Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Were anyone to ask Kiyoomi what his childhood was like, he’d liken it to an incredibly cloudy day where you wait and wait for a storm that never comes crashing down. Kiyoomi’s childhood was constantly waiting for the clouds to open up and flood his life with torrential downpours or lightning or  something . But it never came. 

Maybe that’s why Kiyoomi doesn’t have many memories of his childhood. Always anticipating something but having it pass by doesn’t lead to very many memorable experiences at all.

Except for one summer in his childhood when the clouds broke and the sun beat down on him for the first time in his life. That summer was full of pink cheeks and scraped knees and grass stains that he learned not to worry about. It was singing cicadas and bubbling rivers and whistling winds that wiped the sweat off his forehead. Summer turned into not-so-subtle whispers and roaring laughter right alongside arguments and silent treatments that never lasted long anyway.

That summer was finally learning what it meant to be carefree.

But the summer wasn’t meant to last, and the clouds had to come back someday. Still, Kiyoomi looks back on those days with such a fondness that he thinks maybe, just maybe, that’s why he agrees to try out for the Jackals. Maybe for the hope that the clouds will break and welcome sunshine incarnate back into his life the way that one distant summer had.

* * *

During the drive to whatever home his mother rented out for the summer, Kiyoomi quite enjoyed looking at the roaming hills and swaths of green. Nature was pretty to look at, but he still couldn’t stand to be in it. That fact hits especially hard as he steps out of the car and chokes on the lingering dust kicked up by the car’s journey up the drive.

Beneath him is nothing but dirt and a few rocks, surrounding him are grassy knolls and a sparse forest. Were he the normal child his father so desperately wanted, maybe Kiyoomi would have been thrilled. But at the sight of so much nature, his small face sports a rather pronounced frown.

When his mother declared that they would spend the summer away from the city together as a family to reconnect, Kiyoomi hadn’t thought much about it. His mother was constantly talking about how their family seemed so disjointed, fretting about how to keep her children connected with their parents, with her. Even with all of her determination, she couldn’t get either of his siblings to join them—nineteen and twenty and all too preoccupied with their own lives.

Now that he’s standing here with the sun beating down his face, he wishes he were twenty with an excuse to be anywhere else. Enduring the outdoors like this is his nightmare and since his mother is fixating on reconnecting, he can just tell she’s going to urge him to play outside more. Something about getting back in tune with themselves and each other, none of which he really understands.

When it comes down to it, he just wanted to spend the summer playing volleyball with Komori.

The hobby stumbled upon him from the sheer pity of his mother. She was always fretting about Kiyoomi having enough interaction and establishing connections with others since his father was so busy and she spent her days worrying around the house. So in came his cousin with a ball that half terrified him with how quickly it could move. The second Kiyoomi managed to control it though, he was done for.

Now he supposes he’ll just have to take to playing outside. While his father will likely complain about the constant bang of the ball against the side of their rental home, he’ll simply have to endure. Just as Kiyoomi will endure the overbearing sunshine and clinging dirt of the outside world.

There’s no way he can wrangle in his frown before his mother catches sight of it, crouching so she can look up at him and stroke his cheek.

“It’s dirty out here,” Kiyoomi doesn’t lose his frown as he speaks, his little voice drenched in distaste, “and very bright.”

“I know it’s dirty out here, my love, but it’ll be a good opportunity for you to try something new. Maybe you can connect with nature—we don’t get this much space in the city.”

Proving his earlier thoughts exactly right, Kiyoomi nods, schooling his features back into their standard neutral look. As she tugs at his cheek a little with her bright smile, Kiyoomi lets his brow furrow—a clear display of his displeasure. The little creases only make his mother laugh, rising and pressing a kiss to the top of his head before turning to his father.

When Kiyoomi chances a look over, his father is already buried in his phone, tugging his luggage behind him with no regard for either his wife or child. It should feel strange to accept the responsibility of lugging his own stuff along with helping carry his mother’s, but his father’s distance has long taught him that Kiyoomi was going to be the only one helping his mother. Carrying in bags or organizing her things with her was like second nature to Kiyoomi, a simple act to show that someone still cared, even if Kiyoomi didn’t realize that’s what he was saying.

So he toddles his way to the door with his suitcase dragging behind him and the lightest of his mother’s bags slung across his chest. As he sets his mother’s bag in the hallway and slips off his shoes, he can already hear her fervent whisper-yell about putting work aside for just a day or two. Even at nine, Kiyoomi knows that plea will never go through to him. Instead of focusing on the argument his parents fail to hide, Kiyoomi wanders the house, looking for the room he’ll set up in.

Poking around, Kiyoomi finds three bedrooms: the first clearly meant for his parents with its ornate decor, the second is the room he assumes that he and his brother would have shared had his siblings made the time to come, and the final one, furthest from his parents and close to the back door is the single bed that his sister would have likely taken for herself. With no sister to take it, Kiyoomi plops himself in there, looking out through the window to take in the tops of the trees scraping against nothing but wide blue sky. Distantly he wonders if he’ll be able to see the stars out here—they’re the one thing he truly can’t see in the city, the one thing he wants out of this trip.

But Kiyoomi isn’t one to idle, so he begins to unpack into the space he’ll reside for the summer. While he would prefer to spend most of his time in this room, he knows that his mother will shove him outside at some point, urging him to seize the day. Just the thought of it nearly pulls a groan out of him, settling for a grimace instead as he finishes sorting his clothes into their proper spaces. When he takes up his volleyball, set on going outside to practice, his mother calls for him. Ball tucked under his arm, Kiyoomi shuffles his way over, a bored look settling over him as he catches sight of his mother and a stranger.

“Kiyoomi,” his mother beckons him forward with her formal, polite smile, the one she saves for his father’s very important clients, “come meet our neighbor for the summer.”

Like his mother, this woman crouches so that he becomes taller than her. When he steps forward, she bursts into the warmest smile Kiyoomi has ever seen—the look almost turning him shy as he stops beside his mother.

“Hiya, was it Kiyoomi?” Nodding, he tugs himself a little closer to his mother. Something about this woman’s eyes makes him uneasy, as if she knows something she shouldn’t. “Well, I ‘s just tellin’ yer mama that I got a couple kids just yer age.”

