feels a little cold.” Kiyoomi turns around and scans the room, actually looking for the first time.

“I guess. I could get a dog.”

Why’d he say that. Getting a dog was something Atsumu had only brought up when they’d talk about their future together, while it was still a sure thing, when they’d talk about a big house and pets and houseplants. He wonders if Kiyoomi even remembers those days, realizing he has no idea if Kiyoomi’s single right now, or if he wants to be. The thought makes Atsumu hurt, and he shuts it off.

“You always wanted a dog,” Kiyoomi says, and he sounds happy.

The happiness confuses Atsumu, because he has no way of discerning up from down about what that could mean. He ushers them out quickly after that, and they don’t speak about it further.

***

[Then — 2014]

All I wanna spend is one more night / Between your sheets, behind your eyes / Keep your money, you can take my time —yoko ono

-

The first time Atsumu visits Kiyoomi in university, he does his best not to embarrass him too much. They’ve been together for over two years, which means that Atsumu has gotten good about knowing Kiyoomi’s limits, and Kiyoomi has gotten better about not expending energy on pretending to hate things he doesn’t actually mind all that much. They’re both unusual in their respective ways, both awkward and borderline mean, but together they fit in a way that Atsumu’s secretly very romantic heart had only dreamed of.

Kiyoomi is glowing. To say he’s not a social person would be an understatement, and maybe slightly insulting to the people he’s shunned, whether by accident or not, but as he grabs Atsumu’s hand and leads him through a personal tour of the campus, Atsumu is almost stunned by his energy.

He smiles as he tells Atsumu about his new classes and the different coffee places around (they're all bad, but sometimes it’s about not falling face first into your laptop screen, at the cost of your limited funds), he shows him the library, which is impressive and expensive, and way less quiet than what Atsumu would’ve imagined. There’s no shushing, and a lot of laughter, which kind of unroots his preconceived notions. He shows Atsumu his tiny, shitty dorm room, now deep-cleaned and sparsely but tastefully decorated. He introduces Atsumu to his roommate, who is quiet but friendly.

He lingers in Kiyoomi’s room, unsure of what to do with himself suddenly. He feels a little awkward, and he can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s seeing Kiyoomi enter this new phase of his life, and seeing him embrace it so wholly. He’s mostly just happy, however, and between the touring and the stolen kisses and catching up, Atsumu realizes just how much he misses him.

It’s kind of silly, since they went to different schools anyway, and played for different teams. They didn’t see eachother everyday at any point of knowing each other, not before they started dating nor after, but the summer after graduation was met with a lot of time together. They were stupid happy most of the time, even if it was stressful, moving into a completely new period of life. Kiyoomi got into a great school, because he is as diligent as he is pretty, and Atsumu had his pick of options after being scouted.

Maybe it was more about the way he hasn’t had time to think about Kiyoomi twenty-four seven, his days filled with practice and training, preparing for his first real games of his career. It’s less of a physical distance and more of an emotional one, and it makes Atsumu sad to think about.

“We can just share the bed, but if you want we can—’Tsumu?” Kiyoomi interrupts himself, maybe seeing the look in Atsumu’s eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Atsumu clears his throat. “Yes. I just. I think I miss you.”

Kiyoomi’s face crumples in embarrassment, his ears turning red impressively fast. “God, shut up. Such a sap.” But he’s already dragging Atsumu in for a hug.

Atsumu laughs wetly, hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder. “Sorry Omi-Omi.”

They get over their embarrassment easily enough, and Atsumu kisses him breathless when they lay in bed together that night. The mattress is long but narrow, and he’s genuinely uncomfortable. They’re big and tall, and Kiyoomi is heavy on top of him, but he also feels like they can’t get close enough, and he tangles his fingers in the curls at the base of Kiyoomi’s neck.

“Please take care of me for a long time,” he whispers against Kiyoomi’s mouth. Kiyoomi just presses closer.

— 

His time with Kiyoomi comes and goes, and Atsumu takes time everyday to think about him outside of the time they spend talking to each other, or something adjacent to talking to each other, which is sending unfunny memes and very cute animal videos.

He says good morning everyday and Kiyoomi says goodnight everyday. Atsumu loves him a lot, and it only grows more serious and in turn more scary, when he remembers how young they actually are. They’re both nineteen right now, and a lot changes when you step into the real world. Osamu had been his first taste of that, and Atsumu dealt with it well enough. Sort of. He doesn’t entertain the thought of the same happening with him and Kiyoomi.

***

[Now — 2018]

But there's no drug around / Quite like what I found in you, you / Love me now, when I'm gone, love me none /  Love me none, love me none / Numb, numb, numb, numb —novacane

-

They play well together. They played well against one another, too. Knowing each other in this way might be conducive to their energy on the court, because they do well. Atsumu is still who he is, so he demands nothing but perfection, and Kiyoomi delivers.

They’re a good team, all of them together. Atsumu is shocked by how easy things are, and then he gets over it and forces himself to improve. If he’s not improving he’s getting worse, and there will always be bigger and better waiting just around the corner, until the day his body gives out or the fire in his heart does, and it’s over for the last time. He pushes himself as much as he always had, because he’s always taken it very seriously; Kiyoomi seems to take it more seriously than Atsumu remembers, which might be because of the renewed focus on this one goal, without the weight of school on the sidelines. 

Atsumu doesn’t have what he once had, either. He’s lost and gained through this line of work. Dating outside the sphere of people who are just as insane for this game as him is pretty impractical, and Atsumu at one point thought he had cheated the system. Kiyoomi planned on coming back into it after university, and Atsumu admired how he could do those two things together. Osamu must’ve taken the half of his heart that was steadier and less competitive, because Atsumu has never been able to divide his focus. He’s a twin, and because of that he is singular.

He loses Kiyoomi long before they play together, and by playing together he gets Kiyoomi back. It’s weird to think about, but this game has given like it has taken.

And then, Kiyoomi hurts himself, and Atsumu fears it might take from him again. Kiyoomi, again. He hurts himself during practice, and while it’s terrible it happens at all, practice is one of the better times to get hurt. Atsumu watches Kiyoomi’s body bend in a weird way and sees the look of genuine pain, too severe to hide, drown him, all in a matter of seconds.

When he runs over, Kiyoomi won’t move or make a sound, clearly trying to breathe through the panic and adrenaline of it. The coach rushes over not long after but Kiyoomi still wont unhook his teeth from his bottom lip to say something. Atsumu knows what it means, that Kiyoomi will cry if he opens his mouth, and that scares him more than anything else. Their team medic sees him, and determines he needs a real doctor, only offering up the fact that nothing is broken.

