No Sweeter Innocence Than Our Gentle Sin

Title from the lyrics of 'Take Me To Church' by Hozier

Atsumu laid down on the bed, hair still slightly dampened from his shower, and stared at the well-pressed suit he had laid out for their restaurant date. He should have been getting ready since they had to leave soon, but instead, he drowned more and more into the comfort of their bed, yawning slightly. Something about warm showers did that.

Kiyoomi stepped out of the shower. His towel was wrapped firmly around his waist while he used another to dry his hair. Atsumu woke up from his drowsiness just as effortlessly as he had slipped into it. Something about Kiyoomi, fresh out of the shower with beads of water trickling down his back, did that.

“You’re not dressed yet?” Kiyoomi asked. Atsumu would have loved to respond to that with a quick-witted retort. Instead, his brain drew a blank, and he resorted to sticking his tongue out at Kiyoomi before peeling himself away from the bed to get up.

Kiyoomi let out a soft laugh in response. Something about even the littlest things about Atsumu did that.

Atsumu fumbled with his tie. He tried to make all the knots properly like his boyfriend had shown him countless times before. It wasn’t long before he gave up and asked for help. Kiyoomi smiled, his faint dimple showing as he gave in to his pleading eyes (even though he swears he’s unaffected by them). He stood in front of Atsumu, his back to the large mirror Atsumu was facing, and took the two ends of the tie in both hands. Atsumu wrapped his hand around Kiyoomi’s waist, pulling him closer, making Kiyoomi chuckle.

“Sometimes, I think the only reason you haven’t learned to do this until now is that you like doing this every time,” he said, referring to the way Atsumu always possessively pulled him closer.

“Mhmm...,” Atsumu responded absentmindedly, too busy staring at Kiyoomi’s face. He always pouted his lips unknowingly when he was focusing on something, and Atsumu loved seeing the adorable expression on Kiyoomi’s face.

“So whose name did you make the reservation under?” Kiyoomi asked.

“Miya and partner,” Atsumu said with a faux posh voice. Kiyoomi laughed at that. Like always, Atsumu had tried to keep it gender neutral because they loved making fun of the shocked and bewildered expressions on people’s faces when they saw the pair walk into the restaurant, hand in hand.

“It’s been two years since gay marriage was legalized here, and people still take 2 hours to take their jaws off the floor when we walk in.”

“Can you blame them?” Atsumu grinned at the reflection of Omi’s back side in the mirror, adding a wink for added measure. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes back, shaking his head in a faux disappointment that no longer fooled anyone. One simple glance at how they looked at each other, stood around or acted around each other gave away just how deeply they cared for one another.

Kiyoomi straightened Atsumu’s collar, fixed his suit, and stepped back once he was done. They walked away in unison to finish their tasks without having to utter a word. In less than three minutes of efficient, coordinated work, they were out the door and were driving to the hotel where Atsumu had reserved a table for their celebratory date night.

Being the better driver (much to everyone’s shock), Atsumu was the one who was usually behind the wheel. He had one hand placed both possessively and comfortingly on Kiyoomi’s thigh. Kiyoomi- an overly cautious driver- could never bring himself to do that. But Atsumu drives with the same confidence with which he does pretty much everything. There’s comfort in the touch, but they’re unsure who was comforting in this scenario. Years of dating secretly and a few months more of dating openly and little things like going on dates were still so new and strange and profound and nerves-inducing.

Not the big thing, though- their engagement had been a mere, casual statement. Kiyoomi had woken up yet another morning wrapped tightly in Atsumu’s arms. Atsumu’s biceps made much better pillows than he’d ever allow himself to admit. Like every day, the soft morning light was highlighting the shine of Atsumu’s hair. It dramatised his high cheekbones, the softness of his lips, and the shadow of a dimple on his cheeks. Atsumu had a habit of smiling slightly in his sleep. Kiyoomi had a habit of waking up earlier than him so he could lie in bed and kiss the ghost of the dimple to wake him up. After far too many mornings of waking up like that, he’d decided they had to get married. Atsumu agreed while sipping his morning coffee like it was the most natural and obvious thing in the world because it was. They had been married in every meaning and implication of the word for a long time, except the legal. They bought and exchanged rings later in the day and took pictures they never uploaded on social media. Atsumu’d decided it’d be fun if a camera person or an attentive fan suddenly spotted them and sent everyone into a frenzy. It wasn’t until the ever-observant Meian had noticed their rings that the engagement was finally made a big deal of by the rest of the team. But, ever since they had noticed the change in the way Atsumu and Kiyoomi looked at each other, or rather looked after each other, they always knew it was coming.