Though Kiyoomi loses some of it in her strange dialect, he does catch that there are kids his age: a fate even worse than being forced outside. There is no way Kiyoomi will be able to worm his way out of his mother’s insistent play dates.

“Okay.” The other mother just smiles her warm smile at Kiyoomi’s antisocial behavior.

Her eyes move just a little, to the ball under his arm, and somehow she lights up more, eyes widening and a slight gasp passing through her lips.

“Is that a volleyball?”

“It is,” his mother supplies the answer for him. “He’s recently picked it up with his cousin.”

“Y’all’ll never believe it,” she looks between Kiyoomi and his mother, “my boys just started playin’ themselves. Ain’t ever seen ‘em more competitive an’ that’s sayin’ somethin’. I’m sure they’d love to play wichya if ya wanted.”

Again her dialect leaves him a bit confused, but he distinctly hears volleyball and play, so he can only assume it’s an invitation to join her children. The dread in Kiyoomi slowly morphs into a muted excitement. Maybe being forced to socialize won’t be so bad after all.

“I’d like to.”

“That’s perfect. The boys are prolly out there playin’ right now if ya wanna say hi. ’S just cross the way,” the boys’ mother points in the direction of the bedrooms, likely to her home down the little hill next to the Sakusa’s temporary vacation home.

With a nod, Kiyoomi attempts to pull himself away from his mother before she stops his journey, placing a quick kiss on the top of his head, muttering, “Have fun.”

Though Kiyoomi can feel his cheeks flush at the audience of his mother’s affection, he nods and continues on as though he is completely unaffected earning some whispers from the two mothers that he can’t quite parse.

Harsh sunlight greets him once more as he pushes through the front door, welcomed by the thick summer heat as he makes his way to the top of the little hill that separates his temporary home from their neighbors’. The grass is just long enough to track the movement of the wind, patches of it worn down to compact dirt from frequent travel. At the bottom of one of those little paths are two boys, just about as big as him and impossible to tell apart. One lies on his back, eyes closed but basking in the sunlight while the other towers over him, arms crossed.

With one steadying breath, Kiyoomi makes his way down the hill, picking up on the conversation between the two boys as he approaches.

The one on his back drawls, “-could bike to the lake, if ya wanna.”

“Nah,” the standing one takes notice of the approaching stranger, “we got company.”

Even though the boy on his back peeps one eye open and tilts his head back to see the new guest, neither boy makes any move to speak to him. As Kiyoomi stops just before them, it almost feels like they’re waiting on him, analyzing his actions and reactions.

“Your mom sent me down here,” the boy standing before him tilts his head a little, likely from the different cadence and tone of Kiyoomi’s dialect. “She said you two play volleyball.”

“Ya talk funny,” the one lying down says, eyes back closed and uninterested in the stranger. The quip earns him a light kick from his twin, a hushed grunt following the impact.

“We just started playin’.”

While he can get most of what they’re saying, the dialect still throws him for a loop, making it harder to read the boy in front of him, though he can tell the one on the ground is a little more rude, a little more disinterested. Kiyoomi shifts from foot to foot, bringing the volleyball forward in a silent invitation. He hopes the gesture will be enough to make his intentions known. Making friends and being social has never been his forte. Somehow, the boy in front of him must realize this, taking the lead on introductions even with the brief, slightly awkward lapse in conversation.

“I’m Osamu,” the one on the right points to his side, to the twin who’s just stood up, “and that’s Atsumu.”

“You two are twins?”

“Mhm,” Osamu replies, eyes lazily dragging over Kiyoomi, “an’ don’t go gettin’ us mixed up. Tsumu gets all irritated and whatnot. It’s annoyin’.”

“I’m not annoyin’,” the twin shoves Osamu with more force than Kiyoomi thinks necessary, though Osamu doesn’t stumble, “yer the annoyin’ one.”

“Takes one to know one,” Osamu sticks out his tongue as Atsumu rolls his eyes.

Still, Atsumu tries to stomp on his twin's foot as he turns back to Kiyoomi, asks, “Well what about you? What’s yer name?”

Even though his twin is the one who looks perpetually bored, Atsumu looks wholly uninterested in whatever Kiyoomi has to say, even when he’s the one who asked. His entire demeanor makes Kiyoomi wonder if he’d even want to spend time with the boy who seems so inattentive.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi. But you can call me Sakusa.”

Osamu repeats the name back to him with relative ease, testing out the jumble of sounds before shrugging. When Kiyoomi turns towards Atsumu, he sees his childish face warp with concentration, silently sounding out the different syllables. Just by looking, he can tell Atsumu stumbles a bit.

Kiyoomi isn’t the only one to notice.

“Oh, what’s wrong Tsumu? Still can’t talk right? Good luck gettin’ this one, it’s harder than our textbook words were.” Before Kiyoomi can even intrude and ask what he’s talking about—because he fully intended to ask—Osamu looks at him with a devilish little look. “Tsumu struggles with talkin’ sometimes. He trips over new words an’ stutters if he’s nervous.” Osamu moves in close, lowering his voice and covering his mouth with his hand. From an outside perspective, it certainly looks like he’s about to spill a devious secret, but Kiyoomi can see the glint of warning in Osamu’s eyes as he whispers, “An’ I’m the only one allowed to make fun of ‘im.”

Kiyoomi wouldn’t dream of making fun of a speech impediment—he’s blunt, not evil. Still, he nods as surreptitiously as he can to let Osamu know the message was received loud and clear. Seeing the interaction only makes Atsumu get into more of a huff, cheeks tinting pink and brows tugging low.

“Quit talkin’ bout me behind my back! I’m gonna get it, it’ll just take a minute!” As he tries to sound out each syllable, Osamu starts circling around him repeating Kiyoomi’s full name back at him over and over. The taunt clearly seems to work as Atsumu finds himself more and more worked up, stumbling over the words until he finally slams his eyes shut and shouts.

“Omi!”