It’s useless information, but Atsumu knows better than to wad up his fear into anger and projectile it at the first person he sees. He won’t. He does help in the ways he can, carrying Kiyoomi to the bench and then his car, where he and Bokuto take him to the hospital.

Inside the actual patient room, after Bokuto leaves, Kiyoomi cries.

Atsumu is shocked, but not surprised. Kiyoomi hates crying in front of people as much as he hates things that disgust him, and Atsumu knows that if he must, he will hold it in.

“Kiyoomi,” he says nervously, hands fluttering around his shoulders in a panic, “Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Kiyoomi makes the decision for him, dragging Atsumu in with a hand curled into the front of his shirt—their jersey—and squishes his face into his shoulder.

“Hey,” Atsumu says loudly, petting the back of Kiyoomi’s head as he cries, his other hand on his shoulder. “Remember that time in your first year of university, when I bought coffee from the on-campus brewery.”

Kiyoomi lets out a sound—as though Atsumu surprises it out of him. It doesn’t sound sad though, and Atsumu presses on, leaning in closer to Kiyoomi’s weight. “I got so sick, remember? I had to lock myself in the bathroom and then I wouldn’t come out because I was too embarrassed to ever face you again.”

“That was disgusting,” Kiyoomi says, and it's the first thing he’s said since he fell and made a sound Atsumu would like to forget. “But I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“No, it was disgusting. You tricked me into coming out by crying, and then I had to make it up to you because you never wanted to let me see you that way.”

Kiyoomi curls up into Atsumu, and Atsumu wraps his arms around him, hugging him properly. Kiyoomi is sitting on the patient table, and Atsumu is standing, but it works. He’s not used to being the taller one.

“It's the only time I’ve ever seen you cry.”

“Not anymore,” Kiyoomi grouses, miserable. 

“What? No, it was the only time.”

“Yeah, not anymo—” Kiyoomi shuts up when Atsumu hugs him tighter, silent in understanding. Atsumu doesn't say anything as Kiyoomi rubs his watery face over his shirt to dry his tears, and turns around when they do pull away.

“Well. This sure was an uneventful doctor's visit. Nothing unusual happened. I’m glad your leg is okay, for the most part.” He switches over from his corny tone of voice to a more serious one at the end of his statement.

He startles when Kiyoomi plants his face into the space between his shoulder blades, and then startles more when he realizes Kiyoomi is still crying. “Thank you, Atsumu-kun.”

He tries to open his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Atsumu only reaches a hand behind him in silent offering, to which Kiyoomi accepts with a little squeeze to his hand.

Finally finding the words, Atsumu whispers, “I promised to take care of you, too.”

— 

Kiyoomi gets better, eventually. His injury is painful but manageable, with therapy and patience. He doesn’t like either, but Atsumu is shameless enough that he calls him everyday to ask and make sure he’s doing as he should.

When he returns to practice, it’s with a ferocity that almost scares Atsumu, and that’s really saying something.

“Take it easy, Omi-kun,” Atsumu calls out, half-joking. He’s right to say it, because Kiyoomi isn’t supposed to push himself too hard yet. Kiyoomi sends him a look so full of something—everything—that Atsumu takes a half step back.

He’s beautiful the way he was beautiful the first time Atsumu went to visit him. Full of passion and light, somehow without self-doubt. Atsumu wants to see him like this forever. He wishes it were that easy.

***

[Then — 2015]

Maybe in time, when we're both better at life / Daylight can open my eyes and you'll still be by my side / But meanwhile I've got my contact high, you’ve got your powdered lies / We've got these summertime nights / Night by night I let you eat me alive. I want you to eat me alive —your love (deja vu)

-

Atsumu wakes up to a missed call and a pit in his stomach. He was supposed to have called Kiyoomi himself last night, but in his drunken stupor, not only forgot, but missed Kiyoomi calling him. He calls him while he’s still brushing his teeth, impatience and anxiety twinging in his chest. 

“Ah, Omi! Good morning.”

Kiyoomi’s face is shrouded in a black hoodie, the camera shaky and unfocused. The lens seems to be wet. “—ing to class. —later—” The call disconnects.

Atsumu gathers enough just from that, and guesses he’s in between classes right now, walking in the rain. He frowns. He hopes Kiyoomi stays dry, he gets colds so easily.  

He tries calling three more times that day, all when he thought Kiyoomi had breaks in his schedule, to no avail.

He feels shitty, since they’d planned their call so meticulously, and Atsumu has no real excuse as to why he forgot. Some of his teammates-turned-friends had wanted to go bar hopping, and Atsumu, wound up from the routine of full-time practice and more practice, had jumped to agree. Agree he did, and got drunk and crashed the second he fell into bed. Kiyoomi and him haven't properly talked in weeks. 

He misses Kiyoomi, and he’s being a crappy boyfriend. Kiyoomi is never mad at him, either, which is unexpected and somehow worse. It’s not like Kiyoomi is overbearing by any means, they’ve both enjoyed being close with one another, but he’d expected something… more? From the distance between them, now both metaphorical as it is literal. Maybe a small fight? Maybe a passive aggressive comment? Instead, he’s been met with endless understanding, and he thinks he’s losing his mind trying to figure out why.

Does Kiyoomi just not care enough to say anything? Or is he really okay with the circumstances?

The frustration welling up inside of him startles him, and Atsumu plans a visit that same night. Instead of feeling bad for himself he ought to try talking to his boyfriend, or better yet, doing something about it. He’ll take the train and stay for a weekend. He can afford a weekend off.

— 

Kiyoomi is really happy to see him, if not a little stressed with exams. He studies around the clock and seems to be in five places at once, and Atsumu wishes he could take him somewhere else and hide him from the world. Kiyoomi probably doesn't share the sentiment, somehow thriving despite his very spotty sleep and high levels of stress.

It’s nearing the middle of his second semester, and Atsumu knows he must have a somewhat established group of people he’s friendly with. Kiyoomi seems apprehensive to introduce him to anyone, more than happy to stay wrapped up in each other the entire day, but Atsumu knows they’ll always have time for that, he wants to know his life here, as much as he can.

Kiyoomi knows a lot of people. Friendly people, even. Atsumu finds this hilarious and wonderful, and loves introducing himself as Kiyoomi’s boyfriend. No one looks surprised, which makes Atsumu giddy. They go to a party together, on saturday night, with some of these friendly people, and Atsumu is sort of surprised to hear it isn’t uncommon for Kiyoomi to go.