They pulled up to the main entrance, and immediately a hotel valet appeared to take their car away to the parking lot. They stared up at the hotel in front of them. An impressively clean carpet clothed the stairs leading up to the gate. Fountains and rows of potted plants lined the stairs, a slightly gauche procession that invited them into the hotel. Both of them did tend to have fancy tastes sometimes, and their jobs helped pay for it, so it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

Always eager to be the dramatic one, Atsumu extended his hand in an almost satirically regal manner. Kiyoomi, having always found it not-so-secretly endearing, smiled and accepted it just as graciously. They walked in as if they owned the place. A staff member greeted them with a stiff bow and led them to their table, not without throwing nervous glances in their direction. These don’t go unnoticed by the pair, but they’d also learned to ignore them.

They sat at a table with a card with their names, indicating their prior reservation. They selected a rare wine that sent messages about wealth, taste, knowledge, and celebration. Their waiter nodded knowingly, returning almost immediately with their drink. They raised their glasses in celebration, and a soft clink rippled through the restaurant chatter as the two men officially celebrated their engagement.

Kiyoomi, like all the times he had before, thought about how Atsumu’s genuine smile was as radiant and warm as the same sunset glow that made Atsumu’s bleached hair look golden. Golden, like the golden ichor of the Greek gods- mesmerising and powerful. Atsumu himself looked like a Greek god, the type of sculpted, effortless beauty that acted like the muse of decades of artists’ works. Or maybe it was just Kiyoomi, who never seemed to be able to steal his gaze away from his glowing eyes, the high of his cheekbones, or the point of his smirk.

To Kiyoomi, Atsumu was like the orange-red torii in the water, like the ones in his hometown. Atsumu’d once shown him a picture of one he’d gone to while the sun was setting in the background, and it had blown Kiyoomi to see an image that could capture the essence of who Atsumu was. He was stubborn and stood his ground, like the torii. Like the ancient structure in the picture, he had been aged by years of hardships, tears, and suffering, but he liked to show very little of it- if at all. He also had the spontaneous, flowy, adventurous side, like the water. And to tie it all together, he had the beautiful, comforting warmth of the sunset. Radiant, glowing, mesmerising, and beautiful.

Something about it all was making Kiyoomi’s thoughts very poetic. He could imagine the cringing expression Atsumu would have if Kiyoomi ever told him any of this.

They carried on some casual conversation for a while, talking about everything they possibly could- their families, their team, past games, upcoming games, and even the banalest things like which strange ice cream flavour they should try next and Kageyama’s choice of haircut. Talking like this was an everyday, comfortable occurrence for them. Without realising, they were holding each other’s hands across the table, Atsumu’s thumb tracing circles on the back of Kiyoomi’s hand like always. Right then and there, they were such a cliché- holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes while smiling softly, leaning into each other’s comfort. It’s like they’d forgotten the outside world even existed.

However, this lasted only the first twenty minutes until Kiyoomi’s stomach started complaining loudly. That's when they noticed that their unapologetic affection had garnered many scandalised looks and disgusted glares. A quick scan revealed a group of waiting staff members huddled around their manager by the kitchen doors. The group was not-so-secretly eyeing them repeatedly. Kiyoomi cursed, realising he’d forgotten to research the hotel beforehand.

“Let’s go home,” Kiyoomi said softly, getting the message that they won’t receive their dinner any time soon.

“Are you sure?” Atsumu asked, squeezing Kiyoomi’s hand. The expression on his face betrayed the anger his calm, calculated voice was masking. He was always ready to fight for and defend the people he loved against anyone who hurt them. But Kiyoomi was tired, hungry, and upset that he hadn’t done everything he could to make this night perfect for the two of them.

