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It’s one in the morning and Atsumu is perched up against his bathroom sink, scrubbing hard at his scalp, looking for any missed string of hair, all the while knowing it will probably stain his poor hands and forehead and maybe even ears. But beauty is pain, isn’t it ?
Once he’s finally done with the last of the green hair dye he had not so meticulously prepared, he wraps up his hair and sighs.
“I swear to god if I fucked up, I’ll just shave it.” Atsumu grumbles to himself because nobody else is here to listen. “I’m sure I look hot as fuck bald anyway.”
This might have been Red Flag Number 1 - or rather Number 12 - and Atsumu should probably take it as a sign that he is, in fact, not doing so well mentally.
But, well, losing your father might do this to you, too.
“Samu, the hairstylist fucked up my hair.” Atsumu grumbled, phone tucked between his right ear and shoulder, patting his jeans to find his keys. “Again.”
He had gone to the hair salon to dye his hair the warm and light blond color that suited him so well but - and as predicted - he had ended up with green roots and dead ends.
"Tsumu." Osamu’s voice ringed in Atsumu’s ear as if he already knew what was about to happen. Atsumu sucked in a breath and frowned, waiting for Osamu to say whatever he wanted to say.
“Are you alright ?” Atsumu asked, realizing Osamu wasn’t going to spill it out, turning on his heels to go and check on his twin. “I’ll be here in twenty minutes, can you wait ?”
“Yeah, of course.” Osamu let out a sigh, maybe out of relief, maybe out of sadness. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Just, come, please.”
“Yeah, I’m coming.” Atsumu hung up, heartbeat picking up, hands trembling. He knew something bad had happened.
Two days later, he had hidden his hair under Onigri Miya’s cap to visit his father in his hospital bed. It didn't really matter that he couldn’t even see him - with him being in a coma and all - Atsumu had felt the need to hide any and every imperfections (as they say, old habits die hard or something like that).
“They put him in a coma, they don’t want him to use up all the energy he has left.” A distant family member had told the twins. “They’re not very optimistic.”
Osamu nodded lightly, eyes vacant, it had been very clear he didn’t want to be there.
“Only one of you can see him, and for a few minutes only.” The doctors had told them, looking between both twins to see which one would volunteer.
“I don’t, I can’t -” Osamu had turned to Atsumu. “I can’t see him like that. I just. I can’t.”
“It’s alright.” Atsumu had said, a small reassuring smile on his face. “I’ll go.”
When he was a kid, Atsumu used to look for his father’s approval more than anyone else’s. He tried his very best at school, and hoped for so long that he could make him proud by being one of the best young setters in Japan. It didn’t really matter that his dad never came to see him once on the court, or never really congratulated him for his good grades. Being great was the standard, and anything below that was what his father commented on.
When he got into highschool, he figured that any attention was good attention. He started to get into fights and get bad grades and make mistakes. Everything in order to make his dad see him, even though he knew it wouldn’t be in a good light - he could handle his dad thinking he was a bad kid, as long as he ever thought about him.
When the twins dyed their hair for the first time ever, Atsumu had expected a reaction from his father. The orange tones and dead ends were easy to spot and criticize, and Atsumu had made it a point to not only show it to everybody, but also keep it that way.
“Aren’t you going to say anything ?” Atsumu had asked his father, a hand in his hair, voice barely loud enough to be heard.
“About what ?” His father had answered, not even looking at him.
A few months later, they had stopped talking to each other. Or rather, his dad had stopped trying, leaving him and Osamu at the hand of their poor, devoted, single mother. Back then, Atsumu had put as much blame on his dad as he had on himself. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t ever done anything to warrant such abandonment - or that being abandoned wasn’t something anyone earned or deserved. For the longest time, he thought he was responsible for the relation he had with his father, as if he had been the parent all along - and not just a kid.
When Osamu quit volleyball and started to work in the food industry, he dyed his hair back to its natural color.
“This is very weird.” Atsumu said, while doing the dishes in Osamu’s apartment. “Isn’t it weird ?”
“Not really.” Osamu answered, shrugging the question off. “It was long overdue.”
Then and there, Atsumu realized - not for the first time and certainly not for the last - how different they actually were.
When Atsumu had trouble letting go of the past, Osamu was the one always looking ahead. If it hadn’t been for his calmer and quieter personality, everybody would already have seen Osamu as who he truly was : the bolder twin.
