Chapter Text
“Sakusa-kun.”
Yaku Morisuke draws attention everywhere he goes. Despite his short stature, his presence demands attention. He walks with a slow, quiet confidence, even with his limp. Motoya says he’s being offered confessions every other day, and has spent an inordinate amount of time listing their senior’s many, many wonderful traits from his looks to his skills to his personality. Kiyoomi was generally more interested in the fact that he was a dedicated libero who took care of himself and even younger members of the team.
And now he’s a highly dedicated manager.
A highly dedicated and capable manager who’s drawing all the attention from the second years in Kiyoomi’s classroom. Kiyoomi stands and Yaku waits by the door as he approaches, apparently completely unaffected by Kiyoomi's fawning, gossiping classmates.
“Yaku-san.”
“Sorry, Sakusa-kun,” Yaku says, voice flat and dull as it has been since the Spring Tournament last year. “Some of the first years forgot to shut the windows after cleaning up.”
Kiyoomi glances over Yaku’s shoulder at the window and the rain pattering against it. It’s been getting worse all morning. He can already see where this is going.
“The gym needs to be aired out and cleaned out,” he continues. “Practice has been cancelled after school and tomorrow morning. Sorry, I should have watched over them better.”
“It’s not your fault, Yaku-san,” Kiyoomi replies. “It’s not your responsibility. They should be able to clean up properly.”
“They should,” he says, “but I should have watched them anyway.”
He probably should have, but Kiyoomi doesn’t say so. If Yaku knows then Yaku knows, there’s no point telling him what he already knows.
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Yaku says with a nod. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“Yaku-san.”
Yaku pauses from walking away and looks over his shoulder. “Yes?”
Kiyoomi hesitates. There’s no point telling Yaku what he already knows. Does he already know? He must, mustn’t he? He must have known if Kiyoomi had made that pass better from Ushijima’s spike, he might still be playing. He must have known that from the moment he was forced down onto the bench. What would apologising fix?
How often has he gone over these questions?
“Never mind,” Kiyoomi says. “It doesn’t matter."
“No,” Yaku says, like he knows what Kiyoomi’s thinking, “I don’t suppose it does.”
“Thank you for letting me know.”
Yaku nods and walks away without another glance. What good would apologising do now?
“Ah, Yaku-san,” Motoya says, leaning out of his classroom door as Yaku passes. “What are you doing here?”
“Practice is cancelled after school and tomorrow morning,” Yaku says. “Tell the others in your class for me.”
“Huh? Uh, sure, thanks, Yaku-san.”
Yaku carries on down the hall and Kiyoomi turns away, ignoring Motoya’s flushed cheeks and embarrassingly obvious crush on their manager. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so embarrassing if he wasn’t just as obviously guilt-ridden over taking Yaku’s position as their libero too. It’s not like it was Motoya's fault. He wasn’t on court and he’s sure Yaku would be furious if Motoya decided to quit because of some guilt over taking his place. It’s irrational and gets in the way of their playing sometimes. It’s pointless, really.
The rain grows worse through the afternoon and without volleyball practice to look forward to, it’s draining. Why can’t they borrow part of someone else’s gym? They have enough of them. The volleyball team is within the top four in the nation for the past few tournaments. Haven’t they earned the right to toss other unproductive teams out of their gyms? Instead, he’ll have to visit a public gym.
“Are you coming to practice, Motoya?” Kiyoomi says as they’re changing shoes.
“Ah, I figured I’d use the time to catch up on some assignments,” Motoya replies with a tight smile. “Have fun though.”
He’s been ducking out of spending time with Kiyoomi more and more recently. And giving him that smile. Kiyoomi has to do his best to ignore it though. If Motoya wants to talk to him, he will. Their relationship has never been built on forcing each other to be emotional and open. He won’t force Motoya to spend time with him anymore than Motoya forced himself upon Kiyoomi in their younger days. Kiyoomi does sometimes wish he had Motoya’s sense for when was the right time to back off and when to push though.
“It’s practice, it’s not for fun,” he says instead.
“Sorry, Kiyoomi,” Motoya says, smile faltering a little, “but it’s a good chance to catch up.”
