Archive of Our Own

August 17, 2004

It was a Tuesday.

I met him on a Tuesday. That was all. It was so simple, and I remember it so vividly. It was hazy that day, so hot you could barely focus on your own hand in front of your face. I’d taken shelter under a dogwood tree out in the park. The other kids didn’t like me. I was weird—and pale. My mother had taken me to the doctor countless times but they couldn’t find anything other than a child who refused to expose himself to the sun.

My hair was a tattered black mop atop my head. It hung over my eyes. I always had to tuck it back behind my ears with my sweaty fingers which would make my eyes sting. That was what I had to do—I had to alternate between gingerly picking the petals off of the wildflower I’d plucked from the grass and pulling my hair out of my eyes.

I was hunched over my project of choice. Pulling each petal was a simple enough task, but it had to be done with the greatest of care or I would disturb the integrity of the center—

and thus, break the magic of my spell.

“Today is a good day,” I whispered to myself.

“Today is a bad day.”

The spell must’ve been what was keeping me so balanced atop the balls of my feet, my chin propped atop my bony knees which I kept glued together. It pushed my lips up in a strange way. My whispers traveled through the strange space that was left, ringing with an echo in my head.

“Today is a good day,” I said, pulling off another delicate petal and letting it fall from my fingers.

“Today is a bad day.”

I was never so good at answering that question for myself. Whenever I dubbed something a ‘good’ day, something unexpected would come along and ruin it. And when I determined that a day was decidedly ‘bad’, I would feel sick to my stomach for the rest of it.

It was far easier to leave it up to chance—

no, to magic.

The magic of the flower I’d chosen to represent that day.

“Today is a good day,” I muttered.

“Today is a bad—”

Grass crunched somewhere in front of me, coming towards my cowering form. There was a shadow looming along with it. Whoever it was, they were perfectly accompanied by a rush in the warm summer breeze.

“Whaddya doin’?”

I stopped. My eyes trailed up.

“Nuthin’,” I muttered.

I was blinded from seeing their face momentarily since they were standing in the way of the sun. I blinked hard, hoping that the clouds would cover up the sun just long enough for me to see properly.

“Don’t look like nuthin’,” they said, “looks like yer pullin’ the petals off that flower.”

I huffed out a breath.

“So?” I said bitingly.

The boy (I assumed him to be so, he was small and his voice was all grated like he’d been screaming all day) paused for a moment. His shadow remained still over my body.

“S’nice,” he muttered.

I glared back down at my flower.

“Can I join ya?” The boy finally asked.

There was one petal left.

“I guess.”

“Cool,” he said, rounding to my side, “I’m Atsumu.”

That day was a good day.

The day I met the only man I’ve ever loved.

Sakusa Kiyoomi took one last look at whatever remained of his perfectly styled hair after an unexpectedly treacherous journey from his apartment to the office. The light in the bathroom was harsh against the porcelain hue of his skin, his cheeks looked almost pearlescent in the mirror’s reflection.

He could already feel sweat gathering in his armpits. He had been through enough cases that he didn’t actively become nervous anymore, but he would always get a little antsy right before. And when he checked his watch, he was reminded of how close the meeting time actually was.

Kiyoomi took one last tentative finger to the unruly mess of black curls, but it was no use. They were all tangled into one another and stuck up with gel. That was how it was, he supposed. His tie was a bit crooked and his papers were falling out of his aching right arm. Had he really run all the way there? If he’d remembered to scoop his cat’s litter box the night before, there might’ve been a chance of him arriving on time.

“Shit,” he hissed at his own reflection.

There was no time to look perfect.

Who cared anyhow?

He was a divorce lawyer.

No matter how beat up he looked on any given day, there was a good chance his client would be even more disheveled. And when he’d read the brief for his current case, his eyes nearly widened with surprise as to how fucked up the situation really was. He was almost excited to have an audience with the former husband and give him a piece of his mind.

He tched to himself as he approached the door. What were the chances that this guy would be representing himself? That would be a riot.

“Sakusa?”

Kiyoomi turned and saw the woman who’d called his name—his client, Kagawa Minori. She was petite but well built, clad in a boring slate-gray suit. The skirt reached down to her knees and seemed to bind her steps as she walked. She’d hobbled up from her seat like a sophisticated newborn giraffe. She clutched a tissue in one hand and fiddled with the hem of her blazer in the other. She was young, it was one of the things that surprised Kiyoomi about her situation, but the way she’d pinned up her hair made her look weathered by the last four years of her life. The rims of her eyes were a permanent shade of red and the tip of her nose had been rubbed around to match.

“So sorry I’m late,” Kiyoomi bowed his head.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she replied softly, “maybe it’s good that I cried a little bit out here before seeing him.”

“Are you sure you’re ready, Ms. Kagawa?”

She pursed her lips, eyes momentarily downcast.

“Yes,” she affirmed in a broken whisper.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?” Kiyoomi asked.

Her eyes trailed up to the wall behind his head.

“Four months, maybe?” She said, “Whenever I served him the papers, that was—”

Kiyoomi watched as Kagawa’s face screwed up ever so slightly, a warning sign for oncoming tears. He took the initiative and placed his hand gently on her shoulder. He pulled some sort of smile; it wasn’t entirely genuine, but the sympathy deep in his chest was.

“You don’t need to worry about him in there,” Kiyoomi said gently, “I’ll do all the talking for you. And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll have his own lawyer there to handle things.”

Kagawa’s chest fell with a shuddering sigh. She gave a small nod. Kiyoomi removed his hand from her shoulder and used it to rescue the papers that were slipping from the pile in the crook of his arm.

“Alright,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Kiyoomi took an extra second to clear his throat and straighten his tie. He stared straight into the dark wood door and prepared himself.

But, really, he didn’t have anything to worry about, because he couldn’t imagine losing to a lawyer stupid enough to take this man’s case. He almost cracked a genuine smile as he opened the door and came face-to-face first with the ex-husband in question, then with his lawyer draped over the leather seat beside him.

“Finally,” the lawyer hummed, “we’ve been waiting ages.”

However long they had been waiting, they would have to wait a minute more because Kiyoomi was frozen in the doorway, his jaw hanging slack at the sight of the man in the chair.

He was the looming shadow accompanied by the sudden summer breeze, the boy with his face hidden in sunlight, someone Kiyoomi hadn’t seen in nearly eight years.

But those eight years had been no accident,

because Miya Atsumu had been the only man Sakusa Kiyoomi ever truly, deeply hated.

September 8, 2004

We started school together shortly thereafter.

Miya Atsumu liked to talk. And he seemed to have a sixth sense for me when he would come to the park. Not that I swayed from my usual position beneath that tree.

I learned that he had just moved to where I grew up. His mother had packed up all their things and transplanted him and his twin brother to a brand-new town. He didn’t say anything  about his father. He spoke with an accent. He said words that I didn’t understand. But I suppose it was nice to have someone next to me on those long summer afternoons in the park, I had spent eight years being endlessly lonely. And Atsumu never asked me to speak, he was content to fill all the silence himself.

But the true terror came when school began. I had never been good at all the things school entailed: homework, friends, eye contact. And I certainly wasn’t ready for my new acquaintance to encounter this sad side of my existence. I didn’t want him to think less of me.

Thus, on the very first day, I hid from him.

If I was lucky, he wouldn’t even know we went to the same school. I ignored all his phone calls to the house and slipped into the bathroom as quickly as I could when the school bell rang. But it seemed the only kids I couldn’t hide from were the ones who liked to pick on me.

They always came around at recess. I was a frequenter of the dogwood tree out at the perimeter of the grounds where I could sit in relative silence and pick at the skin around my nails. Sometimes I would whisper to myself, converse with my own thoughts.

My plan for their arrival was to stare at the ground and pretend they weren’t even there. Even when they would pull on my hair and kick at my ankles, I’d do my best to ignore them.

“You dumb or something?” One of the kids taunted.

I nestled my chin further into my knees. I tried to hide my trembling lips with it.

“Why don’t you talk, huh?” Another almost knocked me over with the force of his kick, “Or do you only talk to yourself?”

The crew that the ringleader had brought with him cackled in unison at his teasing. I braced myself to have my hair pulled next. I could almost see the shadow approaching me out of the corner of my eye.

“Hey, ya losers!”

This was not a bully’s voice. I looked up the moment I recognized it.

Atsumu had approached the group in a powerful stance, his hands poised on his hips and his chest puffed. There was a shining sheen of sweat gathered over his brow as though he’d run to Kiyoomi’s rescue. His dark brown, unruly brows were pinched at the bridge of his nose and his brown-green eyes were glinting with disgust.

I suppose that was the first time I really saw him. He was not shielded away by the glaring sunlight but had his features defined by the shade of the dogwood branches overhead. I could see every darkened freckle smattering his tanned face and the startling contrast of his light blonde hair mussed atop his head. He had a bandage on his right knee that was barely covered by the school uniform shorts and another on his spindly elbow.

Scrappy.

That was the word that seemed to describe him best.

But to me, all young and small and hunched over beneath the dogwood—

he looked like a superhero.

“Buzz off!” He yelled at the group of boys, “What’d he ever do to y’all?”