They watch people play beer pong, and Atsumu watches Kiyoomi nearly seizure of the unhygienic-ness of it all, and also threaten Atsumu not to play lest he never get a kiss from him ever again. They swing through the different groups of people and pretend to care about what they’re saying. They make a lot of trips to the kitchen to make drinks that taste absolutely revolting. Atsumu can’t keep his eyes off of Kiyoomi’s for more than a minute, and at some point they both end up in the bathroom, somehow. Crazy.

Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu against the wall and kisses him so good Atsumu’s knees feel weird half-way in. 

“How’d you get so good at kissing? You haven’t been practicing with anyone have you?” Atsumu asks him with a lot of whining, and Kiyoomi kisses him harder, which is a good way to get him to shut up.

The door is broken so it doesn’t lock, and when someone walks in while they have their hands up each other's shirts, the interloper seems uncaring. It must be pretty mild compared to what else is going on here, because Atsumu is sure he hears a moan or two behind some closed doors.

They walk back to Kiyoomi’s dorm after that, hand in hand, and Atsumu keeps making them slow down, convinced that if they stay still time will stop for them too. They fall asleep on the floor this time, because the bed situation was impossible, but Atsumu is certain that the backache on Monday is worth it.

***

[Now — 2018] 

You'll miss your train and come stay with me / (It's always say goodnight and go) / We'll have drinks and talk about things / And any excuse to stay awake with you / And you'd sleep here, and I'd sleep there —goodnight n go

-

Kiyoomi and him don’t talk about their past relationship. Apart from Atsumu’s desperate attempt to distract him that day at the doctor, they act as though they’ve never known each other in any other context. At first, still tender-hearted and processing, Atsumu is certain it’s out of fear for the awkwardness it will cause. They’re not very open people by nature, and it’d taken a lot of growing and adult conversation to learn that relationships require a painful vulnerability, one that exists and must exist if you want someone in a real way.

In their friendship, they’d tried sticking to that. No matter the relationship, you need to be honest, you must communicate wants, only different kinds, and with a lot more boundaries. Kiyoomi being on the same team as him has proven this, again. They talk, but it’s weirdly stilted, because what else is there to talk about but also—how can it ever not circle back around to that? Atsumu doesnt want to know who Kiyoomi is possibly romancing, or fucking, or whatever. He would rather be the type of friends that talk to each other like they know each other while also not furthering their knowledge any more.

They get closer, anyway.

“Come home with me,” Kiyoomi demands him, one night after casual drinks with the team.

Atsumu blinks owlishly at him, and then nods, because the car is already waiting and Kiyoomi is tugging his sleeve. They climb in and Atsumu sits stiffly in his spot, watching the night slide around them on the other side of the glass. Kiyoomi isn’t drunk, and neither is he, but they're going back to Kiyoomi’s apartment (a place no man has gone before, apparently) like real friends do.

Oh, God. They are friends. And Atsumu could go on about why that bothers him.

They climb the stairs and then ride an elevator, and Kiyoomi’s apartment is fancy fancy. Atsumu whistles low as he takes his shoes off, and Kiyoomi flips him off over his shoulder.

“I forgot you were a rich boy, with rich parents.”

Kiyoomi groans. “I mean, okay? You have a whole job that pays pretty well. We’re not kids anymore.”

That hangs between them for a second. It implies something else, intimate knowledge and years of closeness, something that Atsumu wants to keep safely guarded and compartmentalized. They will never be kids again, no.

And isn’t that fucked up. They were kids when they fell in love, and kids when they fell apart. They never stood a chance, maybe, but Atsumu isn’t in the mood to be so cruel to himself and believe it. He wants to know that he loved Kiyoomi completely, that it was real, and they could have made it. That's all he has now, a possibility.

“Right.” Atsumu invites himself to sit down. The couch is bigger than Kiyoomi’s dorm bed had been. Why did he think that. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi says, and sits down very close to Atsumu. His head falls to his shoulder. 

Atsumu clears his throat. “Do you have tea? I’ll make us some. Or popcorn?”

“Mm,” Kiyoomi hums, which means yes but he doesn't care about it. He still follows Atsumu to the kitchen when he goes, and points him in the right direction.

Atsumu finds the tea he likes, and he makes one for himself, but it isn’t until they're back on the couch that he remembers Kiyoomi never did like it. Which is—well. It could mean any number of things, which means essentially nothing. His mind reels anyway, despite his best attempt at thwarting it, and he excuses himself to the bathroom after he realizes he’s staring at the screen in wide-eyed panic. Kiyoomi is drifting off anyway, and he doesn’t say anything.

Inside the bathroom, Atsumu does something really stupid and looks for evidence. There’s no other toothbrushes here, except the still un-opened ones that Kiyoomi makes sure to routinely change out, like a psychopath. He has a number of products in the shower, which Atsumu takes a cursory glance at, but he’d have no way of knowing if they’re someone else’s there too, because he doesn’t know Kiyoomi like that anymore anyway. He feels gross standing there thinking about whether or not Kiyoomi might have tea for him vs. someone else, years after they’d broken up, but here he is. He leaves the bathroom after that, and finds Kiyoomi dead asleep on his own couch.

Sighing, Atsumu tries to decide what to do. He could do nothing, sit down and finish the movie and hope Kiyoomi wakes up before then, or he could straight up leave. The last trains have already gone, but he could order a car. He could wake Kiyoomi up. He could carry him to bed, and then leave.

He stands by the couch, eventually crouching down to watch Kiyoomi’s features flicker with the light of the TV. He wonders if he does this often, falling asleep here on the couch, or inviting someone over, but mostly he thinks about how cold this apartment feels, barren, even by Kiyoomi’s standards. It makes him want—

“Are you really watching me sleep?” Kiyoomi says, one eye cracking open and focusing in on Atsumu, who was in fact doing that.

“I—Sorry. I was still deciding what to do.”

“Mm.” Kiyoomi shuts his eye again, and a moment later sits up and stretches out.

“I’ll call a car,” Atsumu decides as he says it. “Thank you for inviting me.” It peters out at the end, and Atsumu looks down to see his hand enveloped in Kiyoomi’s.

“That’s too expensive.” Kiyoomi looks off to the side, suddenly restless.

“Well I don't have a choice. Unless you want to pay, rich boy.”

“No. Stay here. This couch is really comfortable. I'll bring you sheets.” Kiyoomi doesn’t wait for an answer, just stands up and walks into the dark hallway.