So Kiyoomi leaves him to it. They’re in special classes. Streamlined, with extra support and lower work loads, for the elite within their top clubs. If Motoya is struggling, there are plenty of people to talk to get help from. He doesn’t need to lie. If he didn’t want to join him, he could just say. It’s not like Kiyoomi would be offended. He knows how hard he can be to deal with.
Motoya will talk to him when he’s ready. All Kiyoomi can do is believe that.
So Kiyoomi opens up his umbrella, pulls his coat tighter and waves goodbye to Motoya as he hurries off towards the dorms. The sky is overcast and dark, but at least there’s no signs of thunder. It would be truly awful to work so hard taking care of himself, only to find his umbrella drawing lightning.
Kiyoomi carefully steps around puddles and avoids the worst of the crowds until he reaches a footbridge that’s usually abandoned. There’s a wider, more modern bridge just a few minutes further down the track that would be visible if not for the sheets of rain. You have to go out of your way off of the main streets to get to this narrow, old bridge, but Kiyoomi prefers it.
Only this afternoon it’s not abandoned. The figure of another boy comes out of the rain as Kiyoomi walks, lit up by the weak lights of the bridge through the gloom. Normally Kiyoomi would keep walking and ignore him, but something about the strange boy stills his feet.
He doesn’t have an umbrella, the track jacket he’s wearing says Tsukinomiya Volleyball Club, and a sports bag sits abandoned a few steps away. He gazes down at the tracks from beneath dark brown hair, drops of water sliding over his face and masking whatever tears might be falling from those vacant eyes. Kiyoomi would worry he’ll catch his death out here, but he knows that look and the slightly too tight grip on the railings. The same way Motoya will sometimes tighten his laces to the point where it’s clearly painful but insists it isn’t. The same way Yaku works longer and harder than everyone else, until Kiyoomi can see his limp getting worse from pushing too hard while insisting he’s fine. He’s noticed that blank look in both their eyes more and more recently.
Despite the whispers around school and what everyone thinks of him, Kiyoomi isn’t heartless. Interactions are awkward for him - people don’t like that he’s so blunt and has his priorities wrong, at least according to them - but he’s not heartless. People might assume he’d ignore the situation and move on, but how could he? And he knows he can’t fix the boy, but he can give him a moment to breathe.
“You play volleyball?”
The boy’s head jerks around as Kiyoomi steps up to his side, adjusting his umbrella just enough to cover them both. Golden hazel eyes gaze back at him and his too tight grip on the rail slackens. Kiyoomi glances away as the boy’s eyes widen.
“...Omi-kun…”
Kiyoomi frowns at him. “I don’t know what articles you’ve been reading that have been giving me stupid nicknames, but my name is Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
“Yeah,” the boy says. His eyes return to that awful liftless state and he turns away. “Nice to meetcha, Sakusa-san.”
Kiyoomi’s fists flex around his umbrella and in his pocket. The boy picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, posture slumped over and head low as he walks by Kiyoomi. He's not heartless. Kiyoomi is human no matter how often he’s called an alien or a robot or whatever else nonsensical they want to throw his way. And watching this kid walk away into the rain with no idea if he’s going to be alright makes his stomach churn with guilt. The same way it does when Motoya’s shoulders slump and he forces a smile around their family. He can’t do anything in those moments though. He can now.
“You never did say if you play or not,” he calls. The footsteps stop and Kiyoomi turns to him slowly, gazing at the boy's back. Tsukinomiya? Where is that? “Do you?”
“I play,” he says.
“Our gym at school got flooded,” he says. Usually he’d want to know if the guy’s any good before offering but he doesn’t want to leave him alone right now. “I was going to a public gym to practice. Do you want to come along?”
“Maybe ya should play with Komori-kun,” he replies.
Ah. That’s where he got that dumb nickname from.
“Motoya is busy. He's using the opportunity to catch up on assignments.”
“Must be nice,” the boy says quietly.
Kiyoomi doesn’t quite get it. What must be nice? To be behind on assignment? To have time to work on them? He frowns at the boy behind his mask, hopefully hiding his confusion behind it well enough. Must be nice to be busy, maybe? Doesn’t a routine and keeping busy help with these kinds of things? Time to think is time for unwanted, unhelpful thoughts to creep in.