It’s just the final syllable, something that makes Osamu hide his snicker, which makes Kiyoomi’s head tilt just slightly, confusion plain as day on his face.

“That’s not my name.”

“Well,” light pink quickly turns dark on his cheeks as he points his nose up, trying to look down on Kiyoomi, “ain’t ya ever heard of a nickname?”

“No. Everyone just calls me Sakusa.”

“Then I’m the first to give ya one!” The facade of superiority melts as he sneers at his brother. “That makes me better than ya.”

“Does not,” Osamu looks bored as ever with Atsumu’s assertion, but Kiyoomi spots a bit of competitive fire in his eyes.

“Does too.”

Atsumu shoves at his twin again and Kiyoomi is somehow unsurprised that it devolves into a poor version of a wrestling match. Really the two just roll around on the ground, dirt and grass staining their shirts, while neither gets the upper hand. The interaction feels strange, like something he should be familiar with. Even though his siblings are older, he should have memories with them, play fights or arguments or anything, but there’s nothing there. The reminder rings through his mind as he watches Atsumu finally pin Osamu down, threatening to lick his cheek if he doesn’t cry mercy.

Maybe Kiyoomi is glad he never got that sibling experience after all.

“Get off of me ya pig,” Atsumu just snorts in response, mimicking the very name Osamu mocked him with. “‘M serious, Tsumu.”

“Ya know the rules, Samu.”

Every muscle in Osamu’s body relaxes on his exhale, tone somehow more bored than it was before, “Mercy, please, free me.”

Without hesitation, Atsumu pushes himself up off of his twin, offering a hand to help the other up. The pair turn to Kiyoomi as though he didn’t just witness them rolling around on the ground.

“So ya wanna play?” Osamu nods to the ball in Kiyoomi’s hands. “I can set for ya. Tsumu needs to practice receivin’ anyway.”

Met with an indignant cry from Atsumu, Kiyoomi brushes past the budding argument, realizing that the pair might be constantly at odds with one another. “I need to practice receiving too. We can switch out after a while.”

“I wanna practice settin’, Samu.”

“Another day. We got all of summer break for ya ta practice.”

Atsumu doesn’t seem to argue with that, kicking at the ground and folding his arms over his chest. Osamu pays no mind as he directs his attention back to Kiyoomi, “Ya ever practice settin’?”

“Not really, I don’t think I want to be a setter.”

“Ya can practice now if ya want.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

“That’s why ya practice,” Atsumu straightens up, arms relaxing over his chest. “Setters are the coolest on the team.”

“Which makes me cooler than ya,” Osamu tosses over his shoulder, heading for what seems like a make-shift volleyball court.

The grass is shorter there, either stunted by their constant play or mowed down. Two wooden poles, likely old broomsticks, stand apart from one another about as far as a net might extend. Even if it doesn’t have the normal height of a net, Kiyoomi can picture just where the top of it would be. Can imagine himself propelling into the air to hit the ball on the otherwise of the grassy court.

Twin bickering grows fainter as the pair take their places on the court, Osamu motioning for Kiyoomi to come over while Atsumu drones on about getting even better than Osamu one day. Once the ball leaves Kiyoomi’s hands and lands in Osamu’s, Atsumu falls silent, petulant protests replaced with a gleam in his eye that Kiyoomi recognizes all too well. For once, Kiyoomi doesn’t feel the need to hold back when Osamu tosses the ball and he leaps to spike. Though the ball is much lower than anticipated, Kiyoomi still manages to slam the ball down. Atsumu must be distracted by the way the ball sails past him, kicking up moist dirt when it slams into the ground.

“Higher, Samu.” Atsumu doesn’t look away from the spot Kiyoomi had jumped to.

“Yeah, yeah, get the ball.” A similar look of wonder is in Osamu’s eyes when he turns to Kiyoomi. “Ya got a jump on ya.”

Not thinking much of it, Kiyoomi shrugs. It’s something his coaches mentioned a few times—he’s got an impressive jump for his age. But that’s not really the thing that makes him all that special.

“He jumped even higher than Aran!” Atsumu bumps the ball back to Osamu, “Can ya believe?”

“Saw it with my own eyes.”

“Give ‘im another.”

“Quit tellin’ me what to do!”

Even with the command, Osamu gears up to set to Kiyoomi once more. Higher this time, Kiyoomi can show off the way his wrist makes the ball spin, forcing Atsumu to dive into the dirt and watch as the ball still rolls well into the front yard. Just before he chases after the ball, Atsumu’s eyes meet Kiyoomi’s. Something new shines in those eyes—admiration, maybe. Perhaps something a little different.

Watching his twin take off after the ball, Osamu turns to Kiyoomi, “Ya just move here? We could introduce ya to Aran sometime. Play with him too.”

“No. My family’s just on vacation. I’m only here for the break so I’ll leave in a few weeks.”

Osamu seems to slump a little, disappointed by the look of it. It doesn’t last long, attention shifting back to Atsumu’s approaching form as he returns with that same hungry look in his eyes.

They play like that for a while, Atsumu trying to receive Kiyoomi’s spikes, running after the ball. Eventually, Kiyoomi does the same, receiving Atsumu’s spikes with a little more ease. Only one really pushes him, nearly making him dive into mud before he pulls himself out, letting the ball splash into the puddle of mud and trying his best to avoid the splatter.

“What?” Atsumu laughs at Kiyoomi’s reaction. “Scared of a little dirt?”

“I don’t like it. It’s gross.”

“We’re outside, Omi. Yer gonna get dirty.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes as Osamu makes his way to where the ball landed after its brief stop in the mud. It’s filthy now, not something that Kiyoomi would touch if the twins tried to force him. Osamu doesn’t say a thing as he walks the ball around the front of the house, the sound of a hose filtering over after a few seconds.

“Yer freakishly good at this.”

Kiyoomi turns to face Atsumu who doesn’t look up at him, twisting his foot around on the grass as if he’s smashing a bug.

“Thank you?”

“’S a compliment. Like ‘s weird how good ya are.”

“That makes it sound like a bad thing.”

“‘S not.”