The twin that wasn’t confined by melancholia and routines ; the twin brave enough to go as he pleased, where he pleased, when he pleased.
Atsumu was the emotional twin, the twin controlled by his own fear and anxiety and abandonment issues. The twin that would put his own feelings and pride aside to make somebody he loved more comfortable. He was selfless but not so much as it was all in order to please and be pleased - to be liked, to be loved, to be seen.
“So, you’re really here.” His dad had said to him, almost in total disbelief but not quite.
“Well, I told you I would come visit, didn’t I ?” Atsumu had answered, heart pinching at how weak and pale his father had looked.
“I thought you were lying to me.” His father had answered, as honest as ever.
Atsumu grimaced. Fair enough, he thought. Atsumu hadn’t come to see him in years, and it had been months since he had told his father he would do so. Way back then, the promise was just that, something he had thought about doing but never really wanted to. And then, his dad fell ill - ill enough for days to be counted - and Atsumu knew he had to, really, he was obligated to actually set aside every feelings, every moments, every bad memories he ever had in order to let his father know he was there, no matter what, despite his own fragile state of mind.
“Osamu’s not here.” His dad stated. “He didn’t even reply to my text.”
“Well, he’s pretty busy, you know. With the restaurant and all.” Atsumu tried, as if his dad hadn’t figured it out already. As if he didn’t know that Osamu wouldn’t have come either way, busy or not.
“It’s fine.” His father had shrugged but, for once, Atsumu knew he cared. “So, are you successful ?”
The day after burying his father - two days after dying his hair green - Atsumu came back to the gym.
Barnes whistled. “That… is a bold choice.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes and smiled, but even he knew how far off this smile fell compared to his most genuine ones.
“Needed a change. It will wash off eventually.” He said, waving his hand to dismiss any other criticism.
“Looks fine to me.” Kiyoomi said, in the back, eyeing Atsumu just like he always does - as if trying to figure out who he truly was. Which, to Atsumu, had always felt like a waste of time - just ask me already and I will tell you everything about myself, even the things I don’t even know.
“Well, thanks.” Atsumu answered, not really sure of what to do with all the attention he suddenly gained. He knew everybody in this room learned he had just lost his dad, and they didn’t know how to approach the subject. “What are you waiting for ? We have a couple days to catch up on !”
Everybody started moving again and getting out of the locker room, most of them slapping his back to welcome him back. Atsumu closed his eyes and sighed, gathering all the courage in the world to go through this day and the next fifty years.
“I’m sorry about your dad.” Kiyoomi told him, in a voice softer than Atsumu had ever heard him talk with.
“Why ? Was it you who killed him ?” Atsumu tried to joke, pointing an accusatory finger to his chest. “I knew it.”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Let me be serious for a second, Atsumu, please.”
“Fine, Omi.” Atsumu said, closing his locker. “I’ll give you a second, and one second only.”
Kiyoomi puffed. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you want to talk about it.” He said in one sitting, taking his limited time seriously. “Or like, about anything else for that matter.”
Atsumu's smile, then, became a bit more genuine. “Thanks, Omi.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you today, Miya ?” Kiyoomi had asked Atsumu through gritted teeth, face reddened from frustration and even a little bit of anger.
They had been trying this new trick, but Atsumu’d been more than pitiful at landing it and Kiyoomi had had enough, thinking Atsumu wasn’t putting in the effort he should be putting in.
“None of your business, Sakusa.” Atsumu had spat back, eyes watering from anger and something else.
“You know what ? Nevermind, I’ll just go home.” Kiyoomi had said, packing up his stuff from the floor. “This isn’t going anywhere, it’s pointless.”
“Right.” Atsumu said, voice breaking, legs weakening.
Kiyoomi had turned his back on him and had been on his way out when Atsumu had finally broke down and started sobbing violently. He was crunched up on the floor, head between his knees, shaking and crying.
“What’s wrong, Atsumu ?” Kiyoomi asked, this time in a gentler way, lowering down to his level. “You can talk to me.”
“My dad,” Atsumu started, a couple minutes after trying to regulate himself, “He’s dying.”
Saying it out loud felt like a punch in the gut, like reality had finally hit, and Atsumu couldn’t do anything but watch it all happen like an outsider to his own point of view. He slowly stopped crying and just felt this emptiness festing on every single thing he had ever felt.
The thing about death is how fake it can feel ; how easy it can be to just deny it, ignore it, live as though it isn’t ever part of being human, mortal.