Smattered laughter fell over the group. Atsumu was not about to back down.

“What?” One of the boys prodded, “You his friend or something?”

“No way,” another teased, “Kiyoomi has no friends.”

In a handful of certain, marching steps, Atsumu approached my side and crossed his arms over his chest. I gazed up at him as though he was the sun itself, he towered over me from so close.

“Not true,” Atsumu asserted, “because I’m his friend.”

In that moment, it was true.

He was my friend.

He was the only person I could trust.

“Oh, no,” Kiyoomi whispered to himself when he saw the man sat on the other side of the conference table.

A wildfire ignited in his body, one of fury that he thought had burnt up everything in its path eight years ago. Because the last he heard of Miya Atsumu, he was moving to the southernmost point of Japan, far far away from Sakusa Kiyoomi.

How foolish he was to think it would stay that way.

And how foolish he felt standing there in the doorway with his lips parted in shock and his papers slipping from his arms.

“Huh,” he heard Atsumu hum.

He was struck with a milder form of surprise as though he knew his old enemy was about to walk through that door. Atsumu’s appearance hadn’t changed all that much in eight years. At twenty-six just as at eighteen, Atsumu had a slim, tanned face with freckles that resembled the stars in the night sky decorating his nose and cheeks. His hair was still a pale blonde, but he’d obviously learned about toner sometime in those eight years—he’d slicked it back only slightly to ensure he retained the rugged, boyish tousled look while still being professional.

He’d become a lawyer?

A divorce lawyer, no less?

Not fair. Kiyoomi was the lawyer, Atsumu couldn’t steal his idea like this.

And how, out of the millions of divorce cases there probably were at that time, had they ended up representing two halves of the same couple?

Kiyoomi gulped and willed the fire spreading through his body to calm. He couldn’t lose it, not here, not in front of his client. And especially not in front of Atsumu.

Thus, he took three slow, calculated steps towards the empty chair beside the one that Kagawa had already seated herself in. Even she could sense the change in Kiyoomi’s demeanor. She was gazing up at him with a misty, worried gaze.

“Right,” Kiyoomi muttered as he set his papers atop the table, straightening the pile to buy himself some time.

Now, sitting, he was face-to-face with Miya Atsumu. It was far too close for comfort. Even hundreds of miles had been too close for comfort. Kiyoomi could feel his face growing hot as the memories resurfaced, the ones he had spent eight long years desperate to forget. His hands shook as he opened his leather file folder.

“Let’s commence today’s meeting concerning the divorce between Kagawa Minori and Kagawa—”

“Aw, c’mon Omi,” Atsumu crooned, “no need to be so formal.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes flickered up. He gritted his teeth.

“Do you two know each other?”

The man beside Atsumu finally spoke. He had a pointed face with narrowed eyes. His jet black hair was slicked back to perfection and he had a rather expensive watch adorning his wrist. His suit was perfectly tailored to his shoulders and chest, too. He seemed so severe, so unlike his mousy, soft-spoken wife. And he seemed wholly displeased that the meeting was happening at all.

And now he had noticed the change in the atmosphere and the tension pulling between the lawyers.

“We—” Kiyoomi began.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The memories were rising in his throat like sour bile. Or maybe that was actual nausea.

“Yeah,” Atsumu cut in bitingly, “law school.”

Liar.

But that was who Miya Atsumu was, a liar. He was a liar and a sneak who ruined lives just for the hell of it.

Kiyoomi couldn’t take it. It felt like his whole body was on fire and whenever he looked at the words on the paper before him, they all blurred through his fury. He couldn’t grit his teeth nor purse his lips enough to make it subside.

And he felt sick. He felt almost as sick as the last day he saw Miya Atsumu eight years ago.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he eked out.

Kiyoomi shoved himself up from his chair and raced out of the room. He ignored all his worries of how silly he looked leaving the way he did and focused instead on patting around his pockets for his phone.

He made a beeline for the bathroom where he had begun his day at the office. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands, another wave of sickness washing over his body.

“Oh, god,” he hissed when he finally found the contact he was looking for.

He gripped the edge of the sink and watched his knuckles go white. With his phone poised against his ear and the taunting ring echoing through his mind, he could stare at himself in the mirror and take in the way his curls had finally dislodged themselves completely from his gelled style. His cheeks were red-hot and his eyes blown wide.

“Pick up,” he begged in a whisper, “pick up pick up pick up.”

“Hello? Kiyoomi?”

“Dr. Hiroshi?”

He sounded as frazzled as he looked.

“Hello, Kiyoomi,” the sweet old man greeted him, “is everything alright?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Oh, dear,” Dr. Hiroshi hummed.

“He’s here,” Kiyoomi hissed.

“Who?”

“Atsumu!”

Kiyoomi’s voiced bounced unceremoniously off the tiled bathroom walls. He prayed that there was no one in the stalls behind him to witness it.

“I thought he lived in—”

“Yeah!” Kiyoomi tossed up his free hand, “Me too! But now he’s sitting across from me at my job!”

“Alright, everything will be okay,” Dr. Hiroshi reassured.

Kiyoomi spun around and rested his back against the sink’s edge. He laid his hand over his forehead and leaned back. He let a slow, practiced breath out through his lips.

“He was supposed to be gone forever,” Kiyoomi groaned.

Dr. Hiroshi hummed.

“You’re still writing out the story, correct?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi replied.

“Kiyoomi, we have talked extensively about what happened eight years ago,” his therapist explained, “and writing out the details will help you to unlock what you’ve hidden away. But perhaps seeing him in person—”

“No,” Kiyoomi protested, “no, I can’t handle it.”

“I’m afraid you must,” said Dr. Hiroshi.

Kiyoomi shook his head and blinked back tears. There was a knot caught up in his throat. No, there was an Atsumu caught up in his throat.

“I encourage you to keep writing out the memories,” the doctor explained, “and take things slow. Since you’re seeing each other again in a professional setting, you don’t need to expend more emotional energy than you normally would in your work.”

Kiyoomi nodded, “You’re right.”

“And be sure to take your medication.”

Kiyoomi pursed his lips and nodded again.

“Yeah,” he affirmed.

“This isn’t the end of the world,” Dr. Hiroshi reassured, “right? You’re still alive.”

Kiyoomi glanced down at his body leaned up against the sink. He gazed at his hand. It had stopped trembling.

“I am, yeah,” he hummed.

“I’ll see you Wednesday?”

Kiyoomi forced a small smile even though his therapist couldn’t see it.

“Yeah.”

With a click, the call had ended. A sense of calm had overcome Kiyoomi’s prior panic. He always felt better after hearing Dr. Hiroshi’s voice. He even felt well enough to leave the bathroom and return to the meeting at hand.

Kiyoomi pulled a small, flat smile and tucked his phone back into his pocket as he pushed the door open.

“What chance, huh?”

Before he could even fully step back into the corridor, Kiyoomi felt the presence of another body push him back up against the bathroom door. He glanced forward to see Atsumu standing before him. His arms were crossed lazily and there was a curt smile on his face. Kiyoomi took in a long, deep breath and wished that he could leave his physical body, just for a little while.

“Who’da thought?” Atsumu crooned.

“Don’t do this,” Kiyoomi hissed.

“Do what?”

Atsumu was teasing him. Kiyoomi had observed enough conversations to know that he was using his teasing voice.

“I will only be interacting with you in professional settings,” Kiyoomi said.

“Awh, Omi,” Atsumu groaned, “sad to see you’re just like you were eight years ago.”

White-hot fury ignited in Kiyoomi’s chest.

“Excuse me?” He hissed.

Atsumu’s smile stretched.

“Cold, tactless, heartless—”

“Says you!”

“Yeah,” Atsumu took a step towards him, “says me.”

Kiyoomi took a step to the left in a desperate attempt to shove past Atsumu, but he was too quick for him.

“Don’t tell me you left our clients alone in the room,” Kiyoomi hissed.

Atsumu tched, “Wouldn’t dream of it, I left the husband in the room and told his wife ot get a cup of coffee from the lobby. I’m not that bad of a lawyer.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes and adjusted the fastening of his blazer.

“I haven’t forgotten what you did,” Kiyoomi muttered coldly.

“What I did?” Atsumu hissed.

“Yes.”

Kiyoomi evaded again, but Atsumu caught him in his path.

“How about what you did?”

“I only did what I did because of what you did!” Kiyoomi hissed.

“Y’know what?”

Atsumu tossed his hands up in surrender, but he kept his sly smile stretched across his face.

“We should be professionals about this, shouldn’t we?” He crooned.

Kiyoomi gritted his teeth and exhaled a hot breath. Atsumu just smiled.

“You should be good at ignorin’ me, right?” Atsumu taunted, “You did a damn good job of it eight years ago.”

Atsumu turned sharply on his heel, stuck his hands in his slim slack pockets, and marched back towards the door with a swagger he couldn’t seem to shake,

leaving Kiyoomi to seethe, his back pinned against the bathroom door.

February 14, 2008

I was eleven.