“Then let’s be busy,” Kiyoomi says at last. “Let’s dry off, play a bit and have a warm shower. I think we could both use it. What position do you play?”
“...setter…”
“So? I’m not going to beg, but a setter means I can practice spiking. I’m sure you know, I’m one of the best spikers in high school and my team is one of the best in Japan. Not many people get a chance to set for me. At least give me a name.”
“Miya Atsumu.”
“Good to meet you then, Miya-san,” Kiyoomi says. “Let’s go. I know a place nearby.”
Miya walks over and joins him under the umbrella. Kiyoomi doesn’t bother with small talk, simply holds the umbrella above them and keeps his pace slow enough for Miya to stay at his side. Miya doesn’t say a word the entire time, fingers shaking with the cold and wrapped around the strap of his bag.
It’s not far to the public gym. Kiyoomi goes there a lot when he can’t practice at school or hasn’t felt like he’s practiced enough. He swipes his membership card at the entrance and signs Miya in as his guest. The girl at the desk smiles and waves and Kiyoomi nods back politely. Miya follows him silently into the changing rooms and Kiyoomi wonders where he’s from once more. He doesn’t recognise the name Tsukinomiya. He thinks, from what little Miya has spoken, there’s a Kansai dialect, so that might be where he’s originally from. But if Miya’s actually from somewhere in Kansai, and hasn't just moved to Tokyo, how was he on the bridge only half an hour after school finishes? Would a school here for matches let him wander off on his own?
Miya leaves his bag on the spare shelf in Kiyoomi’s locker. His phone is going off silently when he takes it from his pocket and puts it into the bag. Osamu flashes up on the screen and Miya ignores it and zips up the bag. Kiyoomi wants to ask about his situation but it’s not really his place. He doubts Miya wants to talk about his problems with a total stranger. Instead Kiyoomi heads into the gym and Miya follows him. Still absolutely silent.
“There’s a neighbourhood association team who practice here most days,” Kiyoomi says, pulling the net divider across the hall to section off the court. “So we can play until they arrive, and with them if you want. They’re not bad. Playing adults is a challenge sometimes. They’re strong and experienced in a way we aren’t.”
“Sure,” Miya mutters, pulling out the ball cart from the store room.
Which isn't much of an answer.
“Where are you from?” Kiyoomi says, finally giving into his curiosity.
Miya glances at him as they head into the store room for the net. “Hyogo.”
Well, that tells him how good he is. Hyogo, and Kansai generally, is dominated by Inarizaki. If Miya was any good as a setter, Coach Kurosu would have taken him on. Inarizaki love their ridiculous setters to match their big hitters. If there’s a good setter in Hyogo, Kurosu sniffs them out.
With the net set up, they work through warm ups. Miya doesn’t stare at him warming up his wrists and Kiyoomi notes how Miya focuses on his flexibility and being able to drop low to the ground. He’s solid through passing drills. Probably better than most setters who assume they’ll get the second touch so why bother with passing.
“How’s your serve?” Kiyoomi says.
“Decent,” Miya replies.
Kiyoomi nods and ducks under the net to the other side of the court. “Try to at least be a challenge.”
It’s unlikely. Itachiyama’s focus on solid ground defense to complement their solid attack power means it’s rare to find someone outside the top tiers of Nationals that’s a challenge for Kiyoomi. Miya bounces the ball for a moment before stepping back from the endline. He throws up his serve toss and Kiyoomi wasn’t expecting the jump float that rockets across the net at stunning speed. Kiyoomi has to dive for it as it drops, only for it to curve too far and hit the court right next to him. He lifts his gaze and Miya is gazing down at him from the end line with no light in his eyes or satisfaction at serve scoring an ace.
“Yer turn,” Miya says and turns away.
Kiyoomi stands slowly and picks up the ball. Miya’s blank gaze is pissing him off. He just got a service ace from one of the best players in the country and his face is blank. Kiyoomi’s not got some sort of superiority complex, his ego doesn’t need Miya to fawn over him, but that completely blank face and disinterest in everything is a little much for him to take. He’d be excited if he got an ace off of someone he knows to be far better than him.