That doesn’t quite make sense to Kiyoomi, but he lets it pass without incident, too entranced by the way Atsumu practices footwork when he thinks no one is looking. Maybe his earlier assessment wasn’t wholly correct; Atsumu certainly seems dismissive and uncaring, but this Atsumu is intense and focused. Maybe, Kiyoomi thinks, Atsumu has to have an interest in something before he really gives it any attention.

Osamu’s voice shakes Kiyoomi’s attention, “Here.”

The ball is dripping wet and not really ideal for playing now. Kiyoomi reaches out with the same excitement he would have if he were being handed a slug: none at all.

“Got the dirt off, but I’m guessin’ ya don’t wanna play anymore.”

“Not if it’s going to get dirty again.”

Atsumu is far more vocal about his displeasure than Osamu, moaning and groaning that it’s not fair, it’s just a little dirt. A swift kick from Osamu and a sharp cry from Atsumu cut the complaining short.

“Well we can bike up to the fields if yer interested,” Osamu keeps a sharp eye on Atsumu to watch for any protests.

A change of scenery sounds fun, but there’s a bit of anxiety underneath that. Terrifying thoughts of what happens if one of them gets injured or lost when they’re so far away from their parents plague him with the thought of going out.

“I don’t have a bike.” Kiyoomi doesn’t know that for sure. There’s most definitely equipment in the shed of their vacation home, and very likely a bike to cruise around on.

He expects a solution from Osamu, but it’s Atsumu who blushes furiously, head still facing down. “Ya can ride on my handlebars.”

Somehow that thought is even more terrifying, the likelihood of injury increasing tenfold in Kiyoomi’s mind. Instinct has him shaking his head, fear evident in the way his eyes widen.

“‘S just a suggestion, Omi. Ya don’t hafta look so scared.”

“If he don’t wanna ride the handlebars, then we can play tag or somethin’.” Osamu says, shooting a warning look to his twin. “‘S no big deal.”

And that’s how many of their first days together go. In the mornings when they meet, they’ll play volleyball until the ball gets too dirty for Kiyoomi to play with his sanity intact, then they’ll switch to some other game. Oftentimes, Kiyoomi ends up dirty and having to scrub at the dirt on his skin. But he finds that it’s worth it when he gets to laugh and play with the twins. He still finds Atsumu a little rude and Osamu a bit boring at times, but they keep him busy—distract him from the cold silence of the vacation home. 

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their company, their bickering and laughter are a bright spot in his days.

On the fifth day, Kiyoomi finally searches the shed and finds a bike that he can feasibly fit on. The way Atsumu brightens at the prospect of widening the circle Kiyoomi confined them to makes Kiyoomi suppress a smile. Something about seeing his excitement dampens the anxiety at being separated from his mother and holding a certain kind of responsibility when alone.

He lets the twins decide where they’ll ride to–some abandoned plot of land not far from here, perfect for riding and running–and tries to enjoy the repetitive rise and fall of his knees as he peddles on the bike. The cool breeze created by biking makes the sticky air seem more bearable, helping drown out some of the twins’ arguing just a few feet in front of him.

As they get farther and farther down the road, familiar anxiety begins to creep up his throat again, distant bickering fading into a soft buzz around him as he focuses on steadying his breathing and the repetitive rise and fall of his knees as he peddles down the road. That anxiety is nearly all-consuming as they hop off their bikes at the edge of the massive dirt lot surrounded by grass and wildflowers.

Maybe that’s why doesn’t notice the twins getting more aggressive than normal, their digs getting more personal. Turning the twins’ argument into background noise makes Osamu’s first shout all the more jarring.

“This is why no one wants to hang out with ya!”

“Whats’ that s’posed ta mean?”

“It ain’t my fault no one likes ya!”

“That ain’t true,” the look in Atsumu’s eyes gets a touch darker, anger seeping into true hurt. “People like me!”

“Nuh-uh. Yer too mean and controllin’, even Sakusa can prolly tell and he ain’t even been here a whole week.”

“Well, then Omi wouldn’t know.”

“Knows enough ta see yer awful.”

“Well at least I ain’t so borin’ that people forget about me!”

“Whose forgotten about me?”

Atsumu is deadly quiet when he responds, “Pa sure has.”

When the words fly from Atsumu’s mouth, Osamu stills. Even in the warm heat of the sun, Kiyoomi shivers with the way Osamu turns to Atsumu with devastation in his eyes. The tears welling in Osamu’s eyes are prominent even at Kiyoomi’s distance. All of the earlier brightness disappears as Osamu makes his way to grab his bike.

It’s such a violent shift in mood, so quick that Kiyoomi almost gapes at the swiftness of it. Nothing in his life has prepared him to deal with something like this.

With a huff, Osamu turns his back, storming back towards the direction of their home with his bike in tow.

“Fine! Run away like a little cry baby!” Atsumu plops back down to the ground, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at anything but Kiyoomi or Osamu’s retreating form.

Fights like these are foreign to Kiyoomi—passionate and loud, very much in your face. These aren’t the kinds of conflict he’s seen at home; it’s not like they hushed disputes when his parents think he can’t hear or the saccharine tone his mother gets when on the phone with his siblings to express her displeasure at their absence. A fight like this has no finesse. There’s no attempt to hide what it really is.

Unsure of what to do, Kiyoomi sits down beside Atsumu with a pretty wide berth and begins to pick at the grass around him, ordering them on the nearest patch of dirt from longest to shortest. Oppressive heat and silence weigh on them both. Every now and then Kiyoomi will glance up to see Atsumu’s brows tugging together, eyes watery with no tears spilling over.

He wishes he knew what to do. Seeing Atsumu like this is unsettling in a lot of ways. There’s no violent outburst or chronic movement, just a silent stare and heavy breaths. Kiyoomi wants things to go back to normal.

These secret little glances turn out to be poorly kept secrets when Atsumu turns to face him. “What d’ya keep lookin’ at?”

“You.” The truth slips out of Kiyoomi with no problem.

“What? Ya never seen a fight before?”

“Only kind of.”

The admission makes Atsumu’s brows tilt inward a little, no longer making him seem angry but confused. “What does that even mean? Yer family never fight?”

“Not like that.”

