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Atsumu was lucky, by all accounts. He was the starting setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, had a hefty number in his bank account, adoring fans, and, most importantly, an adoring boyfriend.
Kita was great. Really great. If you had told sixteen-year-old Atsumu that he and his then-captain would be coming up on their two-year anniversary, he would’ve been a stuttering, blushing, and extremely happy mess.
But twenty-seven-year-old Atsumu was far from that.
It wasn’t Kita’s fault. He was a great partner; always sensible, always telling Atsumu exactly what he needed to hear to get his ass into gear, and always being there, as solid as a boulder, right by his side. Plus, Kita had earned the affection of all of Atsumu’s friends and teammates. Any time the two went to an event, everyone fawned over them, pulling Atsumu aside to tell him just how lucky he is to have a man like that. And any time Kita pulls up in their shared red convertible, and gives him a kiss as he climbs into the quilted-leather passenger seat, Atsumu feels fine.
No blushing.
No fireworks.
No stuttering.
Just fine.
Kita always respects him and his pre-game rituals, he always calls to check on him and bring him Onigiri, Atsumu’s parents love him, and he’s charming and he’s endearing and ever-so handsome. And Atsumu is comfortable, sure.
But Atsumu never did like the feeling of being static.
And there’s a pit, down in the bottom of his gut that burns a hole through his stomach.
It reeks of guilt and warm summer rain and cursing names under bated breath.
It reeks of sticky cheeks after hour-long crying sessions and stiff knees from sitting on bathroom tile.
It reeks of Sakusa Kiyoomi.
And Atsumu knows it, too.
He knows that every time he kisses Kita he thinks of that night in the storm; screaming and feeling his own heart break and kissing Sakusa until he was breathless, both of them soaked to the bone.
He knows that every time he fakes a smile for Kita he thinks of Sakusa’s intoxicating sneer, walking out again and slamming the door while Atsumu sits on the cold hardwood, neck decorated in still-developing bruises.
And he knows that every time he gives Kita that fake smile and those false kisses, Kita’s heart breaks. Just a little bit. Because Atsumu knows heartbreak well. And he knows it only happens when you feel too much.
And he’s sorry to Kita. He really is. He does love him, he does! But one taste of that roller coaster kind of rush four summers ago wrecked him forever.
But Atsumu knows he can’t go back to the way he loved Omi.
So he paints on his smile and he goes to parties and he’s called “lucky.”
And he feels perfectly fine.