That’s the way tonight was supposed to go. Perfectly. He knew Atsumu would tell him it was stupid, but he felt he owed that to him. Atsumu had been out long before Kiyoomi found the courage to even admit to himself that he was gay. Yet when the two had found that they were unable to untangle their lives from each other, he’d been the one to offer to keep their relationship a secret, effectively putting him back inside the closet. It was unfair to Atsumu, and that guilt always tore away at him. Now that they were dating publicly, Kiyoomi felt he always owed it to Atsumu for things to be perfect and exactly how he’d wanted them to be.

Yet there they were, Atsumu’s protective arm around his waist, walking away from a meal that was supposed to commemorate a right many thought they didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi started, angry at himself.

“Hey,” came back a soft response as steady hands cupped his face. Atsumu looked up directly into his eyes, reminding Kiyoomi of something he usually tended to forget. He was taller than Miya Atsumu, after all. “This is not your fault Omi-Omi.” He said it with such conviction that Kiyoomi almost found himself believing it. That was the intended effect, after all. “This is not your fault at all. We don’t owe it to anyone to fight every ignorant, narrow-minded idiot, and we certainly can’t predict where the next one might pop up. Let’s go home, Kiyoomi.” He placed a small kiss on Kiyoomi’s moles for added effect, and it worked.

Once again, like many a time before, he found himself hand-in-hand with Miya Atsumu as they walked away with their heads held high. He felt a little better as he added this place to his mental blacklist of sites to never visit again.

However, his thoughts were interrupted for the second time in the past 10 minutes. The culprit this time was Miya Atsumu’s knack for mischief and twisted sense of revenge.

In hindsight, it was the best kind of bad ideas.

Or the worst perhaps, if you’re the poor couple whose wedding Sakusa Kiyoomi (22) MSBY Black Jackal outside hitter and Miya Atsumu (22) MSBY Black Jackal setter had decided to crash, get drunk, and dance in. The fact that the bride was the daughter of the hotel's owner was a pure, cathartic coincidence.

In their defence, the pair never actually caused any trouble to the couple getting married. It was hardly the two troublemakers’ fault that the wedding guests chose to only talk about the tall, curly-haired guy who looked like he’d taken ballroom dance lessons every day of his life (he hadn’t.. He’d only been to a couple) and the loud blond in his arms who had an obnoxious way of dancing and laughing.

The wedding was taking place in the hotel’s largest function hall. Atsumu had spotted the entrance on their way out and decided he was too hungry to be able to make the drive back home. Kiyoomi had hardly been allowed to protest, and given how hungry he was, he hadn’t trusted himself to be the voice of reason in that situation either.

The venue was decorated in quite a fancy manner, and it looked like no stone was left unturned and no expense was spared. A wedding gazebo had been set up at the end of the hall atop a stage, decked with exotic flowers, draping pearl-white silks, and intricate laces. There were carpets leading to the gazebo and chairs arranged around it for the guests. Waiters walked around offering drinks, and it looked like the wedding hadn’t started yet since the guests were still milling around, talking, and catching up. Atsumu spotted more MK, Gucci, and LV bags than he’d seen at the mall, and he wondered if they might be severely underdressed. But then he noticed all the basic men who were all wearing basic black suits and wondered if he was overdressed with his embroidered suit, cufflinks, and brooch.

To be fair, Atsumu calls a lot of things “basic.” The Adlers’ uniform? Basic. Kageyama’s haircut? Basic. A crime against anyone who was forced to see it. Kiyoomi’s plain black suitcase? Basic (Its saving grace is the keychain hanging from one of the zips with a mini Atsumu head on it. The MSBY pr team sells it as team merchandise, and Atsumu may have forced Kiyoomi to add it to his suitcase). Meian’s plain beige leather phone case he refused to change? So basic he could “fall asleep.” (Meian had walked away with a resigned sigh, muttering something along the lines of ‘I don’t get paid enough to deal with these kids’)

This entire wedding setup, however, was far from basic. Maybe Atsumu should be taking notes.