Atsumu and I had been some special sort of inseparable ever since he defended my honor under the dogwood tree. Though I wasn’t very well-versed in being friends, Atsumu made it seem so easy. He would sit beside me in the park on sunny Saturdays and jabber on about some sports game he’d seen on the television. He and I would pile up the snow in our front yards as high as it would go then watch it slowly melt over the following weeks. On the playground, in our classrooms, everywhere—we were together.

We had this tradition of exchanging Valentine’s. We were aware of the more well-known tradition of girls gifting homemade chocolates to the boy of their choosing, but we didn’t care all that much about it. Atsumu would always receive a few from blushing, giggling classmates to which he’d flash that charming smile and say a curt thanks. Then, he’d bring all the boxes in a pile in his arms to our spot beneath the dogwood tree, give half to me, and keep half for himself.

I was about to turn twelve. I could always identify the closeness of my own birthday by the way it would snow on Valentine’s Day. I knew that by the time March came around, the snow will have melted, and the leaves would be making their reappearance. And it snowed that Valentine’s Day, just like I’d predicted. But everything felt different in my stomach and my chest:

I was nervous.

I’d decided to forgo the usual gift I’d prepare for Atsumu—typically I’d bring some of my mom’s onigiri and a chocolate bar I bought at the convenience store on the way. But that year, I’d stayed up far too late making Atsumu homemade chocolates. I have no idea what possessed me to do it or why I’d poured so much blood, sweat, and tears into the ordeal especially to have to walk to school with trembling hands, the box tucked under my arm.

I worried that I would drop it. My winter coat was making the process difficult. My head spun the entire journey. Perhaps it was a sudden onset of puberty’s anticipation or the premonition of a fever. I didn’t know. All I knew was that when I reached the school, Miya Atsumu would be waiting for me in the courtyard. Me and my Valentine’s Day gift.

I saw him from a distance and wondered, just for a moment, if it wasn’t too late to turn around and go back home. Maybe a fever wouldn’t have been so bad.

But I was too late. Atsumu saw me from that great distance and waved. I could see a box tucked beneath his arm.

“Whatcha got there, Omi?” He teased once I was in earshot.

He always asked that even though he knew. He smiled like he always did.

“A-a gift,” I stammered, just like I always did.

“For me?!” He exclaimed.

I stared at my feet when I felt my cheeks flush. How was my face getting so hot? It was snowing outside!

“Here,” I muttered, sticking the box out in his direction.

Atsumu snatched it greedily. He was so eager to get it open that he seemingly forgot all about the gift he had for me that he’d set by his feet.

I swallowed thickly as I saw him undo the bright red ribbon and open the makeshift white cardboard box. His smile dropped a bit when he saw the chocolates.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I immediately began to clammer, “I know I usually give you onigiri but I thought I’d make you chocolates this year and—”

I was cut off by Atsumu’s forceful, bone-crushing grip around my body. He hugged me warmly. We didn’t hug very much, as per my request. But there was something different about this hug. It was familiar, he and I fit perfectly within one another’s grasp. I couldn’t bring myself to totally wrap my arms around him without feeling awkward, but that didn’t stave off Atsumu in the slightest.

When he finally parted from me, I had to swallow down what felt like bile against the insides of my throat. The tip of his nose was red from the cold. He smiled widely. He was missing a new tooth.

“Thanks,” he sighed, “I like ‘em a lot!”

All I could reply with was a wavering smile. It wasn’t something I did very often, and I was trying to mirror Atsumu’s expression as best as I could. It probably looked strange. I didn’t care.

It was Valentine’s Day, it was snowing, and I was opening the gift Atsumu had brought for me. It was all the same.

But everything was so different.

My stomach was in my feet. My head was in a cyclone. I couldn’t stop looking at Miya Atsumu.

So, I shoved it all into a deep hole in my mind and swallowed the key to its lock. I hoped it would die there.

“Thanks,” I said flatly to Atsumu when I opened the same gift that I received from him every year.

Kiyoomi hoped that a third cup of coffee would be enough to kill him.

He could feel his hands trembling as he drank the lukewarm sludge that was left of his beverage. It was the best pastime he could think of while waiting for the couple's second deliberation. Their first meeting had ended shortly after their gathering in the room due to Mr. Kagawa's surprisingly tight schedule and the unusually long recess both of their lawyers had taken to snip at each other in the corridor. The four had cut their losses and scheduled another introductory meeting for the following week.

Atsumu had emailed Kiyoomi a few times between the two meetings. They'd been dry, drivel interactions which were just what Kiyoomi had promised to stick with: professional nonsense. Even Kiyoomi's therapist was shocked at the coincidence of their reunion.

Now, he was stood outside the law office, empty coffee cup in hand, biting a hole into his lip. He'd layered on an extra sheen of deodorant in anticipation.

"Good morning," a meek voice appeared beside him.

Kiyoomi sighed when he saw Mrs. Kagawa with her head bowed.

"Kagawa-san, I'm so incredibly sorry for our last meeting," he pled in a soft voice.

"Pay it no mind," she replied with a smile, "I suspect there's more to the situation than what I can see."

Kiyoomi gritted his teeth.

"There is," he said, "we—"

There was so much to be said, yet Kiyoomi couldn't find a single cohesive thought to express.

"We grew up together," he sighed, "and there's some unresolved conflict."

Mrs. Kagawa fiddled with the crumpled handkerchief between her fingers. Her brows pinched.

"But," Kiyoomi added quickly, "we are both professionals and we're not going to let our personal troubles impede this process any further."

A weight seemed to drop from the client's shoulders as Kiyoomi explained himself so vehemently. But he meant what he said. He was not going to let Atsumu ruin his reputation in the firm nor suck him back into his former self.

Because Kiyoomi was more assured now. He was not the lonely little kid sitting beneath the dogwood tree pleading for a single friend. He was an adult with many acquaintances from law school who lived alone in a fancy apartment because he had no boyfriend nor children to support with his salary. Perhaps he was still alone, but he preferred it that way.

He and Mrs. Kagawa strolled into the firm when the clock struck 9:55am. Kiyoomi wanted to be prompt, but not embarrassingly early so as to come across to his opponent as stuffy. Truthfully, he was stuffy when it came to his work, but he felt as though he had something to prove even while keeping everything professional.

And there Atsumu sat across the same table, that old familiar grin pasted on his face. Kiyoomi's insides went alight with fire as he settled into his own seat and arranged his papers.

"Mornin', folks—" Atsumu began to trill.

"Today, we've gathered to discuss the matter of Kagawa Minori's divorce from her husband Kagawa Yuu as outlined in their prenup," Kiyoomi interrupted him.

Atsumu's jaw hung slack for a moment. He wasn't fazed for long, though.

"Of course," he followed suit, "I trust we're familiar with the document?"

It was a biting question asked in a biting tone. Kiyoomi hardened his jaw.

"Naturally," he hummed, “but I think we'll find it appropriate to reference the written document during this meeting for the sake of our clients, hmm?"

Two could play at Miya's devious little game.

"Naturally," Atsumu replied in a strained voice.

"Ms. Kagawa would like to first ensure that the children's life insurance will remain intact, as written," Kiyoomi rattled off.

Mr. Kagawa nodded. Atsumu gave him a pointed look.

"Rest assured, the kids will be taken care of."

Kiyoomi's brows pinched.

"That didn't answer my query," he said, "I wanted an affirmation of the life insurance remaining under the jurisdiction of both parties at the request of Ms. Kagawa."

Atsumu leaned toward his client. Mr. Kagawa whispered something in his ear which made a wide smile stretch onto Atsumu's face.

"My client would like to move on to a different clause of the prenup."

Kiyoomi's breath hitched in his throat. This was not how the meeting was supposed to go.

He was no longer in control—he could feel it.

"Isn't it best we go in order?" Kiyoomi asked through gritted teeth.

"Isn't it best we serve our clients?" Atsumu retorted.

Kiyoomi inhaled a hot, deep breath. He held his lips closed mindfully lest a singular slip launch him into an argument.

"Fine," he hissed, "what is it that your client would like to discuss?"

Atsumu glanced to his client once more, the ghost of a nod passing between them.

"Clause 3A, subsection B," he flipped in the papers, "concerning ownership of the house."

Kiyoomi felt his client pipe up beside him. His chest sank.

"My client would like to petition for a different division of the estate," Atsumu said, "in which he receives the house and your client receives the children in a fair trade-off."

Ms. Kagawa let out a small gasp.

Kiyoomi turned to her and saw her harrowed expression.

"He can't take the house!" She whispered, "My kids and I will have no place to go!"

Kiyoomi held his hand up in an act of calming. Yet, in his mind, he too was worried about the recent developments.

"This is a binding prenup," Kiyoomi explained, "we can't vouch for changes after the fact."

"Is that so?" Atsumu countered immediately, "Then I propose that your client's changes to holiday claims is violating this principle of yours."

Kiyoomi's chest tightened. He adjusted his posture while flicking through the thick stack of papers before him.

"It's not my fault!" Ms. Kagawa pled in a teary voice, "He drafted the prenup before we were even engaged, I had no say."

"Minori," Mr. Kagawa said firmly, "what did I tell you about letting your lawyer speak for you?"