Kiyoomi narrows his eyes and steps back, determined to make him get some kind of reaction out of him. He throws up the toss and slams down a serve. It feels good. Miya gets behind it and it’s very messy but it’s up, which is more than a lot of players can say. Kiyoomi purses his lips. Kiyoomi doesn’t get it. If Miya is this good, why isn’t he at Inarizaki? Why hasn’t he been scouted by the big schools?
Of course Kiyoomi knows there must be amazing players who slip through the cracks and fail to end up in a powerhouse school and are never seen at Nationals. But a player like Miya? As good as Miya? It’s utter insanity that he’s this good and doesn’t seem to care.
Knowing Miya has a nasty jump float, but knowing it’s coming lets Kiyoomi pick up more of them. At least until Miya suddenly switches up and slams down a serve that might as well be a straight up spike. Just out of nowhere he has a second serve with that blank look on his face. What is wrong with him? There is nothing more frustrating than clearly polished skill being wasted on someone who doesn’t care in the slightest. Why work this hard to reach this level when he just doesn’t care?! What’s wrong with him?!
Miya’s sets are as elite as his serves. They go up exactly where Kiyoomi needs them like he’s been his setter for years. And when the Neighbourhood Association team shows up, Miya’s sets and serves don’t waver and his eyes remain dull in a way that bothers Kiyoomi. The adults enjoy him though. They don’t seem to notice Miya’s lack of care. They’re much more interested in Kiyoomi having brought a fun new setter.
“Will you be alright on your own?” Kiyoomi says as they’re parting ways.
Miya shifts his bag on his shoulder. He at least looks a bit better for the work out, some food and a warm shower. At least Kiyoomi managed to get him out of the rain and away from his negative thoughts for a little while. Hopefully.
“I’ll manage.”
“Where are you staying?” he says as they leave. “You’re not going back to Hyogo tonight, are you?”
“No,” he replies. He frowns and glances away, gripping his bag straps a little tighter. “I’ll be fine.”
“You do have somewhere to stay, don’t you?” Miya doesn’t answer and Kiyoomi pauses from hooking his mask over his ear. He turns to him fully. “Miya?”
“Atsumu.”
There’s a shorter figure in the rain, in a red and white raincoat, and a hoodie with cat ears underneath. He lifts his head from under the shadow of the umbrella. Miya turns to him, grips his bag straps tighter, then nods and jogs over. He takes the umbrella from the stranger and lifts it to cover them both. In response, the strange boy takes out a game console and the screen lights up.
“It was nice to see ya again, Sakusa-san,” Miya says, turning away.
“Can we go?” the other boy says.
Miya nods and walks slowly by his companion’s side. Kiyoomi frowns, opening up his own umbrella. The red coat says Nekoma Volleyball Club. Kiyoomi makes note to look that up as well as Tsukinomiya.
“I expected you to be helping Yachi,” the stranger says.
“I needed a break,” Miya replies. “Is she ok?”
“I dealt with it. It’s fine if you need some time, you’re the one doing the heavy lifting, but I need a heads up to adjust our plans.”
Miya sighs and the pair vanish into the dark rain and Kiyoomi lifts his umbrella to head back to the dorms. What a strange pair.
Kiyoomi realises just why Miya pisses him off so much when he enters the dorm gates and sees Yaku sitting in the gazebo with earbuds in, bumping a volleyball alone and without a care for the world around him. The dullness in Yaku’s eyes is because he’s desperate to play and can’t. Miya has all the skill and ability but doesn’t care. How awful for someone like Yaku to have his dreams snatched from him by a simple accident while someone like Miya doesn’t care for what he has. He can’t imagine what Yaku would give to be able to play again while he doubts Miya would care if he could never play again.
“Did you have a good practice?” Motoya says as he closes their dorm room’s door behind him.
“I found an interesting partner,” Kiyoomi replies.
Motoya sits up from his desk. “A practice partner? Someone who isn’t me? Practiced with you?”
“Yes,” he says. “Do you know of Nekoma or Tsukinomiya?”