“Lucky.”

Kiyoomi wouldn’t count himself lucky, not by any means. Part of him almost wants to say he’d prefer explosive fights like the one the twins had. At the very least, maybe then his family could stop pretending everything is fine, like everything is tied together with a neat little bow like his mom wants people to think. But those are big feelings for a moment like this. So Kiyoomi restrains himself with a simple shrug.

Silence spreads before them again, lighter than before, a brief pause rather than a thick wall circling around them. Though Kiyoomi isn’t so worried anymore, he still sneaks little glances at Atsumu. He moves more now, rubbing his shoe in the dirt and picking at the blades of grass around them. Even such simple little movements soothe Kiyoomi. Some sense of normalcy returns to the air.

“Well, what d’ya think?” Atsumu breaks the silence again, not looking at Kiyoomi but keeping his attention fixed on the blade of grass between his fingers instead.

“About what?”

“About the fightin’.”

Kiyoomi feels his brows scrunch together before he registers that he’s really reflecting on the fight itself. If he’s honest with himself, it’s not the arguing that really got to him, though it was strange and unexpected. What made him so uneasy about the whole thing was the way it was all unfinished. Osamu simply up and left, Atsumu didn’t say a word about what was going on, nothing felt resolved. Worse, Kiyoomi felt a little useless just sitting there, waiting for Atsumu to speak up instead of just doing something himself.

“I just wish I knew how to fix it.”

“Not everythin’ needs fixin’.” Atsumu looks up at Kiyoomi for just a second before returning his gaze to the abused piece of grass he still fiddles with. “That’s what Mama tells us anyway.”

“Maybe.” Kiyoomi’s mouth continues on without his control, “But I want you to smile like before.”

Atsumu stills, his grip on the sliver of green tightening ever so slightly. The words shock even Kiyoomi, not aware that that was how he felt until the words came from his mouth. Looking at Atsumu now, he knows that he has missed that smile, especially as a small one forms on his face now. 

“Oh.”

“It’s not the same when you’re not happy.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu kicks at the ground, his smile growing a little bigger. “Well there’s a lotta things ya could do to make me happy.”

“Well, maybe I could ride on your handlebars like you wanted me to before.”

Even at the suggestion, Atsumu lights up–that earlier brightness returning to them.

“Yer for real?”

“Yes.”

“Omi, really?”

“Will it make you happy?” Atsumu nods furiously. “Then yes.”

Confirming his answer a second time is all he needs to hop up and steady himself on his bike before gesturing for Kiyoomi to hop on.

The bike wobbles as Kiyoomi pulls himself up causing his heart rate to go a little crazy. Atsumu’s whispering and helping hands do little to aid his heart, though it does quell the anxious bubble rising in his stomach. Harsh metal bites the skin of Kiyoomi’s thighs through his shorts as he settles across the handlebars, but he bears it nevertheless. Bears it to hear the giddy sound of Atsumu’s voice asking, “Are ya ready?”

They lurch forward with the first few peddles. Kiyoomi’s white-knuckling relaxes only when Atsumu stabilizes them as they ride around the vacant lot. Slowly but surely the heart-pounding anxiety makes way for something new, something far brighter.

Breathless laughter tumbles from Kiyoomi as he realizes his heart is no longer racing out of fear but from excitement. Atsumu looms over him as he peddles them both around, wind rushing through his hair. And Kiyoomi can only laugh, letting every part of his body be filled with bubbling joy. The world looks different when it’s not in his control, when he trusts someone to handle it for a while.

As the excitement dwindles into mild enjoyment, Kiyoomi’s head begins to wander, thinking about the argument he witnessed, the way Osamu reacted. With Atsumu above him, it makes it a little easier to pry about the situation, no need to see the hurt that he’s sure will be in Atsumu’s eyes.

“What did you mean when you said that to Osamu earlier?”

“Said what?”

“About your dad.”

“Oh.”

Kiyoomi almost thinks that Atsumu won’t continue, that he’ll leave the question hanging with no real answer. The rotating of the chains and Atsumu’s labored breathing as he peddles fill the silence. But eventually, Atsumu speaks, and Kiyoomi wonders if he sounds winded because he’s biking with the both of them or for a different reason.

“Our Pa left a few years ago. Told Mama he only ever wanted one of us—he didn’t want twins or somethin’. It was mean of me ta say that ta Samu ‘cause Pa only ever sends one card on our birthdays or for holidays. ’S always addressed to me.”

“Oh.”

The conversation ends there, the bike slowing with its abrupt end. A small bit of guilt makes its home in Kiyoomi’s throat. He knows that Atsumu wouldn’t have answered if he didn’t want Kiyoomi to know, yet it feels like he’s rubbed salt in an old wound. One that Atsumu himself freshly ripped open.

After the bike stills and Kiyoomi clamors off the handlebars, he directs his attention to Atsumu. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Atsumu asks with his attention focused on the ground, little kicks creating tiny dust clouds that settle faster than they’re made.

“Bringing up your dad.”

“‘S okay. It’s old news. ‘Sides, I brought it up first when I said that to Samu.”

“I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“Ya didn't. I don’t mind tellin’ ya, Omi.”

Kiyoomi’s stomach flips at the words, a smile feeling out of place in the situation even as it threatens to make its way onto his face. A furious blush colors the tips of Atsumu’s ears and he still refuses to look Kiyoomi in the eye as he fidgets with his bike. 

“Okay.” His voice is softer than he expects. There’s no way for him to explain just what that means to him–this hint of vulnerability from Atsumu making him feel important in a way he’s never felt before. As the silence builds between them, Kiyoomi can only think of one suggestion. “Do you want to go back?”

Atsumu’s shrugs, looking reluctant to return to his twin. “Sure.”

It’s a quiet ride back, nothing but the sounds of their bike chains and the wind rushing past them as they navigate the streets back to the Miya house and Kiyoomi’s neighboring vacation home. 

As they pull into the front of the house, Atsumu heaves another sigh staring at the front door but never going through it.

“Ya wanna play volleyball?” Atsumu directs the question towards the front door, but Kiyoomi knows it's meant for him.

“If Osamu wants to.”