"Let's be civil," Atsumu advised.

But Kiyoomi scoffed. Atsumu cocked his head.

"I'm just reading what's written in the prenup," he hummed.

"Yeah," Kiyoomi shook his head, "you were always a big fan of reading, weren't you?"

"Excuse me?" Atsumu hissed.

"Reading other people's personal, private business," Kiyoomi hummed whilst flicking through the remaining pages.

Their budding fight had slipped under the radar of their clients who were engaged in their own hissing fit.

"I can't believe you're still mad," Atsumu whispered bitingly, leaning across the oaken table.

"I can't believe you're here," Kiyoomi hissed in response, locking his eyes onto his opponent's.

"I don't even know what you're mad at me for!" Atsumu tossed his hands up.

"Classic deflection," Kiyoomi resisted the urge to applaud him.

Atsumu rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

"Alright, come on," he coaxed the clients back to civility, "let's pull this meeting back together."

But Kiyoomi just leaned back in his seat with a small smile. Because he knew he had won.

And he knew Miya Atsumu was a liar.

October 30, 2011

I didn’t like being touched.

But Atsumu was becoming an exception to that rule.

I couldn’t even fathom enjoying a hug from either of my parents, but I always liked when Atsumu would shimmy closer when we sat beneath our favorite tree at the park and press his shoulder against mine. He was always warm, I always seemed to be cold. We reached a perfect equilibrium when we were close to one another.

High school had brought unique challenges to my own existence. Though I had a loyal friend by my side, the social atmosphere of my new school had placed an inordinate amount of pressure on me. There were clubs and exams and expectations I couldn’t even imagine meeting. I’d become involved in a small horticulture society, but only because Atsumu had found a hobby of his own.

Volleyball.

Well, it wasn’t so much a hobby as it was his new identity.

I couldn’t lie, he was a great player. Atsumu had always been naturally athletic, but when he entered the court for the first time, it was as though he’d reached his final form. He begged me to join to the point of grabbing my hands and pleading. I explained to him that if there was a single athletic bone in my body, I had yet to find it. So, Atsumu continued on without me, and the coaches lauded him constantly and he had the entire school’s attention.

Yet, I was still his best friend.

We walked home together every day. He bought me candy from the corner store. I told him drinking so many sodas each week was going to rot through his teeth.

“How can something that tastes so good do so much harm?” He would tease, bumping my shoulder with his.

“Too much of any good thing can hurt,” I’d reply flatly.

We still exchanged Valentine’s Day gifts. My parents adored Atsumu. Even if he got me into trouble, they’d still love him just as much. And Atsumu’s mother liked me. His twin brother was a bit coarse, though. He always stewed in his room when I would come over and refused to say anything to me more than a curt ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. Didn’t really bother me.

But no matter what, there was no talk of Atsumu’s father. I never even dared to ask. There wasn’t a single picture in the house of any boy that wasn’t Atsumu and his twin. There wasn’t a mention, not even a whisper of him on anyone’s lips. There were moments where I wanted to ask, where the curiosity would burn inside of me.

I never dared to.

It was nearly Halloween, the eve of it to be exact. The biting autumn breeze was nipping at the apples of my cheeks as we strolled through the darkened streets of our neighborhood.

Atsumu’s body had changed in the year he’d played volleyball. It was nothing drastic, but his shoulders were a tad wider, and he’d grown at least an inch of height. His face was more tanned and freckled from outdoor practices. These were all things I had to imagine, however, now that the colder weather had come and Atsumu had little tolerance for the season’s chill.

Only three years had passed since I gave him chocolates for the very first time.

And still, whenever I saw him, my stomach would do flips. My head would enter a tailspin and I’d find myself stuck on what to say next. I didn’t understand it, even at fifteen. I didn’t understand many things about feelings, especially my own.

All I knew was what I wanted. I wanted to hold Atsumu’s hand, just to see what it would feel like.

I wanted to touch his hair. Sometimes it would brush against my hand when he’d play tackle me to the ground, but that was all.

I wanted to—

“Can you keep a secret?”

Atsumu’s voice tore through our mutual silence. I glanced over to him, but he was keeping his eyes steady on the road before him. My mouth went dry when I saw the sunlight glint over his long lashes.

“Yes,” I choked out.

Atsumu paused in his words. His eyes drifted down to his feet.

“My dad—”

My breath hitched in my throat. I watched Atsumu even as we walked down the street. I didn’t care much what was in our path. I awaited the next words out of Atsumu’s mouth eagerly.

“He left us.”

I pulled my lips between my teeth. Atsumu’s face drooped.

“The day we came here was the same day he told my mom that he had another family, kids with some other wife,” Atsumu explained, “and he needed us to leave the house so he could—have them move in.”

“That’s terrible,” I whispered in disbelief.

I’d  never had much of a filter.

“It’s—” Atsumu shook his head, “embarrassing.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

Atsumu stopped, then. I only took one more step forward before I, too, stopped. I glanced back at Atsumu who was staring at his shoes.

“Are you sure?” He said meekly.

I bounded towards him.

“How could it ever be your fault?”

Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said dismissively.

“He’s an idiot for leaving,” I hissed, “he’s scum.”

Atsumu chuckled breathily. He gazed back up at me.

“That’s nice of you to say,” he muttered with a growing smile.

“I mean it!” I insisted.

Atsumu took in a long, deep breath.

“We try to keep everything quiet,” he said, “don’t want people to talk.”

It was a understandable effort. A small town bred rumors with long appendages and nasty teeth. It was best to not get yourself caught in its jaws.

“But you’re my best friend,” Atsumu said with a half-smile.

My expression didn’t change on its own. I hope Atsumu knew how much his words meant to me even though I couldn’t show it the way I wanted.

“You know that, right?” Atsumu asked.

I nodded.

Atsumu huffed out a small laugh.

Then perhaps that was it. When Atsumu looked at me, his stomach also performed acrobatics. Maybe his hands also got clammy and his thoughts muddled.

Because they were best friends.

It made sense—

for now.

There was a mixer later that week for lawyers in the area. Kiyoomi had resisted, never a big fan of the high-end bar scene, but his boss had insisted. His reasons were three-fold:

1. There were some neighboring firm officials there that he needed to schmooze
2. He hadn't attended a mixer like this since he was in law school
3. His most recent divorce case was turning him into a high-powered spring coil

Kiyoomi couldn't argue with such sound reasoning.

Thus, he was leaning against the window of a car's backseat, his suit tight around his neck and his hands fiddling with the seam of his slacks.

As he watched the familiar cityscape rush by, he thought about his prior meeting with Atsumu and their respective clients. There seemed to be no end to the case. Mr. Kagawa was greedy and Ms. Kagawa was far too compliant. Thus, their meetings ran in circles, always ending in some spat between the lawyers.

As much as Kiyoomi wanted to let the past go, he couldn't bear the thought of it. The memory was like a wound that had been left to fester for far too long, never given a moment to truly heal. It oozed and ached and grew more tender by the day. Kiyoomi couldn't stop prodding at the damn thing, wishing that everything had been different.

At least he had the lawyer mixer, complete with all the alcohol he could reasonably consume in one night.

He waved the car off after stepping out onto the sidewalk. The bar was swanky on the outside, and he could hear club music thumping from where he stood. He shimmied himself in through the doors after giving the bouncer a decisive look. He didn't get carded since he started working at the firm. He was convinced it'd given him lines upon his face that aged him terribly.

But the interior of the bar felt like a familiar face, not necessarily someone you like but someone you, at some point in the past, tolerated. Kiyoomi made a beeline for the crowded bar and tilted his chin towards the bartender.

“Martini,” he said over the hum of chatter, “dry.”

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement as Kiyoomi glanced out over the sea of people. He knew he was surrounded by lawyers because of the way they were all dressed, stern black dresses and suits, and by the way they were acting—

like teenagers.

Some were dancing. Others were chatting up fellow lawyers they probably hoped to never face again (god forbid in a court of law). It must’ve been an open bar even considering the vigor with which the lawyers crowded the counter. Either that or Kiyoomi was earning way less money than his peers.

He had his drink in his hand soon enough. He’d scored a miracle seat at the crowded bar and leaned back into his seat, relishing in the inaugural sips of his cocktail. He squinted his eyes to try and get a better idea of the faces around him. He recognized an associate form the property firm down the road, they’d had to settle a divorce between two small business owners that grew nasty fast. Whenever money was involved, grown adults always began to act like children.

And now he was faces with a dilemma of his own: a husband hell-bent on taking advantage of his wife’s compliance all while their lawyers engaged in a playground fight. Perhaps Kiyoomi had half a mind to drop the case altogether, transfer it to one of his coworkers.

Miya Atsumu, his mind reeled.

“I thought this was a closed even,” a sour voice sneered behind him.

Kiyoomi turned to see the subject of his burning thoughts standing with his own drink clenched in his hand, his lip pulled into a snarl. Kiyoomi’s stomach sank.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed.

Atsumu leaned against the edge of the counter.

“It’s a lawyer mixer,” he said flatly.

“Leave,” Kiyoomi commanded, averting his eyes.

“What? No way!” Atsumu cried.