Atsumu falls onto the couch, dropping his head into his hands. What is he doing here, really? Other than being selfish and weird. Other than taking advantage of a friendship that could be something real and special again, even if it will never be enough.

Kiyoomi makes the couch for him, and gives him a pillow that is unreal. “Still with the silk pillowcases, eh Omi?” Atsumu runs his hand over it.

“They're good for your hair,” he argues. Atsumu smiles at him, and runs a hand over Kiyoomi’s curls.

Kiyoomi leans into it, and Atsumu reels back. It's obvious, and it's awkward. They stand there for one more minute before Kiyoomi gives him some clothes and offers him the shower. Atsumu goes, and contemplates only rinsing off, just so that he won’t have to sleep wrapped up in the smell of everything that Kiyoomi is. He does it anyway, and it's when he steps out to get dressed that he sees the clothes Kiyoomi gave him are Atsumu’s own. Years old, they look more worn than when he’d lost them, as though Kiyoomi still used them. It’s enough to cause the ball in Atsumu’s throat, present for most of the night, to finally unlodge, and he cries into the crook of his own arm, tears hot against his skin. 

When he manages to collect himself, he uses cold water to get rid of the red around his eyes and hopes the dim lighting hides the rest. Kiyoomi lingers by the couch as Atsumu settles in, gives him a jerky little wave goodnight, and disappears into his bedroom. Atsumu curls up as much as he can and shakes. This apartment is cold.

***

[Then — 2015]

Tell me how you live without it / Did somebody change your world / And now you don't look back / 'Cause we'll never be kids again / No, we'll never be kids again —kids again

-

Kiyoomi breaks up with him a month after their three year anniversary. Almost to the day, like it’s planned, which is probably the case because Kiyoomi is organized and also Atsumu sees it coming. It still shocks him, though. It leaves him speechless and his head fuzzy, like they’re speaking different languages. Kiyoomi had waited until the end of Atsumu’s visit to do it, at least. 

“I think we’re at different places, with our wants, and I don’t—” Kiyoomi bites his lip, Atsumu sees it even though he’s staring down at the table between them. He’s doing this in public. Neutral ground. “I don’t want either one of us to look back and regret anything.”

Atsumu nods, like it makes any sense. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to regret. They're so young. He’s about to turn twenty one, but Kiyoomi is still twenty for a while and, yeah. They fell in love at seventeen, puppy love, and then real love, and now Kiyoomi is falling out. Atsumu can’t bear the thought that he’s already fallen out, at least completely; he knows what Kiyoomi looks like when he’s in love and when he’s not. Before they dated they’d been rivals, and then friends. He thinks he would know.

But he must… feel differently. Yes. The thought is horrible, awful, and Atsumu is laughing ugly all at once. Kiyoomi looks up with wide eyes, hurt, before they shutter completely. Atsumu swallows the needles in his throat. He apologizes.

Then come the tears, silent and huge, and they fall out without him having to blink or move. Kiyoomi looks at him like he’s crazy, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing right now, but Atsumu has always been quick to tears, compared to Kiyoomi, anyway. He wipes them away without much fanfare, and his face remains fairly neutral, even if he’s sure his eyes betray him. Kiyoomi pays for their untouched whatever they bought, and he hugs Atsumu once, for a long time. Atsumu asks him if he can kiss him, one more time too, and Kiyoomi nods.

He takes the train home with his overnight bag and a broken heart. 

— 

It doesn't really hit him, fully, until he shows up at Osamu’s with his bag and he sees the stuff he used to keep at Kiyoomi’s dorm packed neatly away. He hadn’t seen Kiyoomi do that. He cries again, for real this time, super ugly and loud.

Osamu is as surprised as he is, and he rubs his back and makes him food with a patience Atsumu has yet to see so overtly. He doesn't even feel embarrassed about being babied, only numb and sick. He doesn't want to eat or shower for a week, but he can’t afford to be too much of a burden to his brother or his teammates. He forces himself to chew food and swallow it until it starts to taste like food again. He showers and changes and hits the gym. He throws himself into his work, and doesn’t let his team down. He makes friends, and calls his mom.

He dreams of Kiyoomi for two months straight, and when the dreams start to peter out, his slowly healing heart breaks again.

***

[Now — 2018]

I don't know if we should be alone together / I still got a crush, that's obvious / If nobody's around, what's stopping us? —single

-

Christmas comes fast. Atsumu likes the holidays because he’s still a romantic at heart, and he loves the way it transforms the city. Osamu invites his team and their plus ones to come to Onigiri Miya if they’re up to it, and they can eat (up to a point) for free. Atsumu will probably cover the cost anyway, because he does have savings, and his brother would like something like that as a gift.

Kiyoomi goes and Atsumu is surprised, because well, Osamu never did forgive him. Atsumu forgave him as it was happening, when he realized they were in an unfamiliar cafe and Kiyoomi was winding up to leave him. He was angry later, but that's to be expected. It was part of the grieving, and when Atsumu was done he realized he couldn’t ever harbor anything but love for him. 

Osamu, he’s a hard-ass when it comes to matters of his own, but the matters of those he loves even more so.

He doesn’t smile at Kiyoomi, but he speaks to him kindly and gives him free food the same as everyone else. Kiyoomi looks almost scared of him, which makes Atsumu laugh for two minutes straight (he has to go outside and cool off), and then apologize for being an immature little kid.

He loves his brother, and he loves that he has someone who cares for him enough to scare Kiyoomi, who many find intimidating and unapproachable. Those who know him at all, know this isn’t true. It’s why Atsumu forgives him, it’s why there is nothing to forgive. Trapping Kiyoomi in a relationship against his wishes, just because Atsumu had fallen in scary love with him too young is a joke in three parts. He’s in on the joke, whatever man.

“Your brother is right to be angry with me,” Kiyoomi says out of nowhere, and Atsumu looks up from his beer like he’s waking from a dream.

“Hm?”

Kiyoomi balls up a stray paper straw cover, rolling it between his palms. “He’s right to hate me.”

What Atsumu hears: You’d be right to hate me. I want you to hate me. What Atsumu means to say: I loved you, and I will never regret that.

What Atsumu says: “I love you, and that has nothing to do with how you feel about me.”

Kiyoomi looks up similarly to how Atsumu had just done, eyes wide as saucers. “You—what?”

“Well.” Atsumu slaps the table rather loudly, which startles the other couple of people who were engrossed in their own conversation. “Goodnight.”

He gets up and leaves.

— 

“You did what?” Osamu asks him two days later, while Atsumu is paying for everyone. The place is empty, afternoon gleaming on the polished counters.