“Hmm…” Motoya spins his chair to follow Kiyoomi’s movements around the room as he unpacks and changes. “Nekoma, never heard of them, but Tsukinomiya’s not bad in Hyogo. I think they have the Miya Twins.”
“Miya Twins?” Kiyoomi repeats.
“I imagine you were too busy waxing poetic about Ushijima and his hanky to remember,” Motoya says with a grin. Kiyoomi scowls at him and Motoya’s grin widens. “They played for Yako Middle.”
“They played in that hideous lemon yellow, didn’t they?”
Motoya laughs. “I don’t think we’re allowed to complain about hideous yellow jerseys.”
“At least you get to wear black.”
“Right?”
So Miya does have some kind of history with a good team. He has a name for himself. Yako was a good school. A lot of them will go to one of the better schools in the area. Their libero Akagi had gone to Inarizaki. How could Coach Kurosu not have seen them?
“There’s nothing about Nekoma anywhere,” Motoya says. Kiyoomi glances back at him. He’s on his phone. “Nothing at all. Weird. Where did you find them?”
“I found Miya Atsumu to practice with,” Kiyoomi replies. “And someone from Nekoma turned up to pick him up.”
“You found a Miya?” he says, straightening up “They've been pretty quiet since middle school. I wonder what’s up with them?”
“He… didn’t seem ok…”
“Who is?” Motoya laughs and spins his chair away.
Well that’s not reassuring in any way. Kiyoomi purses his lips and turns slowly to Motoya, who’s typing away on his laptop. Their relationship isn’t built on pushing each other, they don’t force each other to open up, they just reach out to each other when they’re ready. If Motoya doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. But, Kiyoomi hesitates there anyway.
“Motoya.”
“Mmm?”
“Are you ok?”
Motoya lifts his head and gazes over his shoulder at him for a moment before giving him a kind smile. “I’m fine, Kiyoomi, don’t worry about it.”
Kiyoomi knew from the start Motoya wouldn’t tell him before he was ready. There was no point asking. He shouldn’t feel disappointed that’s the answer. How could something so expected be disappointing? Kiyoomi’s not really the kind of person anyone wants to open up to. Not even Motoya.
Kiyoomi turns his attention back to his own homework and settles in at his desk. Nevermind. Motoya will talk to him or he won’t. He shouldn’t have pushed. There’s movement behind him and Kiyoomi turns, expecting Motoya attempting to sneak up on him and get him to laugh. Something to ease the tense atmosphere like he’s prone to doing. Motoya still has his back to him though.
But water splashes around Kiyoomi’s feet.
Water?
“Motoya, did you leave the windows open?” Kiyoomi sighs, turning to the windows. “Even after what happened to the gym.”
But the windows are closed tight.
Are they flooding somewhere? Has the dorm plumbing sprung a leak?
Kiyoomi turns. Brightly coloured fish swim from under his bed and vanish though the wall. He staggers back, water splashing around his ankles and turns to Motoya, who still hasn’t moved. He hasn’t moved at all. He’s totally still, made of rippling water that fish swim in and out of.
“This is a dream,” Kiyoomi whispers.
That has to be in. It’s just a dream. That’s all it can be. Lucid dreaming, isn’t it? When you’re aware of the dream? He reaches out slowly and the water Motoya ripples as his fingers touch it and the fish swimming inside him scatter.
“It’s a dream. I fell asleep studying.”
There’s something crystal and sparkling in the chest of the water Motoya. Kiyoomi crouches down, gazing at the crystal. Through the distortion of rippling water and between the serene, brightly coloured fish, he thinks he makes out a crystal flower, slowly spinning. It’s dark purple and red, the colours moving and swirling through the crystal as it moves.
There’s a glow Kiyoomi that catches out of the corner of eye. He turns and finds the glow coming from his sports bag. He digs in slowly and takes a silver ring set with a triangular sapphire from one of the pockets. How did that get there? And why is it glowing?
“Why am I questioning a dream?” Kiyoomi sighs.
He slips the ring onto his finger and it fits perfectly. Because of course it does. As he turns back to Motoya, the glow blazes brighter. So Kiyoomi approaches slowly. Motoya still hasn’t moved but the crystal flower glows to match the ring’s glow.