“Fine,” Kiyoomi took one last swig of his drink, “then I’ll leave.”

He adjusted his shoulder in his blazer and hoisted himself to his feet. Yet, he was stopped by a force on his wrist. It was Atsumu’s hand.

“No,” Atsumu sighed, “just stay.”

“Why?” Kiyoomi bit.

“What, we can’t have a fucking conversation anymore?” Atsumu seethed, “Are we gonna act like we’re eighteen ‘till we die?”

Kiyoomi huffed out a sigh. He wanted Atsumu to let go of his wrist, but there was an underlying feeling to his old friend touching him again. They hadn’t seen each other, much less touched each other in eight years.

“Stay and we’ll—” Atsumu rolled his eyes, “talk about the case or something.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrowed at Atsumu. He knew if he sat, Atsumu would let go of him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the passing moment to end.

“Fine,” he huffed, placing himself back in his stool.

Atsumu was just as lucky in securing the seat beside it as a lawyer made headway towards the dance floor. It wasn’t much of an environment for talking, but they were already sitting and Kiyoomi had motioned to the bartender for another and there was nothing he could do now.

“So, what have you been doing for eight years?”

Kiyoomi furrowed his brow at Atsumu’s blasé question. His eyes darted around to the scene that surrounded them.

“My job?” Kiyoomi replied sourly, “As a lawyer?”

“Yeah, I know that” Atsumu waved him off, “but that can’t be it.”

“Pretty much is,” Kiyoomi shrugged, a fresh martini appearing before him.

Atsumu scoffed and took a sip of his drink. Kiyoomi shot him a withering stare.

“I’m more interested in how you ended up in my prefecture,” he muttered.

Atsumu’s eyes trailed down to the counter. His fingers tapped against his glass.

“Coincidence. Got transferred by my firm,” he said.

Kiyoomi studied him for a moment: the way his light blonde hair caught the red-purple lights of the bar, his half-lidded eyes and plump, drunken lips. How long had he been here?

“Doesn’t happen very often,” Kiyoomi muttered.

“No,” Atsumu shook his head, “it doesn’t.”

Kiyoomi didn’t want to admit how gorgeous Atsumu looked. Around him, Kiyoomi felt seventeen again, clutching his television while he watched the characters in his favorite movie end up with other people. He felt small, like a crumpled ball of paper folded over itself countless times. He felt like a rice-paper screen, so thin that a mere breath could tear it.

Atsumu, in contrast, was forged of solid gold. He never glittered cheaply, he glimmered like an Olympic medal. He bit off the corners of life with no regard for his own teeth. He was a tall, impenetrable wall, even when he was tipsy.

Kiyoomi had spent eight years trying to forget Miya Atsumu. He’d spent that time telling himself that all these things he thought about him weren’t true.

So why did he feel so sick to his stomach? And why was his heart in his throat?

“You date at all?” Atsumu asked suddenly and plainly.

Okay, he had to be drunk.

“Wh-no!” Kiyoomi stammered, nearly choking on his own spit.

Atsumu’s cheeks were crimson. His golden eyes were glazed over with memories.

“Not at all?” He asked, finally gazing back up at Kiyoomi whose heart was off to the races.

Kiyoomi’s mouth felt dry around his confession.

“No,” he admitted.

Atsumu looked away with a small nod. Kiyoomi felt his lips go loose from the second drink, his insides softening with the sour heat.

“You?” He asked, simply.

Atsumu’s brows rose. His cheeks were still crimson, Kiyoomi couldn’t tell what from.

“A bit,” he said, “a girl in law school and then this guy I worked with—that was a mistake.”

Kiyoomi’s breath caught up beneath his heart at the base of his throat. He felt his own cheeks flush red, and he hoped that Atsumu would suspect the drinking to have brought it on.

A guy?

Was Atsumu—

“Wait—,” Kiyoomi began.

“But I don’t wanna talk about them,” Atsumu cut him off in a slur, “that was forever ago, anyhow.”

Kiyoomi’s mouth snapped shut. He’d missed his chance. But his mind was already filling with that pleasurable, cottony feeling. Perhaps he’d buck up the courage to ask about it later.

Or, perhaps, he would go home that night, lie in his bed, and imagine Atsumu’s words like a carousel’s song—

on an endless loop.

He always found himself caught in the loop. Kiyoomi was riding a carousel horse he could never dismount. And he rode it to the tune of a memory, one he could never shake.

“How’s your mom?” Atsumu asked in a small voice.

Kiyoomi swallowed his previous words.

“She’s fine,” he replied.

Atsumu wore a dopey smile.

“Still in the old house?”

“Course.”

“With the blue curtains?” And that box TV?”

Though Atsumu was looking at him, Kiyoomi could see a veil over his eyes as though he could see the very things he described before them.

“It’s all still there,” said Kiyoomi, “she was never one to change.”

“My mom’s been hopping around ever since ‘Samu and I left the house,” Atsumu mumbled, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

“Really?” Kiyoomi leaned in a bit.

Atsumu shrugged, “I know it’s silly, I’m twenty-six, but I sometimes wish I had my childhood home to go back to.”

Kiyoomi took a nervous sip from his glass. Atsumu wasn’t looking anymore, too lost in his own thoughts.

“I could go back but—” Atsumu paused, “she wouldn’t be there, my room would look different.”

There was a small moment, even amidst the thumping music and crowded bar chatter, where Kiyoomi felt familiar to it all. It was as though they were sitting beneath the dogwood tree, enjoying the silence that accompanied their scattered thoughts. The slight inebriation was helping Kiyoomi feel young again, apt to say anything that came to his mind.

“You can always go back to my house, if you want.”

The words slipped out, right through the fingers of his mind like fine sand. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but let his jaw hand after what he’d said finally soaked in his mind.

Atsumu, however, had perked up. His eyes shined.

“Really?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi continued, digging himself deeper into the hole.

“Do you visit often?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi shook his head, “Not really,  I don’t have the time.”

Atsumu finished off what was left of his drink before slumping along his seat.

“Y’know, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s body tensed at the sound of his nickname. He hadn’t heard it in ages. Atsumu stared into space for a moment more, then let his gaze fall back to Kiyoomi.

“I’m not mad about what you said eight years ago,” his words slurred together, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Kiyoomi’s realization was slow. The words had to fight through a pool of thick gin to reach the part of his mind that really understood. When they began to trickle in, one-by-one, the wildfire sparked in Kiyoomi’s stomach.

“So, can we leave all that shit behind and be friends again?”

Kiyoomi’s lips peeled apart from one another, the fire growing and eating everything in its path. Memories of that day resurfaced, pungent and saturated with every emotion it bore. His teeth gritted.

“Excuse me?” He asked in a hiss.

Atsumu gazed at him.

“You’ve—” Kiyoomi shook his head in disbelief, “forgiven me?”

Atsumu’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I just thought—“

“What I said?” Kiyoomi’s voice rose, “What about what you did?”

Brow knitting further, Atsumu straightened his posture, a sobering moment passing through him.

“What I did?” He asked lowly.

“Yeah, what you did,” Kiyoomi bit, “how you ruined my life. How you ruined everything!”

Atsumu squished his eyes closed and shook his head.

“What are you talking about?” He asked

Kiyoomi tossed his hands up.

“This is stupid,” he muttered to himself, “It’s idiotic to think we could ever be friends again.”

Atsumu stood right after Kiyoomi did.

“Then y’know what? I don’t forgive you!” He cried, “What you did ruined my life.”

Clearly, Atsumu had shouted louder than he intended. Kiyoomi knew that they’d just slipped into bar behavior that wasn’t exactly acceptable when he glanced over to see the bartender eyeing them.

With a huff, Kiyoomi dashed towards the door. He didn’t care whether Atsumu was following him. He didn’t look back to check.

He didn’t want to see his face gain—

especially not while tears were welling up in his eyes.

August 3, 2012

The summer after I turned sixteen, I developed a love of movies.

Atsumu had been invited to a month-long volleyball training camp. He’d told me the news with a spot of sadness; he felt bad leaving me alone for half of the break. I told him it would be fine. We had spent every day of June together biking down the grassy knolls, gorging ourselves on ice cream, and napping on the warm concrete behind Atsumu’s house.

When he finally left, my chest ached. He got onto the bus after shooting me some forlorn look and waving weakly. It was best if I didn’t stay too long after the bus sped off into the distance.

But on my way home, I’d passed a secondhand movie store. I wasn’t exactly flush with cash at the age of sixteen, so the owner struck a deal with me where in return for sweeping occasionally, I could borrow any movie I wanted as long as I brought it back.

Thus my fascination was born.

It was more than a fascination, though. It moreso consumed my entire life.

When I wasn’t watching movies, I was researching movies or watching director’s cuts of movies and interviews with the cast members. Even when I showered and did the dishes, I was imagining movies I’d seen, playing my favorites out in my head.

All the while, I kept good on my promise to the shop owner and swept the floor each Saturday, the same day when I’d bring back all the movies I’d devoured that week. The piles grew larger every time I returned, and the old man was more than happy to sit and listen to every single thought I’d had while watching them.