Atsumu lays his face flat against it. “I told him I loved him. I do, but like, in a friend way. But also we used to date and he broke up with me, so there’s that.”

“Why are you telling me like I don’t know?” Osamu snaps back, and Atsumu flinches at the ice in his tone. He knows the anger isn't for him.

“It's been three years,” He murmurs.

There’s a lot there. Osamu is unreasonably snappy and angry with Kiyoomi considering the fact it's been so long. He’s protective and fiercely loyal, sure, but it's a bit much even for him, and Atsumu has suspicions as to why. Atsumu is still wallowing after three years, which is another part of the “a lot” that is there, and he’s only continually embarrassing himself.

“Yeah it has,” Osamu says, and Atsumu drops it. He’s too tired to fight, doesn’t have it in him to be mean to Osamu anymore, even though the punk definitely deserves it sometimes.

He goes home, and does his best not to think too much.

—

New years is met with even more excitement, and more plans of getting drunk. Atsumu doesn’t know why people in their line of work even find this to be a good time, when they have to be so cautious of their health, but he can see why that’s just as much motivation as it is warning.

This time, Bokuto and Akaashi host, and Atsumu finds the mixture of his anxiety and happiness cause enough to let go a little more, and try to forget for an hour or two.

Kiyoomi shows up wearing so many layers he can’t move properly, and Atsumu has a good laugh, and then a lot less laughter, when it reminds him of how he always scolded Kiyoomi for not taking proper care to keep warm.

He helps him out of two coats and gets him a drink, to which he gets a pitying look from someone who’d come with Meian, which okay, they do not know him enough to be making judgements.

They find a spot together on the terrace, even though it’s too fucking cold to enjoy.

“You’re evil,” Kiyoomi says to him, when he sees Atsumu isn’t shivering.

“How are you going to judge me for not being sensitive to the cold? I’m not taking anything away from you.”

“How can I know that?” Kiyoomi asks, shaking like a leaf, but Atsumu really doesn’t think it’s that bad.

“Well I’d give you some of mine, if you asked,” he says without thinking, slipping into the same banter that used to come easily to them. It’s awkward now, but he still lifts his arm to save the mood, and lets out a surprised “Oh.” when Kiyoomi takes him up on it.

“Always warm,” Kiyoomi says, burrowing under Atsumu’s arm. “I miss you.”

A very heavy pause, “I miss it,” he corrects, but Atsumu had already assumed that. A slip of the tongue, such an easy mistake to make, when you’re familiar with someone, maybe even comfortable with them.

Atsumu steps away. “I think. We should go in. You’ll catch a cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi says to him, and his hand is curling around Atsumu’s the same way it had that night in his apartment. “Please don’t leave.”

Atsumu frowns, because he can’t say no, doesn’t want to in the first place. Kiyoomi is only making it entirely impossible to fight himself. “We can find somewhere else, okay? You’ll get sick.”

Kiyoomi nods and follows him inside, and he does indeed find them a different part of the house to hide in. It seems to be a trend, sneaking away at every social event, like they want to come only to raise their noses at people. They’d done this back then, and they do it now.

They watch the city light from inside a dark room, still huddled close, the cold from outside clinging to their skin and clothes. It’s startling when they hear everyone counting down from outside the door.

Kiyoomi’s quiet voice is startling too. “Atsumu, kiss me.”

Atsumu has no time to think about it, because they have three seconds left before midnight and Kiyoomi is right there; his eyes are shining and Atumu does want to kiss him, so he does. They meet for a second in complete shaking silence, and then they part. A new year's kiss, nothing special.

But the silence stretches out, and under the rolling cheers and clamoring in the outside world, Atsumu cups Kiyoomi’s face and kisses him again. Kiyoomi’s hands are clutching the lapels of his coat, half for support and half because his hands are always cold, but his lips are so soft, and Atsumu tilts his head to get a little closer. He breathes through his nose because he doesn’t want to move away, and the slightest touch of Kiyoomi’s tongue against the closed press of his lips leaves a stinging zip of electricity to his toes. He moves away, and catches Kiyoomi’s glittering eyes in the dark a second time.

“One more,” Kiyoomi demands, like he demands everything else, but also entirely different, because he doesn’t sound certain he will get it.

Atsumu wonders how he could still not know that Atsumu’s sole purpose is to give him what he wants, and he diligently lines them up for one more kiss.

The last time, right after their break-up, had been sad. The kiss ruined with tears that Atsumu couldn’t stop from leaking down his face, where they’d fallen to the line of their lips. 

He’d almost begged back then, feeling Kiyoomi kiss him sweetly and lovingly, instinctually. Please don’t. I’ll give you time, to do what you like, be who you want. But don’t make me forget you, he would have said. He’d held it in, just barely.

Now, he feels it welling up inside him again, and he wants to run away. But Kiyoomi had asked him to stay, and the strings on his heart kept him in place.

The door swings open suddenly, and the light comes flooding in. Atsumu can’t tell who it is, but they clearly see him, because it slams shut a moment later. Oh. He should go. He should have gone before.

“Atsumu, wait.”

“No, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu stumbles backward until he’s out of reach, and he can’t see anything and he doesn’t know where the hell this room is or what it looks like. He can’t see Kiyoomi’s face, only hear his stuttering breaths. “Please stop.”

He means it, and it sounds. The hurt in his voice is deep and burdensome, huge and scary, the same thing that had Kiyoomi thinking twice in the first place. “I don’t want to be your friend. Not—not like this,” he says. “It hurts too much. You don’t understand, and I don’t blame you, but I can’t.”

He hears something, and he doesn’t try to imagine what face Kiyoomi might be making. “I’m sorry, Atsumu. I’m really sorry,” Kiyoomi gasps. “But you're not the only one. It hurts me too. I just—I miss you.”

Atsumu turns around and heads for the door blindly, literally. He trips over something and stands back up, and the door swings open again. His eyes take a second to adjust, and this time there is a stoic looking Akaashi and a fretting Hinata, clearly expecting something.

Atsumu tears past them, heads to grab his coat, and marches towards the door. He doesn’t want to cry about this anymore, not ever again. He loved and got hurt, okay, but he has boundaries too, and this is a line he won’t cross.

He’s on the last step outside, ready to walk home, when Kiyoomi comes rushing out of the building, eyes wild.

“Atsumu, please. I’m sorry I kissed you, that I asked for too much. Just wait a second.”