With a grunt, Atsumu makes for the front door, “Stay out here. I’ll get Samu.”

If Kiyoomi didn’t understand the playful fighting he saw on the first day, he certainly doesn’t understand the dynamics of whatever he witnessed today. Both of the boys seemed to be aiming daggers at their biggest hurts, neither willing to back down. How they could manage to make up in just one day is an enigma to Kiyoomi who can remember maybe one conversation with his siblings in the past year.

But Kiyoomi waits in the shade of the house right by the makeshift volleyball court. The treetops continue to sway in the breeze, the leaves dancing in the sunlight as they’re pushed around. Kiyoomi lets his thoughts wander to the feeling of being on Atsumu’s handlebars, of the breathless way he admitted that he didn’t mind telling Kiyoomi his secrets. He buries the resulting smile into his shoulder when he hears the front door clatter open against the paneling of the house.

For once, the twins are silent as they approach Kiyoomi, both sporting pink noses and swollen eyes. Crying, Kiyoomi realizes, they’d been crying.

“Ya wanna receive first or spike?”

Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu as he sniffles, hiding the remnants of his tears then to Osamu who looks dazedly at the poles, both here and not here.

“I’ll receive.”

With a nod, the boys get in position, the quiet between them lingering, interrupted only by the slap of palm against ball and ball into forearms or dirt. Each spike helps loosen the tension until finally the twins are laughing and poking fun at each other once more. One particularly good drive from Atsumu has Kiyoomi sliding into the dirt and the twins burst into laughter at the way his nose crinkles.

Even if it’s at his expense, he’s glad to see the two in brighter spirits, the argument between them forgotten as they mimic Kiyoomi’s reaction.

When it finally gets too dark to be playing, the boys part ways, lighter than they’d been all day.

The echoes of that fight still linger over the next couple of days–every now and then a moment of tense silence will fall over the three. But it never lasts very long, brushed over with a tiny act from either twin to soothe the lingering ache.

It’s strange to watch the twins interact with such ease in real life, foreign as it is to Kiyoomi. Though Kiyoomi feels grateful for it whenever Atsumu chances a look over to Kiyoomi and tries to pull him into the banter. And Atsumu always tries to include him as that first week together comes and goes.

Most of their time is rather uneventful. Sometimes they’ll play tag until they’re so out of breath they can hardly think straight. Other times they bike around town, Atsumu showing Kiyoomi all the places that he and Osamu like to hang out.

On one of those days, the very worst of Kiyoomi’s fears comes to life.

Kiyoomi can never quite remember what happens between Atsumu braking in front of his house and Kiyoomi trying to do the same. Keeping his eyes up means he doesn’t see the rock that hits the chain just right and sends him flying to the ground. What Kiyoomi remembers most is the immediate shout from Atsumu, then the burn on his skin.

Kiyoomi’s had rug burn and certainly a number of bruises, but he’s never skinned his knee in dirt and gravel. It’s quite unlike anything he’s ever experienced–not even his sunburns prepared him for this. Pinned beneath the bike and the ground, Kiyoomi’s entire buddy thrums in time with his heartbeat and his knee feels like a block of ice has been pressed to it.

That icy feeling lasts until Atsumu comes careening out of the front door with Osamu in tow, a little first aid kit in Atsumu’s hand. Once Atsumu has kneeled beside him and pushed the bike off of his body, the cut burns like no other.

Atsumu’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, Kiyoomi can’t make out a thing that’s falling from his lips. All Kiyoomi can focus on is the red, lots of it, pooling on his knee and starting to run down his shin. Soon his focus shifts to the dirt embedded around the cut.

That’s when he snaps.

All of the air in his lungs disappears as he heaves for oxygen, Atsumu’s gentle touch makes him shout, paralyzed but afraid that if he doesn’t do something Atsumu will get his dirty hands on the cut which is already filthy.

He doesn’t comprehend that he’s yelling over and over, “Dirt!” Neither of the boys quite understands what to do.

Osamu tries next and is met with an even more high-pitched shriek. He doesn’t realize he’s started crying until the hot tears make it to his neck. With all of the stimulation, it feels like every part of him burns–his lungs with no air, his throat torn up by yelling, his eyes filling with tears, the knee that’s been skinned.

Beside him, the twins look at each other without a single clue of what to do. They don’t see Kiyoomi’s mother making her way from their house, startled by Kiyoomi’s shriek.

His mother’s face is the first detail he remembers without that panic-y haze.

“Sweetheart, you need to breathe. Follow mommy.”

Following her commands is easy when her face takes up almost all of his vision.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe with me.”

The tears make it hard to follow her perfectly, but it’s enough to distract him from the way Atsumu starts to clean his cut. Cool water burns for a moment, but his mother doesn’t let his eyes stray down to where Atsumu works. Even when the antiseptic starts to sting, Kiyoomi’s mother puts all of his attention on her, soothing words and steady breaths becoming the only thing he can focus on.

Before he knows it, Atsumu’s placed a bandage over the injury and Kiyoomi’s mother is scooping him up to carry him back home. Exhaustion takes the place of his panic when his mother carries him over the threshold of their temporary home.

A familiar hushed argument about coddling is the lullaby that drags him into sleep.

Harsh sunlight wakes him the next morning, memories crashing over him of the day prior’s events. Embarrassed isn’t even the word to describe how Kiyoomi feels–pure, unadulterated mortification runs through him as he pulls himself from bed and trudges to find his mother preparing breakfast in the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Kiyoomi shrugs, not bothering to answer. Across from him, his father taps away at his phone, not even deigning his son a greeting before butting into the conversation. “He’d feel better if you weren’t constantly indulging his tantrums.”

“Hiroshi.” The name serves more as a warning than anything else. “We already discussed this. And he’s only just woken up.”

“Doesn’t change what happened yesterday, Katsumi.”

“We can have this discussion later.”

Nothing but the sounds of dishes clanging and his father’s incessant tapping at the keyboard of his phone fills the space. At the very least, it’s familiar, something Kiyoomi needs after the day he had yesterday. Breakfast has a similar quiet. The only sounds include their utensils against dishes and the subtle sounds of eating, it allows Kiyoomi to feel normal again.