I wanted Atsumu to be there. He’d called a few times, but my phone minutes were limited and his schedule seemed fairly tight. I distracted myself with movies.

Country westerns were alright, not my favorite.

There were a few action movies I really enjoyed.

Romantic comedies were typically awful, but I still watched them.

Once or twice would usually suffice when it came to a movie, then I would be weary of it.

One Saturday, I added a movie called ‘My Own Private Idaho’ to my pile. I didn’t think much of it.  I set aside the next day to watch through the movies at the top of the stack. It was the second one I watched that Sunday.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the boxy television I’d lugged into my room from the side of the road. I’d migrated from the edge of my bed to the spot of carpet right in front of the TV. It was as though I couldn’t look closely enough.

I held my breath every time River Phoenix’s character spoke.

The way he yearned for his friend, could barely think without him around. His words burned themselves into my mind, I found myself whispering them to myself after he said them.

When he and his friend were gathered around the campfire, I inched just a bit closer.

“If I had a normal family, a normal upbringing, I would be a more well-adjusted person,” he said.

There was an intimacy to the way they spoke with one another. I imagined myself hunched over, poking at the fire with a stick. I imagined Atsumu beside me, lounging against the log.

“I don’t feel like—”

I held my breath.

“I don’t feel like—I can be close to you.”

It was as though I’d heard it in my own voice.

Something inside me ached. It bled and squeezed the life out of itself.

“What do I mean to you?”

I mouthed the words. I still imagined Atsumu.

“Mike—”

“I really wanna kiss you, man.”

Realization spread like fire. It began in the center of my chest and licked all the way down my arms and legs. I pursed my lips and swallowed something thick. I could barely move. I almost let my hands reach up to grab the sides of the TV as though I could take a hold of the character myself.

Kiss him.

I had never thought about—

kissing him.

The realization was paralyzing. I was almost glad that Atsumu was away for another few weeks. In those few weeks, I watched the movie nearly twenty times over. I would make good on my promise and bring it back each Saturday, but it would be leaving with me that same day, no matter what.

I thought about him as I washed the dishes and combed my hair and tried to fall asleep at night. My face would flush bright red when I imagined holding his hand and raking my fingers through his hair and—

“Just take it,” the store owner said to me the last Saturday of the summer.

“What?”

“I see you reaching for that movie again,” he grumbled, “if you like it that much, it’s yours.”

I held my growing pile of movies close to my chest.

“Really?”

The store owner nodded, not even glancing up from his newspaper.

I did take the movie. I still have it. And I watched it until I’d memorized every word. All the while, I thought about Atsumu. I awaited his return eagerly. I couldn’t wait to see him again, see if the same feelings would overtake me in a tidal wave.

If he still had the same freckles,

and broad shoulders,

and glimmering smile.

My stomach felt queasy the morning of the first day of school. I’d stood in front of the mirror practicing my greeting, fixing the movements in my face that I didn’t find flattering. I adjusted my wave and mouthed the things I was going to say to myself as I marched towards the entrance.

It was going to be my first reunion with Atsumu since he went to volleyball camp.

I wasn’t necessarily going to tell him how I felt, but in all the nights I laid awake thinking about the years we spent together, I had a spark of hope that he felt the same way.

I was near beaming when I reached the gates—

because I could see him through them.

He’d grown in some ways at camp, not necessarily physically, but there was something new about his presence. He was chatting with a group of his friends near the front doors of the school. My face grew hot at the sight of him.

This was my chance.

Then he turned, just slightly.

There was a girl. I didn’t recognize her. But Atsumu’s arm was around her shoulder.

I sucked in a gasp.

“No,” I whispered.

His arm was around her shoulder, his lips were against her cheek, and he was smiling—

that glimmering, mesmerizing smile.

They were to meet one last time on behalf of the clients.

Their past meetings had been wrought with quarrels and discussions that ran themselves in circles. Each would conclude with a blank page of changes. It wasn’t entirely Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s fault, though. Mr. Kagawa was fighting Ms. Kagawa at every turn, twisting the words of the prenup wherever he could.

Even Atsumu had advised him to stay true to the legal documentation to avoid court, unnerved by the man’s behavior. And Ms. Kagawa would allow the trickery every time. She would cower in her seat, leaving Kiyoomi to advocate for her.

Now, at their last meeting, Kiyoomi was dreading many things. Above all, he felt sick knowing he was going to have to face Miya Atsumu again.

Their exchanges since the night at the bar had been clipped, business-only dialogues. Kiyoomi felt the flood of emotions crash anew over him every time he returned to the conference room.

Even as Atsumu passed by him that morning, all he could muster was a subtle snarl. He was tired of being angry but letting his guard down in Atsumu’s presence would be the greatest showing of weakness. And Kiyoomi as no longer the weak, frail boy beneath the dogwood tree.

They sat as they always did, the pairs facing each other in what used to be a battle but had quickly become a stalemate. There was no more fire between them, just piles of ashes and rubble sitting idle.

A wasteland. A similar one stretched in the distance between Kiyoomi and Atsumu. There was nothing left for the fire in Kiyoomi to consume. He was a spoil of their eight-year-long war.

“Today, let’s begin with—” Atsumu picked up his meeting notes and sighed, “a few more changes Mr. Kagawa would like to make to the prenup.”

Kiyoomi sighed too, reaching for his copy of the document.

“No.”

It was a small voice, a meek voice, sawing through the tension. Kiyoomi and Atsumu glanced at each other before looking to Ms. Kagawa.

She was sat, hunched over in her chair. She gripped the same, ratty tissue in her hand, but both were balled into fists. Her brow was furrowed, and her cheeks were tinting pink.

“What?” Mr. Kagawa asked.

Ms. Kagawa paused. Kiyoomi watched her hand tremble.

“No,” she repeated, a bit firmer.

Kiyoomi’s eyes darted between the three as silence overtook them.

“Minari, it’s just a few changes—”

“No!” She cried.

Her voice cracked, but she paid it no mind. It was so shocking that everyone in the room was forced to listen, no matter what.

Her whole body trembled now. Her lips were pursed.

“This is all you do,” she hissed, “you make changes to suit you.”

“Ms. Kagawa,” Kiyoomi hummed, hoping to diffuse the situation before it worsened.

“You told me to be quiet,” she continued on, “and you told me to let you direct those meetings, but I can’t!”

Her cries echoes off the walls. Kiyoomi felt his skin prickle at the sound. He couldn’t help but glance up to Atsumu who was sporting a similar expression of shock.

Ms. Kagawa sat up.

“I want the house!” She pointed towards her chest, “Because I spent twenty-one years cleaning it! And I want the garden out back, everything that is growing out there is because of me!”

The longer she shouted, the more her voice trembled, and her eyes welled with tears. Even Mr. Kagawa had nothing more to say. He was stuck in his seat with a slack-jawed expression.

“But how would you know that?” She hissed, “You never listened to me a single day in those twenty-one years. Always so sure that you were right, wouldn’t lay down an inch of your pride to hear me out.”

The words might have belonged to Ms. Kagawa, but Kiyoomi couldn’t help but let them invade his mind.

Pride.

Always such a tempting thing for Kiyoomi.

“You never tried to understand me,” she began to cry, “you just ran away.”

Ran away.

Ran away.

Kiyoomi felt like he’d been running for years.

Eight years, to be exact.

“So, what? You wanna take this to court?” Mr. Kagawa hissed.

For a fleeting moment, Ms. Kagawa folded in on herself. There was a flicker of that familiar fear in her eyes. Yet, she puffed out her chest, crossed his arms, and built a sturdy wall between them.

“Perhaps we will.”

Atsumu and Kiyoomi shared another look. Court was not a desirable end to this. But it wasn’t the moment to break in and inform Ms. Kagawa of that.

All three of them were enjoying watching the sweat build on Mr. Kagawa’s brow.

“Can we take a break?” He muttered in a small, wavering voice.

“Well, we just sta—” Atsumu began.

“I need to make a phone call!” Mr. Kagawa cried, his face flushing pale.

He didn’t even wait for the lawyers’ response. Mr. Kagawa shoved himself up from his seat, shaking the table with the force of his grip, and stormed out of the room. Kiyoomi saw his hand dive into his pocket, but he was out the door before the phone could appear.

A few long seconds of silence followed the explosion. Kiyoomi glanced to Ms. Kagawa, then to Atsumu, both of which were sporting wide eyes and parted lips. Ms. Kagawa’s face was streaked with tears and her hands were shaking in her lap.

“Omi,” Atsumu whispered.

Kiyoomi glanced up. Atsumu’s expression had a thread of fear, another of realization, intertwined to the point of being indistinguishable. He looked to Ms. Kagawa.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She turned her head. She smiled.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, “I feel wonderful.”

And Kiyoomi believed it. Ms. Kagawa’s face had a new glow. Thought she was trembling and still so impossible small, she had taken down the roaring giant. Kiyoomi supposed she deserved this moment to herself.

Thus, he nodded to Atsumu who hoisted himself up out of his chair and made his way towards the door. Kiyoomi followed suit all the way out into the corridor where they’d run into one another three long months ago.

Atsumu planted himself firmly in front of Kiyoomi, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, we’re working this out, now.”