When Atsumu saw his dad for the last time ever, resting in his coffin, he had to tell himself This is it, he’s dead. Looking at him eyes closed, make-up on, it just looked like he had been sleeping peacefully, like he could just wake up and go on with his life.
“Is it weird that I’m, like, still waiting for him ?” Atsumu asked, playing with his food in the MSBY dorms’ kitchen. “Like I’m waiting for him to just, I don’t know, realize how shitty he’d been and to just, like, apologize and shit.”
“Well, he was a shitty dad.” Kiyoomi answered. “I think it’s normal of you to want closure.”
“Yeah, but, I won’t ever get it.” Atsumu said, eyes traveling to the ceiling. “He’s gone and I won’t ever get to talk to him again and let him know how bad he made me feel and how much I needed him.”
Sometimes, Atsumu forgets his dad is actually dead.
It’s not like he used to spend every waking moment with him anyway, they barely ever talked. It feels normal to live a life without his dad by his side, until he realizes that he’s not here, on earth, anymore and will never be here again, and then he’s hit with all the guilt in the world.
He feels like he shouldn’t be allowed to move on, because if grief is love persevering, does it mean that Atsumu will stop loving his father once he stops grieving ? Does it mean he will stop valuing all the time they should have had and all the things his dad is missing once he starts moving on ; does it mean that once Atsumu is okay with him being gone, then he hadn’t ever needed him at all ?
“I love you.” Atsumu had said to his sleeping father on his hospital bed.
Atsumu watched as a tear ran down his father’s cheek, as if he had heard for the first time in his life. He was agitated, tried to open his eyes and look at Atsumu without actually processing what he was looking at.
“Dad,” he started again, voice trembling, not really sure what to do with his hands, “it’s Atsumu. I just want you to know that I’m here, and Osamu’s here too, and we love you. I love you.”
And in this moment Atsumu had known that he did, in fact, love his father. More than he ever thought he did, more than he ever thought he should.
“Well, I think we just have different points of view on the matter.” Osamu had said. “I’m grieving the dad we could have had, while you’re grieving the dad we grew up with.”
“I just,” Atsumu sighed, feeling overwhelmed, “I just love him so much, you know ?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Osamu answered, a sad smile sitting on his face. “You are the sensible one, always have been.”
“What am I supposed to do with all the love I have left for him now ?”
Atsumu’s hair went back to its light and warm blond that suits him so well, although still tainted by a little bit of green that mostly shows when the sun hits.
He never went back to the hairstylist since the last incident, finally opting to rely on the people that loved him and whom he loved back - making Kiyoomi bleach it at home.
“It’s like, there are so many feelings I feel for him and about him and because of him and it’s just, like, rotting inside of me because he’s gone and I can’t let it go.” Atsumu finally confessed. “It’s all I have left of him.”
“Is it really him, though ?” Osamu asked. “He’s dead, Atsumu. Gone. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re clinging to, isn’t him.”
Atsumu knew that, for the most part, but it was still so difficult to let go.
“I know it’s hard, because you love him and you hate him and you need him and you want him to apologize, you expect so many things from him. But you need to realize, you need to understand that it won’t ever happen.”
“Because he’s dead.” Atsumu agreed.
“Because he never did anything for you when he was alive.” Osamu added. “And wouldn’t have. Not when he was free to live, not when he knew how much time he had left, not when he was so close to leaving us. He never tried to give you the closure you so desperately needed.”
Osamu was right, and Atsumu already knew that. He despised himself for craving so much from someone who didn’t have anything to give, who never cared to know the extent of his love.
“You never gave him your love because he never asked for it. He didn’t want it.” Osamu said. “And I know it sucks, and it’s unfair, and it’s heartbreaking ; but it’s our dad. That’s who he was, that’s who you’re grieving.”
It’s two in the afternoon and Atsumu is holding a pair of scissors in one hand, a glass of wine in the other.
“Maybe those two shouldn’t be mixed together.” Kiyoomi says, sitting in front of the mirror, a towel around his shoulders.
“Don’t worry your pretty little face about it !” Atsumu sips on the wine, puts his glass down and look at kiyoomi’s reflection straight in the eyes. “Are you ready for this long awaited change ?”
“Do your worst.” Kiyoomi answers, a private smile on his face, thankful for all the love he had been given and had given back to Atsumu.
“If you don’t know what to do with all the love you have left, give it to me. I will know how to take care of it.”