Of course, the silence is followed by fervent whispers as Kiyoomi cleans up the dishes, another argument that his parents fail to hide as well as they think they can. Though it doesn’t matter much to Kiyoomi who returns to his room to read. For today, he decides to deal with his embarrassment in the easiest way possible: avoidance.

So even though it’s a gorgeous summer day, a light breeze blowing and rustling the treetops visible in his window, Kiyoomi holes himself in his room. Only ever leaves to grab food and earn an occasional disapproving look from his father.

The day passes in a haze, time drifting slowly into nothingness, until it’s time to sleep again.

For the briefest moment the following day, he thinks he should probably get out of the house. The twins probably don’t hate him as much as Kiyoomi imagines they do. But still, he thinks of the way he shrieked in their faces, the fact that his mother had to distract him in his own panic. Embarrassment burns him all over again, so he remains in his room once more.

Another day, another haze. He expects the third day to go much the same, but that would go against his mother’s wishes for the trip. 

“Kiyoomi, sweetie,” his mother opens the door as she addresses him, “I’m going over to the Miya's. Do you want to come with me?” Kiyoomi remains on his bed, cross-legged and silent before his mother settles onto the bed next to him. “You haven’t left in a couple of days. I worry about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t honey. I thought the boys were your friends.”

“They are.”

“So why don’t you go say hi to them?”

“I’m embarrassed,” Kiyoomi toys at the bandage on his knee.

Familiar hands make their way to Kiyoomi’s scalp, careful not to yank through the curls but scratching to soothe Kiyoomi’s nerves.

“Sweetie, they’re good boys. I’m sure they understand why you had one of your moments. And that Atsumu is definitely concerned,” the name makes Kiyoomi nearly snap his neck to look at his mother in the face, a gentle laugh coming from her as she pulls her son’s head to her chest. “He came by yesterday to see if you were okay. Made me promise I wouldn’t say anything, but I can't hide secrets from my baby.”

The revelation makes Kiyoomi blush, burying his face into his mother’s shirt as another laugh rumbles through her.

“Now come on. At the very least you can hang around outside and get some sunshine.” 

Kiyoomi complies without resistance, reaching for her hand as they make their way through the house. When the Miya house comes into view, Kiyoomi can feel his heart hammering away–nerves and excitement battling it out in his bloodstream.

As promised, his mother lets him settle at the bottom of the hill while she makes her way inside with a smile. Though he knows that once she’s inside, she’ll expose his not-so-hidden hiding place to the twins. Or at the very least she’ll tell their mother and then the secret will be out.

Folding his knees up to his chest, Kiyoomi rests his chin on his knees peering around the house to see where the boys will come from. A distant call from their mother sounds at the back of the house, incoherent to Kiyoomi as he directs his gaze there. It’s not very long at all until he sees Atsumu jogging around the corner to come find him, Osamu trailing ahead in a different direction.

At first sight, Kiyoomi’s heart rate increases, the desire to get up and sprint away almost stronger than the way he finds himself paralyzed by Atsumu’s bright smile.

“Been waitin’ for ya ta come around.” There’s no hint of malice in Atsumu’s words, just an innocent admission that he’d been waiting on Kiyoomi. “‘M glad ya don’t hate us or nothin’.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Dunno, thought ya might be mad at us for some reason.”

‘For some reason’ hangs in the air, like Kiyoomi didn’t suddenly abandon his friends for two days. Like Atsumu is trying to be understanding of the fact that Kiyoomi probably needed some space. Guilt weighs heavy on Kiyoomi, making him slump into his knees even further.

“Shouldn’t you be the ones who are mad?”

“Why would we be mad?”

Memories of old friends plague him all at once. The sound of their laughter and sneers when he’d panicked at having a spot of mud get on his face. Their jeers for the remainder of the school year whenever they were going to be playing outside or working with something messy. Dealing with Kiyoomi’s fears was never easy, always a hassle.

“Because I freaked out. And then I just disappeared.”

Atsumu just shrugs, “Ya already told us ya don’t like dirt. ‘S no big deal. ‘Sides, sometimes I wish I could have some space from Samu after one of us has our moments, too. Yer just lucky ‘cause ya could get it.”

Just like that, the embarrassment melts away. A tiny smile forms on his face as he picks at the bandaid. It’s strange to have something that seemed like such a daunting problem be tossed away with a few simple words. Kiyoomi never thought he’d have this. 

“C’mon,” Atsumu reaches out a dirt-covered palm to Kiyoomi, “we’re gonna head down to the creek.”

When Kiyoomi doesn’t take it, staring at the dirty little palm with a pained look, Atsumu groans halfheartedly, rubbing the majority of the dirt onto his shorts. Finished with his task, Atsumu juts his hand out again, significantly cleaner. Kiyoomi reaches forward with a little reluctance, mind racing with the thought of having to scrub his hands of the dirt he knows is resting between their palms.

But when their hands clasp together, it’s not the dirt that Kiyoomi focuses on. The feel of a hand just his size wrapped around his own is fairly new, never really letting others touch him like this. Atsumu’s hand is warm, a little sweaty from playing outside. Something about it makes Kiyoomi’s palm tingle. Maybe being hand in hand like this isn’t so bad.

He expects the other boy to drop his hand once Kiyoomi has pulled himself up. Instead, he just keeps prattling on.

“It ain’t a long walk, but it is real difficult.” Atsumu still doesn’t let go of his hand, and Kiyoomi finds that he doesn’t really want him to either, palm dirty or otherwise. “Keep yer eyes on the ground an’ don’t let go of my hand.”

Nodding, he catches sight of Osamu waiting for them just a little ways ahead. The other twin’s eyes lock onto Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s linked hands. Even when they pass by him, Kiyoomi notes the way Osamu’s eyes linger to where he’s connected to Atsumu. A strange look passes over his face, something too sentimental for him to comprehend just yet. Though he sees a certain softness in Osamu’s hazel eyes, in the way his brows rise just slightly, and how he hides a smile.