March 19, 2014

Miya Atsumu was very happy.

We were still friends, but everything was different. His girlfriend sat with us at lunch, and they would giggle at each other and make kissy faces. It always made me feel sick to my stomach to watch them. And when we’d have our days in the park, it wasn’t uncommon for Atsumu’s new girlfriend to be tagging along. It wasn’t that I disliked her. It was that I—

I was still hopelessly in love with Atsumu.

I tried everything to make the feelings go away. I tried to be happy for him and his new girlfriend and at times, I came off as a bit overly ecstatic about their pairing. I tried to like some other guy, any other guy, but there was no one who cared for me nor knew me like Atsumu did. There was no one who gripped my heart quite like he did.

I even tried avoiding him entirely.

I could remember a time in my life where Atsumu wasn’t a large part of everything I did. Getting ice cream, walking down to the convenience store, watching movies in my room—it all felt unfamiliar without my best friend beside me.

The only thing that seemed to stave off the way my heart bled for him was journaling.

My mother had suggested it off-handedly after I’d broken down one afternoon. I couldn’t tell her that I was in love with a man. I can’t even remember what I came up with to justify bursting into tears when she asked where Atsumu had been the past few weeks.

Thus, I bought a spiral-bound notebook from the store and laid in my bed every night pouring my heart out in words. When I was finished, I’d sigh, whisper a prayer, and close it, hoping that everything inside remained a secret. Because I’d written these exact words on the very last page:

“I am madly in love with Miya Atsumu.”

The notebook lived in the far corner of my bookshelf. My mother wasn’t one to snoop, so I wasn’t worried.

One Saturday morning, I awoke to a sound at my window. I pulled the curtains back tentatively, my hair still a sleepy mess and my pajamas wrapped strangely around my body, to find Atsumu standing on the other side of the glass.

“Omi!” He called out.

I took a step back. It had only been three weeks since we’d last seen each other, but his expression could make you think he’d found me dead.

“Let me in!” He said, pointing towards the front of the house.

I didn’t nod. I didn’t give any indication that I’d actually do it, yet Atsumu was confident enough to round around the corner of the house and head towards the door. I stood at the window for a moment in shock. I felt like I was going to pass out from the mere thought of seeing him again.

Had it been long enough?

Could I contain the feelings inside of me?

I didn’t have time to stand around thinking any longer. I made a beeline for the door, practicing what I would say when I opened it so as to not sound like an idiot. I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

And Atsumu pulled me into a hug.

It was a familiar feeling. Atsumu smelled a little sweaty, but also like pine trees and toothpaste. His body was incredibly warm against mine. I felt flames lick just beneath my skin. I trembled in his grip. He separated himself but held me close by the sides of my shoulders.

“Where’ve ya been this past month?” He asked softly.

I let my lips part as though to say something, but there were no words coming out.

“Busy,” I finally muttered.

“Busy, my ass,” Atsumu chuckled, “can’t remember the last time we’ve been apart this long. I missed ya.”

Atsumu let go of me. He passed by me and headed towards my room with the confidence of someone who lived there. All I could do was watch with his words echoing in my head and my vision spinning tirelessly.

I missed you.

I missed you.

“Wait,” I called after him.

He’d flopped atop my unmade bed. The sunlight from the drawn curtains cast a shimmering glow on his face and arms as he extended them above his head. I swallowed the tight feeling in my throat.

“I’m gonna get changed,” I mumbled, rushing towards the bathroom door.

I thought about how he looked strewn upon the bed as I brushed my teeth so hard my gums began to bleed. I ran my hands through my hair countless times and splashed cold water on my crimson cheeks.

Everything was going wrong.

I had been doing such a good job of avoiding Atsumu and now—

“Damnit,” I hissed.

I couldn’t hear Atsumu through the door. I suspected that he was still lying on my bed, but when I left the bathroom and looked out, I saw that he was hunched at my bookshelf.

He was reading my journal.

“Hey!” I shouted, leaping into action immediately.

I rushed over, arm outstretched and fingers primed to grab my journal back. Atsumu looked up with a frazzled expression as he tucked something behind his back. I felt my entire face go hot, my stomach dropping to my feet.

“What are you doing?” I asked, stumbling over every word.

Atsumu shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I was just—”

“You need to go.”

I had to stare at the floor. If I’d been looking at Atsumu, I would’ve taken it back.

“Omi,” he sighed.

“You need to leave,” I repeated in a firmer voice.

Atsumu didn’t fight me any further. We stayed as we were for a moment, frozen in our mutual indecision. Then, Atsumu stood and walked out of my room. I hugged my journal to my chest as though I could hold it tightly enough that all the secrets would return to their proper place on the pages.

Atsumu had seen it.

He had seen my greatest secret.

I could never face him again.

But, naturally, I had to. We did go to the same school after all.

I was afforded two days of freedom by the weekend, but I was forced to return to the grounds the following Monday. I stared at my feet as I shuffled through the gates, hoping to reach my classroom without being seen.

But the energy had shifted amongst the students. I wasn’t walking through a sea of disjointed conversations. It seemed that they were all talking about the same thing in quiet, pointed whispers—

whispers pointed towards me.

I lifted my head and confirmed my greatest suspicions.

Everyone was watching me. They were all muttering to one another and poking their fingers in my direction. Ice-cold realization poured over my head and soaked through my clothes. My eyes darted around everywhere. What were they talking about?

“So is it true?”

I gasped when I walked into him, some jock who played on Atsumu’s volleyball team. He wasn’t much taller than me, but he was certainly buffer and scarier.

“I-is what true?” I asked meekly.

“That you’re gay?” He asked with a sly smile.

But it wasn’t a question. The boy already knew the answer.

He was teasing me.

My mouth fell open. My stomach did one big flip before falling down through the ground below me. All the blood that had once been in my face flushed down to the tips of my fingers.

No.

No.

“So it’s true!” The boy’s smile grew and he laughed.

His buddies bumped him on the shoulder and laughed along with him.

“Wait,” I huffed out.

He took a step towards me.

“Not only are you gay,” he teased loudly, “but you’re in love with the captain of the volleyball team?!”

Everything disappeared from around me. Whatever I had once been able to feel in my body went numb. My lips trembled in a desperate attempt to defend myself, but I knew such word would never come.

All I could hear was laughter. Everyone was laughing all around me. They were no longer hiding behind veiled whispers. Kiyoomi had become the laughingstock of the entire school.

“I can’t believe it’s true!” The boy shouted to his chuckling friends.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even imagine moving.

No.

No.

“Hey, back off!”

Atsumu’s voice broke through the thick substance of my fear. I watched as he stormed over to where I was standing, his eyes laser-focused on the boy who was harassing me.

“Lay the fuck off!” He hissed, pushing the boy back by his shoulder.

“Oooh,” the boy teased, “look, Sakusa, it’s your boyfriend!”

The group giggled. Everyone else joined in.

I nearly died right then and there.

“If you don’t get out of here, I’ll make sure you don’t play a single game all season, you got that?” Atsumu threatened in a low voice.

The boy didn’t look entirely frightened by Atsumu’s words, but it seemed he didn’t want to take any chances. Thus, he and his friends pushed each other around just a little more before rushing off in a huddle into the school’s entrance.

It was just me and Atsumu, then. And the rest of the school listening in.

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. Atsumu stepped towards me.

“Hey,” he said softly, “are you okay?”

I felt a hot, shuddering breath brush past my lips. Realization rushed back up into my head like a tidal wave, washing away all uncertainty.

My mind connected all the moments: that past Friday when I caught Atsumu reading my journal, this day where all eyes were on me—

“You,” I hummed.

“Yeah?” Atsumu leaned in.

“You told everyone.”

The words were barely there, half-whispers echoing in my head. But I could feel something building within me, something hot and vicious.

“What?”

“You told—everyone!”

My voice rose. My hands balled into fists.

“What? Omi, I didn’t—”

“You read my journal,” I seethed, “and you told everyone I was gay!”

There was no more laughing around me, no more whispers or pointing fingers. As my body began to shake, I found myself caring less and less that we were being watched.

“Omi,” Atsumu tried to reach for me.

I took a sharp step back.

“I can’t believe you’d do this!” My voice wavered.

Atsumu looked bewildered. His hands were frozen, extended towards mine.

“What? Did you wanna humiliate me?” I cried, a sob wracking my chest, “Make my life a living hell? Is that what you wanted?!”

Atsumu’s head began to shake, but he seemed too in shock to do anything else. His jaw hung agape, and his eyes were blown wide.

“Wait, let’s just—”

“No,” I said firmly, taking another step back, “you’ve ruined everything.”

“Hey,” Atsumu replied.

“Should I ruin your life then?” I shouted.

I didn’t know what I was saying anymore. There were hot tears streaming fast down my cheeks. My entire body felt void of its weight. My voice was echoing off the sky itself. I clutched whatever sense of self I had left in my clammy fists.

Atsumu seemed confused. He tried to advance on me, but I couldn’t let him.

“You want me to tell everyone that your dad left you and your mom?” I cried, “That he had a whole other family somewhere else that he chose over you?”