He doesn’t stop to look, breathing heavily and watching the condensation curl away. “I think being your friend is worse than not knowing you at all.” He feels sick as soon as the words fall out of him. It’s not true, and it’s the most true thing he’s ever said, at the same time.

There are stomping footsteps, and then a hand on his shoulder, spinning him with a force that surprises. “Fine, I get it. You finally hate me, I pushed too far, but—don't say that. We promised we’d always—” Kiyoomi runs his hand through his hair, cutting off. 

Atsumu rolls his eyes, feeling mean. “What, you miss me? You had me. You left me. I’m not just someone, Kiyoomi, as much as we pretend. I don’t want to be just your friend. I don’t want to be just a passing thought. Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d been mean about it, and really left me a mess, then I would’ve tried to forget you once and for all.”

“Don't forget me,” Kiyoomi says, fierce. Atsumu could scream.

“I can’t. That's the problem. I can’t—aren’t you tired of it?”

Tired of me, always there at the edge of your vision, someone who was your friend but clearly loved you differently, lingeringly, troublesomely. It's a burden, it’s too much, always too much.

“I have regrets,” Kiyoomi says, and Atsumu is stunned to see how his eyes glisten. “You’re one of them. Not because I had you, but because I—I pushed you away. I miss you,” he repeats, his voice steadier. “I never stopped.”

“You make no sense.” Atsumu says, an edge of something sharp still audible in his inflection, and Kiyoomi leans in. They touch their foreheads, but the night is growing colder still, so Atsumu makes a call. “Come home with me.” The words echo Kiyoomi’s own.

“Okay.”

***

[Then — before and leading up to 2015]

'Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me / And look in my eyes / You are perfection, my only direction —fire on fire 

-

Kiyoomi knows of Atsumu before he knows what he looks like. He also manages to learn Miya’s face, before he knows his name.

Kiyoomi’s determination to never learn who people are, let alone the monumental task of connecting names to faces, or personalities to names, helps him accomplish as much. He’s good at it for a long time, until Atsumu and his fried hair decide that’s not enough for him.

He’s got such a terrible personality that Kiyoomi actually doubles down on ignoring him twice as much as he would anyone else, but it takes a while for him to realize he’s actually paying Atsumu special treatment by doing so. He goes back to ignoring him the same as everyone else soon thereafter.

Atsumu is intense and loud and bright. He might win in being the farthest thing from everything Kiyoomi is, and this says a lot, since Kiyoomi has met his share of loud and bright on the court.

Unfortunately Atsumu is a lot of other things, like insane on the court, and jealous off of it—what Kiyoomi thinks to be jealous, even though they aren't much more than rivals at this point—over his twin brother Osamu when Kiyoomi pays him even half a degree more attention. Osamu and him actually never talk about it, but they conspire to make things worse for Atsumu, for a little while at least.

Atsumu is also a dedicated player, and sometimes secretly (very secretly) kind to his brother, kind to his teammates, kind in most ways. He has a smile that hurts to look at and hurts to be the cause of. He’s got gentle hands that won’t stop finding an excuse to touch Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi does something unforgivable and finds himself with a crush—on Atsumu, yes. He has a hard time coming to grips with it.

Atsumu does something both unforgivable and unspeakable and has a crush on him—on Kiyoomi, yes. He has an even harder time coming to grips with it.

If anyone were to ask him, which they do not because they value being alive and having all of their bones unfractured, Kiyoomi would have no idea what was going on. He would lie and he would do it damn well, not having the slightest awareness towards his own feelings or those of anyone else.

The lingering touches don’t exist, and the rumor that Atsumu seeks him out anytime they're at the same tournament or venue is a bad one, probably made up by his brother to humiliate him. It’s believable and when presented by Kiyoomi, boring.

He’s good at it for a long time, until Atsumu decides it’s not enough.

—

They date—Kiyoomi and Atsumu, yes.

It’s humiliating for about two weeks until Kiyoomi walks up to Atsumu lecturing his entire team about not making him uncomfortable because: Omi doesn’t like that sort of thing, and by extension neither do I. It’s embarrassing for about half an hour, until Atsumu gives him a look that makes him nearly melt into a puddle on the floor with tenderness. It’s embarrassing for approximately one and a half minutes, until Kiyoomi can’t hide the way his eyes wrinkle into a happy little crease, something even the hardiest of face masks will not hide.

He likes Atsumu, and Atsumu likes him. They hold hands and they go on dates to places Kiyoomi has never cared about going to before now, but suddenly he cares a lot. They kiss for the first time. It makes him dizzy with nervousness and it makes Atsumu freak out.

“I thought you didn’ like kissing? Isn’t that gross? Don’t do things for my sake. Omiiiii~”

“Shut up. You don’t disgust me. Not—not even a little.”

“Are you confessing your love to me right now?”

“I take it back. Stay away from me—No! I won't kiss you again—“

“…”

“Maybe, one more kiss.”

They have a lot of firsts together, which is fine. Most of them Kiyoomi hopes are his first and last, which is less fine because that’s scary, and he isn’t so sure of Atsumu’s feelings on the matter.

They fight a lot of petty, pointless fights, that looking back on he realizes were absolutely started on purpose so that they’d have a reason to make up along with an excuse to dote a little more. They grow out of it, and Kiyoomi and Atsumu learn that there doesn’t need to be an excuse, to do anything. They can make their own rules and they can even be predictable, and that’s fine.

He decides it’s fine when he starts hoping for a future, a real one, one that involves them together for… a good long time. With a house, some pets, maybe even—he stops himself from hoping too much, though.

Tentative turns to less tentative, the summer after high school graduation. They talk about it in hushed tones, burning red faces and gag-worthy smiles.

“You want five dogs? That’s too many. That’s not taking the cats into consideration. ‘N I’ve always wanted a bird, and how would that work?”

“Who cares. We’ll get them all after we retire. We’ll get a big house with a trophy room, and there’ll be a yard. The dogs are fine. I don’t know about the bird.”

“Oh so you can overrun me with dogs but I can’t have one bird. Not fair at all, Omi-Omi. I’ve spoiled you.”

“Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“You’re such a dirty little manipulative—“

“…”

“I love you. Stop distracting me with kisses.”

“I love you, Tsumu.”

It speaks to how young they are that they treat it the way they do, like it’s easy and inevitable. It feels that way though, and Kiyoomi dreams of sunlight and a bed warmed by his favorite person, with hands that are still greedy, and shameless.

—

University is different, both freeing and terrible. Terrible because it’s freeing, freeing because it’s terrible.

Kiyoomi realizes with startling clarity what this means. He watches Atsumu grow from an entirely new perspective, and some part of him knows that he won’t be able to hold onto him forever.