Kiyoomi reaches out, only to pause. Is this really ok? To just reach into Motoya and see what happened? It’s only a dream though. There won’t be any real world consequences. Well, might as well follow the dream’s narrative. It makes sense in a dream sort of way so he’ll play along.
This time, when Kiyoomi reaches out slowly his fingers pass into the watery double of Motoya and into his chest. He actually puts his hand inside Motoya. At least it’s water so it’s not as unsanitary as it could be. The colourful fish scatter for a moment before getting used to his hand and returning to swimming around him. His fingers brush the crystal flower and something rings through him, like low, loud bass rumbling through him but louder and clearer. More like standing too close to ringing bells. He cups the flower and the resonating echoes in his chest as the flower glows and pulses with his ring.
Why is it always Kiyoomi?
Kiyoomi blinks. That’s Motoya’s voice? Coming from the crystal flower and echoing all around him.
It’s not my fault I’m not as tall as him. It’s not my fault I don’t have his weird wrists. It's not my fault.
Of course it’s not his fault. What does that even mean? Motoya’s Motoya and Kiyoomi’s Kiyoomi. They’re different. Of course Kiyoomi knows he’s lucky to have his height and his flexible wrists that give him advantages in volleyball. Motoya had swapped from spiking to the libero position partly because of his lack of natural advantages. Why would he feel like that’s his fault?
I wish I’d never introduced him to volleyball!
There’s a knock on the door and Kiyoomi jerks back. The water is gone. Motoya is staring down at him and Kiyoomi stares back.
What?
How did he end up here?
It wasn’t a dream?
“Kiyoomi? What are you doing down there?”
“It wasn’t a dream?”
The knocking comes again and Motoya heads to the door as Kiyoomi stands. What was that? Was he sleepwalking? He must have been sleepwalking. That must have been it.
“Sakusa-kun?”
Kiyoomi turns. Yaku is there. And Kiyoomi’s gaze is drawn to the ruby ring on Yaku’s finger, exactly the same as the one of Kiyoom’s hand, just a different gem. He frowns, glancing at his own hand. The sapphire ring is still there.
It wasn’t a dream and he wasn’t sleepwalking.
It was real.
“Are you ok, Sakusa-kun?” Yaku says.
Kiyoomi lifts his head. Yaku is frowning at him and Motoya tilts his head. What’s he doing? He’s got to get a grip. Whatever just happened, he can’t let it affect him or they’re going to decide he’s crazy. He’s fine. He’ll work it out. Just ignore it.
“I’m fine, thank you, Yaku-san,” he says. “What can we do for you?”
“I thought I heard the sounds of water,” Yaku replies. “I was a little concerned someone else might have left their windows open and I’d have to deal with even more flooding.”
“Not us, Yaku-san,” Motoya says with a grin.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Yaku-san,” Kiyoomi says. “If there’s someone flooding the floor, it’s not us.”
“I’m glad,” Yaku says, glancing between them, then settles his gaze on Motoya. “Are you alright, Komori-kun?”
Motoya blinks at him. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because I worry for you,” he says. Motoya’s cheeks flush. “It can’t be easy being compared to me and Sakusa-kun all the time, after all.”
Kiyoomi frowns as Motoya stammers and flounders for a response. Does that mean Yaku heard it too?
Yaku smiles, stretches up and pats Motoya’s head. “It’s ok not to be ok, Komori-kun. Don’t bottle it up inside, ok?”
“I suppose… I do get a little insecure sometimes…” Motoya laughs sheepishly, going even redder as Yaku’s hand lingers in his hair. “I’m ok though. Don’t worry.”
“As long as you’re sure,” he says. Motoya is trying and failing not to pout as Yaku takes his hand away, that much is painfully clear. “Wouldn’t it be nice if those stories about people taking away our unwanted emotions were true?”
“There are stories like that?” Kiyoomi says.
“Oh, I’ve heard those stories,” Motoya says, cheering up instantly with the promise of childish gossip. “They say if you need it badly enough, a witch will save you from emotions that get in the way. Like nerves or unrequited love. They take away your unwanted emotions and save you from yourself.”