In front of him, Atsumu just trucks along, pulling Kiyoomi in his wake and throwing a glance back every few minutes. Whenever a particularly knotty root blocks the path, he’ll squeeze Kiyoomi’s hand in warning. Though it doesn’t live up to the full danger levels that Kiyoomi envisioned, the path is definitely difficult for a newcomer. There are some points that Kiyoomi nearly trips on rocks that jut out at odd angles and even on the roots Atsumu warns him about.

Soon though, they hear the sound of water trickling along. A break in the trees at the top of the path reveals a clear creek, not too deep and slower than a river. With the water rushing just right and the sunlight making each ripple sparkle, it almost seems like there’s treasure hidden within the depths, lurking beneath the surface.

Atsumu untangles their hands making his way to the water before turning to walk upstream. For whatever reason, Kiyoomi’s eyes follow Atsumu as he makes his way to the largest swath of sunshine and runs his fingers through the water as if to test it out.

“Yer knee okay?” Kiyoomi just hums, continuing to look at Atsumu, forgetting altogether about the scabbed over cut. He thinks that will be the end of their conversation. “Why’d’ya hold Tsumu’s hand all the way over here?”

Osamu asks the question in the same bored way he asks if Kiyoomi wants to practice setting with him.

“He said the path was dangerous,” Kiyoomi thinks he was half right. He certainly appreciated the little warnings during their walk. “He told me not to let go.”

Osamu lets out a little snort. “He said that ‘cause he’s gotta crush on ya. ‘S’not that dangerous.”

The statement brings Kiyoomi’s full attention to Osamu.

“He what?”

“Tsumu has a crush on ya!”

At that moment, Atsumu returns from his little wandering down the stream. Hearing the words fall from his twin’s lips makes his pink cheeks blare red, even the tips of his ears begin to color when he yells at Osamu, “Do not!”

“Do too.” Osamu doesn’t even look dazed by his brother’s irritation, turning back to Kiyoomi with a brow raised as if he’s just proved his point. Though Atsumu refuses to look at Kiyoomi at all, little brows pulling to taut together in anger that his brother brushed him off.

“Do not !”

Atsumu stalks closer, his back to the creek and hands on his hips as he looks down on his brother. Pink still stains his cheeks and ears, little lips stuck out in a pout. Kiyoomi thinks he wouldn’t mind if the boy had a crush on him, even if he does come across as a little rude.

Tired of his brother, Osamu pushes up to get right back into Atsumu’s face. “Do too.”

When Atsumu starts his third refusal, Osamu pushes him back into the creek, pouncing on him before Kiyoomi’s wild, frightened eyes. There are rocks around the creek, sharp ones that could hurt the two. Surely those rocks rest at the bottom too and the water isn’t all that deep. Plus, Kiyoomi has no clue how to get back if both of them end up hurt and they’re so far from their parents and he can’t stand the sight of blood and-

The pair burst out of the water with waves of laughter, screaming and splashing one another with reckless abandon. Until then, Kiyoomi didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath, but now his lungs kick back in rapidly. Little shallow breaths nearly drown out the play fight in the water. He feels a bit disconnected until water splashes against his legs, a wide-smiled Atsumu innocently staring around the area Kiyoomi sits.

“Ya gonna come in?”

Somewhere between the boys tumbling in and the post-panic haze washing over him, Atsumu and Osamu discarded their shirts and shorts along dry, sunny spots of the bank.

“I don’t want to get my clothes wet.”

Atsumu shrugs at that, pointing to where his and his twins' clothes are drying, “Then take ‘em off.”

“But we’ll be wet when we get out and there are no towels. And what about my knee?” The proposed solution doesn’t fully solve Kiyoomi’s problem, plus, and he keeps this to himself, the thought of walking with dry clothes and wet underwear makes him feel itchy all over.

“We always dry out a little before we head back. It gets real sunny out here. An’ I got an extra bandaid for ya. Brought it just in case.” Those big wide eyes make Kiyoomi falter. “It’s fun in here, Omi, c’mon.”

After a little staring match, Kiyoomi deflates, tugging his shirt over his head and folding it neatly while Atsumu beams. For a moment, that smile seems even brighter than the sun. It warms Kiyoomi in much the same way, but this time the warmth starts inward and bleeds out, tinting his cheeks with the same rosy hue he’s seen on Atsumu.

Approaching the creek, Atsumu smiles up at him, an encouraging little thing as Kiyoomi toys at the water with his toes. The water is warmer than he was anticipating, still cool but not the freezing water he thought would stream down from the mountain tops.

“The sun warms it up,” Kiyoomi’s surprise must be written on his face as Atsumu jerks his head to the patch of sunlight he went to earlier, the same spot his and Osamu’s clothes sit to dry. “C’mon! Ya should be able to stand. It only comes up ta our shoulders.”

Though Kiyoomi expects jagged rocks at the bottom, he’s surprised to find that there are very few rocks at all, mostly just sand and rounded boulders that have found a home at the bottom of the creek and eroded until they were safe to step on. In the water, the summer heat feels nonexistent. Yet every part of him still feels warm when Atsumu’s smile widens and he reaches to pull Kiyoomi in deeper.

Little fingers grip at Kiyoomi’s bicep and Kiyoomi relaxes into the hold, letting Atsumu drag him into the center of the creek. That relaxation turns back into tensed muscles when Osamu attacks them with splashes just a moment later. Yet Kiyoomi can only turn with a vicious gleam in his eye as he swipes a wave towards Osamu, making Atsumu burst into laughter. Even Osamu’s laughter joins in as he finishes his sputtering. Laughter and shouts mix in with the sound of the wind through the treetops and the birds’ songs as they continue their little war.

It seems like hours that they play and swim, though the sun only travels enough slightly shift where the sun shines upstream. Shouts and laughter become exhausted little sighs as they lay themselves out in the sun to dry. Atsumu lay beside him, closer than he is with his twin, fingers just loosely brushing Kiyoomi’s own. Those earlier fears of being wet or uncomfortable on the walk home disappear as exhaustion sets in and a comfortable silence falls over them. Kiyoomi finds himself drifting off, fingers twitching to make sure Atsumu’s hand is still there.