—

The first time Kiyoomi realizes he’s different, and resents it, he’s eight years old.

“That family of his... I taught his older sister two years ago, and she was—well, you know. I’ve met their parents and—well. You really know.”

“Money doesn’t buy sanity.”

It’s not the first time he’d realized he was different. His family had more money than a lot of kids his age, and he’d known that for as long as he understood the concept of buy, sell. He’s got a thing about germs, that’s been true since the first time he could say as much. Being faced with it as a whispered conversation, it is the first time he realizes that different can also mean bad. It’s the same picture he’s always been a part of, only now: the frame looks a little weird, crooked on the wall. Or maybe it’s the backdrop, the circle of confusion. Maybe it’s him.

After that, it follows him. He likes picking at the wound before it gets a fighting chance to stitch itself together, and he makes a habit of lingering where he shouldn’t, on the off chance he’s unlucky enough to catch word of another whispered conversation.

The staff at home should know better, if nothing else. Kiyoomi is reserved growing up, but that doesn’t negate his curiosity. He’s caught listening once, and when nothing comes of it, they don’t seem too inclined to be wary of him anymore. He gets bored of it eventually.

He wonders in a passing moment of curiosity about his classmates, friends. How many times they might’ve had something to say about him or his family.

Him and his sister are carbon copies of their parents. He could’ve gone his whole life and never thought twice about it, because that's true for a lot of people. It’s fine, when your parents are the kind of people you don’t mind being like.

He finds volleyball and falls in love with it. A reprieve from the disgust and uniformity that is his life, he dedicates himself to it, enough so that as he fulfills his parents plan for his life, the one that includes college and a comfortable future, they aren’t too surprised at his announcement to  enter the pro circuit. They acquiesce, eventually. Kiyoomi is happy with their unhappy understanding.

Atsumu isn’t a part of their plan for his life, which doesn’t mean all that much to Kiyoomi anyway, but he isn’t part of Kiyoomi’s plan for his own life either. He’s so intrinsically woven into the game that Kiyoomi isn't confused about his falling for him, after the initial surprise wears off. Volleyball and Atsumu are the two best parts of who Kiyoomi desperately wants to be. He’s selfish about it. Doesn’t like sharing Atsumu with anyone, and Kiyoomi hoards the happiness Atsumu is so effortlessly good at bringing with him.

He gets caught up in the life he’s started to make for himself. He forgets that sometimes different is bad, and sometimes the bad is hard to rid yourself of.

He loves Atsumu more than he thought he’d ever love someone, which is just corny enough to be true. He’s selfish, but not enough to drag him into the uglier corners of his heart. He says goodbye, and it doesn’t stop hurting.

Kiyoomi’s almost satisfied by the hurt, and decides that old wound and his habit of ripping it open never did heal right, even if he’d forgotten about it for a while.

***

[Now — 2019]

I looked into your eyes when I was a boy and good. Your hands brushed my skin and you gave me a kiss. / (All the clocks keep the same candence, all nights have the same stars) —madrigal; collected poems

-

Atsumu wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck. He’s curled up in what may be the most uncomfortable position he’s ever woken up in, which is a feat growing up with a sibling and sharing more than a few beds, or spots on the floor. His arm is numb, squished between his body and the couch, and his neck is turned up at a very obtuse angle that their physical therapist is going to eat him alive for. Kiyoomi is next to him, drooling on the arm of his expensive leather couch. Atsumu breathes slowly.

He sits up, stretches himself out the way that makes him groan in the back of his throat and drags himself to the kitchen.

Kiyoomi wakes up not long after, looking every bit as regretful for his neck muscles as Atsumu feels.

“Mornin’,” Kiyoomi says, hand up his shirt, framed by the light of Atsumu’s far window.

“Kiyoomi-kun, I—”

“Do you want to take a trip with me?” Kiyoomi asks, right as Atsumu was getting ready to do something monumentally inadvisable. Okay. Atsumu swallows it all down, once, twice.

“Yeah, Omi.”

— 

He has no idea where Kiyoomi is taking them, not as he packs a bag while Kiyoomi watches him from his bedroom door. Not as they climb into Kiyoomi’s car. Not as they sit in the early afternoon light and watch the world spin past.

They’d fought, sort of, and they hadn’t really made up. It’s the first fight they’ve had since breaking up and for some reason, Atsumu is deliriously happy. He loves Kiyoomi, as a friend, and as something he will only ever feel for Kiyoomi. It’s the first time he feels okay about that.

“Kiyoomi—”

“What’s with Kiyoomi? You were so adamant about Omi and to what end? You want me to feel bad?” Kiyoomi doesn’t turn to look at him, but his hands twist on the steering wheel.

Atsumu points at him. “That ain’t working on me. Would’ve worked on anyone else, though.”

The corner of Kiyoomi’s mouth twists up; he rolls his eyes. “Not my fault you know me so well.”

“Actually it is.”

The world spins and spins.

Kiyoomi has taken him home, apparently. Like home, home. Kiyoomi’s parents' house, home.

He feels knocked for a loop.

His parents seem just as baffled about their impromptu visit as Atsumu is. They knew of their relationship, but in all the time they’d been together, Kiyoomi never introduced them. Not formally, anyway. Atsumu is pretty sure getting caught climbing through your son’s two story bedroom window half past three in the morning is not a formal meeting, by any definition. Atsumu just walked through the front door after that, but his parents were never around anyway. Kiyoomi didn’t talk about them, and Atsumu knew better than to ask.

“Hello,” Atsumu stumbles over his greeting. He bows deeply. His parents are polite enough to acknowledge his presence, at least.

Their house is big, empty, quiet. Cold. Even more so than he remembers it being back in highschool, and it sends a thrill of something cold down his spine when it reminds him of Kiyoomi’s apartment, now.

His sister is married now and Atsumu knows because he remembers her wedding. She has a husband and a little girl who thinks Kiyoomi is the best person in the world. He wonders when Kiyoomi is due for a spouse and a kid, because even if his parents want that of him, Atusmu knows the way a lover knows, Kiyoomi wants those things for himself.

They head upstairs and Kiyoomi’s bedroom is the same as it ever was, only messier. He hadn’t bothered to take much with him to college, opting to buy most of what he needed, and he clearly shared that idea when moving into his apartment. If anything, there’s more now, piles of stuff in the corners and stacked on the shelves. 

Atsumu feels dizzy. “What are we doing here?”