“That sounds too simple,” he mutters. “No one’s going to save you from negative emotions from the goodness of their heart. Not even doctors do that, they get paid and given kickbacks.”
“You’re too cynical, Kiyoomi,” he sighs. “Why can’t you believe in nice witches who cure us of our anxieties?”
“I suppose you wouldn’t understand, Sakusa-kun,” Yaku says with a sharp smile. “Considering how others feel isn’t really what you do, is it?”
Kiyoomi’s frown deepens. Miya’s lifeless eyes come into his mind. He didn’t seem to feel a thing the entire time they were together.
“I wouldn’t be myself without my anxieties,” Kiyoomi says. “People’s emotions and how they deal with them can’t just be magiced away. Taking your emotions… you might as well be asking someone to take away what makes you yourself.”
Yaku snorts and waves a hand as he turns away. “Figures you’d say that. I’ll see you tomorrow. Night, Komori-kun, Sakusa-kun.”
He closes the door behind him and Kiyoomi lets his frown drop into a scowl.
“He’s a real bitch sometimes,” he says.
“I can still hear you when you talk at that volume, Sakusa-kun,” Yaku calls through the door. “You haven’t seen anything yet, trust me.”
“Sorry, Yaku-san,” Motoya calls, giving Kiyoomi a pointed look.
“Sorry, Yaku-san,” Kiyoomi grumbles.
He’s not sorry at all. Yaku’s absolutely a bitch sometimes. And he was definitely being a bitch then. Kiyoomi frowns and sits on the bed with a frown. If someone could take their emotions, would they end up like Miya? Maybe Miya had some sort of negative emotions he wanted to get rid of too?
“Motoya,” Kiyoomi says quietly.
Motoya lifts his head. “Yeah?”
“You’re good enough in your own right, you know,” he says. Motoya’s eyes widen. “You’re a good libero, and I’m always glad to have you watching my back. It’s only a matter of time before people recognise your ability too.”
“I…” Motoya swallows thickly, then turns away with a sniffle. “Thanks, Kiyoomi.”
“Are you crying?”
“No!” He sniffles again and wipes his face with his sleeves. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That can’t be true.”
Motoya turns to him again and Kiyoomi sighs, accepting the bone crushing hug. Hopefully Motoya knows well enough not to get gross snot all over him or Kiyoomi will have to smother him in his sleep.
“Thank you,” Motoya whispers into his shoulder.
“You’re far too emotional,” Kiyoomi says, rubbing Motoya’s back. Motoya nods and sniffles. “But that’s what makes you you. And I wouldn’t like you if you weren’t you.”
Motoya pulls back, wiping his eyes again. “Who are you and what have you done with my Kiyoomi? What did Miya do to you? Did you get replaced by a twin? Are twins contagious?”
“Shut up, Komori,” he says, shoving him away. Motoya laughs and Kiyoomi sits on his bed. “Why don’t you go hang out with Yaku-san, since you’re so much more accepting of his kindness.”
“I’m going to remind you that you said that next time you’re mean to me at practice.”
“I regret it already.”
Motoya laughs, wiping away his tears and at least looking more like himself. If Motoya had his emotions taken he wouldn’t be his Motoya at all. Kiyoomi doesn’t think he could stand it if Motoya’s eyes had that vacant look in his eyes all the time. He’d wish to take that look from Miya’s eyes too, but he doesn’t think it’s an emotion to be taken. He thinks what he saw in Miya’s eyes was just emptiness.
Kiyoomi gazes up at the sapphire ring on his finger now. It’s real. This ring that appeared from nowhere. The water. The fish and the crystal flower and Motoya’s thoughts. Yaku’s ruby ring.
It’s all real.
“You could talk to me too, you know?” Motoya says quietly.
Kiyoomi lifts his head. “I’m alright.”
“You look sort of spooked,” he says. “You’ve been sort of off since meeting Miya, apparently. Did something happen?”
“I’ll tell you when I can figure out how to explain it,” Kiyoomi replies.
“Ok,” Motoya says with a grin. “You’d better do.”