Atsumu’s face slowly melted from concern into fury. His eyes burned with hellfire.

“Keep your voice down,” he hummed lowly.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?!” I shouted through my tears, “It sucks having everyone know your most humiliating secret!”

I felt like I’d stepped outside of my body. I felt as though I were watching myself say these things from the sidelines. The moment the words had left my mouth, I wanted to take them back.

When I saw Atsumu’s pale face and furrowed brow,

I knew I’d gone too far.

But I couldn’t show him that I cared. I was too humiliated, too focused on the burden I would have to bear for the rest of my life all because of him. I was furious. I was white-hot with anger.

“Get out of my face,” Atsumu hissed.

“Fine,” I replied.

I gripped the straps of my backpack and made a beeline for the door.

“Better yet,” Atsumu called after me, “how about you never show your face around me again, huh?”

I turned sharply on my heel.

“Sounds good to me,” I hissed.

But I couldn’t look at him for too long,

because I would want to take it all back.

“Working what out?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Our past!” Atsumu said firmly, “We’re talking through this.”

“What is there to talk thought?”

“Everything!” Atsumu tossed up his hands, “We haven’t spoken a word about it in eight years.”

“Well, it’s not complicated,” Kiyoomi hissed, “you read my journal and outed me to the whole school.”

Kiyoomi had never said the memory out loud. He’d written it down in excruciating detail, right down to every sensation in his body and thought in his mind.

But saying it—it became real. The memory set like concrete around his mind, immovable and sudden. He felt like curling his arms around his stomach like he had that day.

Yet, Atsumu wasn’t reacting how he expected. He wasn’t wracked with guilt. He wasn’t pleading for Kiyoomi’s forgiveness. He was—

confused.

“What?” He asked softly.

“You came to my house a few days before, and I caught you going through my journal,” he recanted, “then the following Monday, everybody knew that I was gay and was in love with you!”

Kiyoomi’s voice trembled violently. A knot was tying itself in his throat, and there were tears teasing the corners of his eyes. There was no more fire inside his body, just smoke. Just ash.

And in the center of it all was a frightened eight-year old boy, weeping and wishing for a friend.

“I didn’t do that,” Atsumu hummed.

“Sure you didn’t,” Kiyoomi scoffed, “who else would’ve seen my journal?”

“Nobody,” Atsumu insisted, “but I wasn’t the one who outed you!”

Atsumu had taken a step towards Kiyoomi. His face had flushed pale and he couldn’t stop blinking as though to hold something back.

Miya Atsumu was always sincere. Miya Atsumu was not a liar.

“You didn’t?” Kiyoomi asked in a teary voice.

“No, I didn’t even know you had it written in there,” Atsumu insisted, “it was this guy on the volleyball team, he saw you write your name and–my last name on your paper during class he—”

Kiyoomi crossed his arms over his stomach as Atsumu approached. His eyes were welling up with tears.

“I tried to get him to keep quiet but he was a fucking asshole, there was nothing I could do.”

For a moment, all Kiyoomi could do was stare. He could feel his mouth going dry and the ill feeling returning to his stomach. The memory that had been so certain in his head began to shift and morph into something entirely new.

He could finally see Atsumu’s face of shock rather than guilt when he approached him in the courtyard. He could hear the guys at the table behind him sniggering. He could finally make out Atsumu’s pleading words:

Omi.

Wait.

Kiyoomi had been wrong.

For eight years he had believed that Atsumu had made his senior year a living hell.

But he hadn’t.

And now Kiyoomi had done something terrible.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, “I’m so so sorry about what I said.”

Sincerity flooded hot from Kiyoomi’s lips, stale from all the years tied up in his heart.

“It’s okay,” Atsumu reassured him.

“No! It’s not!” Kiyoomi cried, doubling over, “I said those terrible things when you hadn’t done what I thought you’d done!”

“It’s fine, Omi,” Atsumu laid his hand upon his old friend’s arm.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Kiyoomi chanted.

“You were angry, and rightfully so. What that guy did was shitty.”

“I was so humiliated that I thought the only way to feel better was to humiliate you,” said Kiyoomi.

Atsumu chuckled, “And you did a pretty good job.”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi groaned, plating his face in his hands.

But Atsumu’s hand had trailed up to his wrist, gently pulling the barriers from his eyes.

“Like I said, I’m not mad about it anymore,” said Atsumu softly.

Kiyoomi shook his head with his eyes pinched closed. He couldn’t accept such swift forgiveness, not when he’d spent the better half of a decade believing Atsumu to be guilty of a crime he’d never committed.

“And, honestly,” he continued, “it took me years to get over you when you left.”

Kiyoomi finally found it within himself to open his eyes. Atsumu’s hand had left his wrist, but he could feel his presence closer than ever now. They were nearly toe-to-toe.

“It did?” Kiyoomi asked in a small voice.

Atsumu chuckled again, “Yeah, I mean, we were best friends.”

Kiyoomi sighed and cracked the smallest of smiles.

It was all swelling up within him, all those years of missing and hoping and seething and hating and churning. Kiyoomi wondered if the human body could contain it all.

“I had a hard time getting over you, too,” he eked out amidst the hurricane of his emotions.

Atsumu looked just like he always had: his golden-blonde hair, smattered brown freckles, dopey and confident smile. It was the first time that Kiyoomi was delighted to feel young again.

“And I’m sorry it took me a little longer to figure myself out that it took you,” Atsumu said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Figure yourself out?” Kiyoomi asked.

Atsumu shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Y’know, the bisexual thing.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes went wide. His mouth hung agape.

“The—” he attempted to speak.

“I mean, shit’s really confusing when you can’t tell your best friend and your first gay crush apart,” he said.

Kiyoomi couldn’t close his mouth no matter how hard he tried. He was dumbfounded, lost in his own words and thoughts.

“You mean you—” Kiyoomi whispered.

“Oh my god, kiss me already!”

What could Kiyoomi do but obey?

It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone, but there was something about Atsumu’s body that was tantalizingly familiar. he moment his hands were on the sides of his face, it was like being home again, roaming the remembered lanes of the old town.

Atsumu’s lips were the corridors of his home.

They were warm, sweet, soft. Kiyoomi didn’t face another moment of uncertainty once he felt Atsumu lean back in.

When he opened his mouth, it was like when his mother would open those blue curtains and let in the sunlight on summer mornings. Every movie scene Kiyoomi had ever watched on repeat mashed together in his mind. But none of them could hold a candle to what was happening now in his real life.

Atsumu’s hands found purchase on his waist. Kiyoomi pulled him in closer.

Tangling his fingers in the golden-blonde strands, Kiyoomi imagined the two of them back home beneath that dogwood tree. He imagined them t eighteen, figuring everything out and kissing each other just like this.

But it would not have been the same.

There was something about the distance of eight years that made the meeting so much sweeter. There had always been room to grow. The two of them had been lucky enough to grow into one another.

They had been reaching for so long, divided by a canyon of their own pride.

“Omi,” Atsumu huffed against Kiyoomi’s lips.

“Yes?” Kiyoomi replied.

He felt Atsumu’s lips stretch into a smile.

“It’s always been you,” he whispered.

Kiyoomi laid a short, sweet kiss to the corner of Atsumu’s smile.

“We’ve been terrible lawyers these past few months, haven’t we?” Kiyoomi chuckled.

Atsumu laughed too and shook his head.

“The worst.”

August 17, 2019

Today, we do nothing special in particular.

It is a weekday, yet we’ve found time in our busy lawyer schedules to just sit in the living room. Atsumu made onigiri this afternoon—it’s not very good but I’m eating it anyways because it makes him smile. I love kissing the corners of his smiles.

We will eat the subpar onigiris and watch some movies. There is a dogwood tree out front that, when we’ve had our fill of films, we can sit beneath and talk for as long as we please.

It’s Atsumu’s old house. We were lucky to find it for so cheap, and we were even luckier to find it uninhabited for all those years. His room was just as he left it, posters and journals and all.

Now, it’s ours. And Atsumu is mine—I am his. It’s strange to look at him sometimes and think about those years apart. In a way, it feels as though that time never happened. I have so few memories that do not include him. Eight years, ten years, however long, it all would’ve felt the same.

But that is life, isn’t it? Everything coming back together in its proper time? Dust to dust? I try not to think about it too hard. It’s a phenomenon better left undisturbed.

I kiss him goodnight. I kiss him good morning. I kiss him when there’s no good reason to. I kiss him when I feel like if I don’t, my chest will explode.

We’re better lawyers now, I promise. Turns out Atsumu lied to my face. He wasn’t “transferred” by any means as much as he looked up my name and advertised himself to filth in my prefecture, so we’d somehow end up on two sides of the same couple. But we no longer let our personal business get in the way. It is no longer the lonely life I had grown accustomed to. My job is my job, but not my purpose. I’m a much better lover, anyhow.

And sometimes I think back to that boy sitting beneath the dogwood tree, lonely and fiddling with the grass. And then I imagine the golden boy striding up, introducing himself without an instance of uncertainty.

It had been a Tuesday when I met him.

I don’t know what day it is today,

but thank god that he is still here.