Kiyoomi turns to look at him over his shoulder, a lost look in his eye. Does he even know? Did Atsumu follow him blindly, like some kind of maniac because he’d follow Kiyoomi anywhere, only for Kiyoomi not to have a clue where they’re headed?

Kiyoomi doesn't answer his question, and Atsumu is too worked up to think straight. His parents invite them down for dinner, which surprises him, but what surprises him more is Kiyoomi leading him by the hand to actually go. It’s not even awkward, because Kiyoomi’s parents don’t seem to care enough about Atsumu’s presence for that to be a possibility. They don’t ask questions about anything. Well—they do, but only the easiest to answer, impersonal and rehearsed.

How have you been? Fine.

How’s work? Good.

Anything new? Not really.

Atsumu can’t stop staring at Kiyoomi the entire time, hardly touching his plate even though his mama would kill him for being so rude.

He gets up near the end of the meal, when a bored looking maid begins to hover, presumably to take their plates. Kiyoomi eyes him warily, as if standing up mid-meal is a line he daren’t cross, as if anyone here has been the slightest bit polite, let alone kind. It’s the first emotion he’s shown since his parents opened the door to them, and Atsumu drags them both to the front door without much thought.

He knows they can walk to the beach from here, even if it’s cold and dark. They could both use the space, the air to breathe and think again. 

“They’re wonderful people, aren’t they?” Kiyoomi asks him, and Atsumu almost startles, so lost in thought.

“Uh, yeah, real warm.” Their shoulders brush. Atsumu’s mind barrels full speed ahead.

“I’m just like them.” Kiyoomi shivers, stopping mid step, stares out at the never-ending navy blue in front of them.

Atsumu huffs which causes them to jostle a bit. “Totally.”

The waves they can’t see crash against the shore. Atsumu turns to look at Kiyoomi. “You don’t really think that.” He says it rather than asks, but the incredulity is evident.

Atsumu barely makes out Kiyoomi shaking his head through the inky blackness of the night. It's so dark out here, not a streetlight in sight. Atsumu hopes Kiyoomi was smart enough to only let Atsumu drag them out here if he knew the area well enough.

“I look exactly like them. I am them,” Kiyoomi sighs. “That’s why—I needed you to see that.”

Something clicks into place. “Omi-kun, that’s not true.” The conviction in his tone causes Kiyoomi to turn towards him.

“I think so.” His voice is hardly loud enough to hear over the roar of the water. “There’s a lot about me I never showed you.”

Atsumu grabs him by the shoulder, turns him, and pulls him against his chest. Kiyoomi is shivering from the sea breeze and night air. “I meant everything I said. But you should know—everything else,” Kiyoomi mumbles.

 “You’re doin’ a terrible job of scaring me off.”

Kiyoomi wraps his arms around his waist, but he's shivering more than before. “I don’t want you to leave. Please forgive me. About the kiss, and—everything.” 

Atsumu looks up at the sky and it must be cloudy because there’s not a star in sight. “I forgave you so many times I lost count.”

Pushing back, Kiyoomi’s eyes meet his in the darkness. “Sorry I dragged you out here. We might miss practice tomorrow.”

“That’s okay.” Atsumu pushes his wind swept hair back. “I almost told you I loved you this morning.”

Kiyoomi pushes himself back against his chest, hiding. It’s not like Atsumu could see much, anyway. “You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says, kissing the top of his head. “We could go out sometime. If you wanted. I know your favorite places to eat.”

— 

They end up back at Atsumu’s apartment at an ungodly hour of the night, the sun not up but not far behind them.

Kiyoomi kisses the base of his throat. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, and then nips. “I love you, too. Sorry I’m a pain in the ass.”

Atsumu hisses when Kiyoomi presses them together and grinds down.

“I don't mind,” Atsumu admits. It’s you, it's you, it’s you, he means. “It’s kind’a nice knowing I wasn’t suffering alone this whole time.”

“We can suffer together now.” Kiyoomi kisses him deep, filthy, perfect. “I didn’t join MSBY to seduce you, by the way. But I was trying to.”

Atsumu picks him up by the back of his thighs and blindly makes his way to the bedroom.

— 

Atsumu wakes up first, as usual. He kisses Kiyoomi awake, even after Kiyoomi yells about morning breath. Atsumu kisses him deeper, tells him he can be whoever he wants to be, and shows him how much he means it.

— 

They go home. Home, home. Atsumu’s parents' house, home.

They actually plan the trip this time, at least. Kiyoomi almost throws up in the car on the way there because he’s still scared shitless of Osamu, and honestly Atsumu isn’t far behind. His mom is an angel, and his dad is like Osamu in the way he shows affection, which is a lot of awkward hovering and trying to feed you and pretend he’s not.

Osamu gives him a hard time until he sees how pale Kiyoomi is, and then softens up a little while still keeping on the side of caution.

“So you’re dating again?” Osamu asks casually, even though it’s a very loaded question.

Kiyoomi is shaking when he says, “Not yet. Um, I’m trying to work on some stuff, and you know make it up to Atsumu.”

Osamu goes soft at this, but Kiyoomi is too nervous to tell.

Atsumu smirks, looking over his shoulder to make sure his parents aren’t hovering. “Oh yeah he makes it up to me all the—”

“Shut up,” Osamu and Kiyoomi say together, which Atsumu thinks is cute.

—

“Your apartment is awful.”

Kiyoomi looks a little stunned by this. “Huh? No it’s not?”

“Yeah it is. Please decorate. It’s so cold and impersonal. I feel like I’m haunting an abandoned house everytime I come over.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi smiles the tiniest bit. “I’m moving soon, anyway.”

“You are?! You should’a told me. I’ll help you, obviously, because I am a great boyfriend.”

— 

Atsumu looks down at Kiyoomi, ice-cream melting in his mouth, spoon dangling from his lips. “You were planning to move in with me, and didn't tell me?”

Kiyoomi pauses the TV. “You found out eventually. Took you long enough,” he says, while looking down at a watch he doesn't even wear. 

“That was months ago! You—”

The icecream falls to the ground and melts into the carpet and then solidifies into the carpet, and when they try a life hack off a dubious website to get it out, light the carpet on fire somehow. Atsumu loves Kiyoomi and their ugly carpet.

— 

They get a cat and a dog and a houseplant and then fifteen more. Kiyoomi wakes up one day, in the middle of it all, and feels like his sixteen year old self hyper jumped to this exact moment. What an asshole, he thinks about his younger self. I love you.

Atsumu wakes up and starts kissing him with his unbrushed mouth and Kiyoomi elbows him right off the bed.