Kiyoomi was staring off a little further away into the gardens. There were giant floor-to-ceiling French windows that led to the gardens outside, where an extensive buffet had been set up. He tugged impatiently at Atsumu’s sleeves, nodding toward the food when he finally had his fiance’s attention. Atsumu could only chuckle softly. A hungry Kiyoomi is a child-like and inarticulate Kiyoomi. Twenty minutes more, and he would even have a slight pout. Atsumu loved seeing that expression so much he was almost searching for excuses not to go eat immediately. Luckily enough, Canon in D started to play (so basic), and the guests settled down, indicating the start of the ceremony. Atsumu dragged Kiyoomi to two seats towards the back of the room. The groom took his place in the gazebo, and had he not been standing there, Atsumu would have thought he was a waiter. Atsumu hated plain black suits with a burning passion.

When it was time for the couple to exchange vows, Kiyoomi’s head was already slumped on Atsumu’s shoulder. He was whining in Atsumu’s ear about how he wanted to leave and go eat. It would make sense as well, but Atsumu wanted to stay for some reason. So he decided to go with something even a low-energy, hungry and no-filter Kiyoomi would understand: competition.

“Omi, sweetie?” He only got a half-hearted hum in response. “Do you wanna see how long we can go before someone realises we weren’t invited?”

Truth be told, Kiyoomi found the entire situation stupid. All he wanted to do was walk out and eat some barbecue. Or heck, maybe make a run for the buffet set up outside in the garden that was calling his name. But Atsumu only called him ‘sweetie’ when he really wanted something. Besides, how was one expected to be strong when they had Miya Atsumu’s deep and playful voice whispering beside their ear? So, he ended up giving in. He could wait a little longer for the free wedding food.

After some unnecessary (in Kiyoomi’s opinion) sobbing and no dramatic objections, or last-minute confessions of feelings (much to Atsumu’s disappointment), the ceremony was finally concluded, and the guests were free to eat and celebrate. Kiyoomi got up from his seat almost immediately and headed straight for the food, scaring a poor waiter in his way. Atsumu let Kiyoomi have his moment for a bit and then joined him with a smirk on his lips. He was clearly plotting more ways to have fun. What a menace, Kiyoomi thought; endearingly, of course.

“The bridesmaids have been checking you for a while now, Omi.” Kiyoomi only blinked back in confusion. The ring on his left-hand ring finger was one of the least reasons he’d be interested. “I remember you had sooooo many girlfriends back when you were in college.”

“That’s because I was trying to convince myself I was straight,” Omi deadpanned, not one to beat around the bush. The sushi on his plate was screaming his name (or maybe his stomach was screaming for the sushi), and Kiyoomi was not exactly happy he was being interrupted from eating his food yet again.

“Maybe we should show them you’re not.” His sly, fox-like grin showed up again.

“But Atsu… sushi.”

“Ah yes, sushi,” he nodded in all seriousness. Unsuspecting and fooled, Kiyoomi picked up a tako nigiri from his plate, only to have his hand stopped by Atsumu. His golden and black ring glinted as he guided Kiyoomi’s obedient hand and helped himself to the nigiri while maintaining eye contact the entire time. Kiyoomi went stiff in shock and embarrassment, and he was sure he heard a plate drop somewhere while he stood rooted to his spot. Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure why he was embarrassed.

Maybe it was the way Atsumu had so easily made him give up all control, maybe it was the simple and domestic nature of feeding each other, or maybe it was because of how attractive the eye contact was. Or maybe Kiyoomi was finally going crazy.

Either way, Kiyoomi hoped Atsumu couldn’t tell how much the entire moment had rocked his world and made him flustered. Really, it was asking for too much considering how close they were standing and Atsumu’s ever-observant nature. With one clean and swift motion, Atsumu had taken Kiyoomi’s plate and set it aside on a table, abandoned and forgotten. Kiyoomi found himself dragged around as they waltzed to a pop song he didn’t recognise. They must have looked so so stupid, but Kiyoomi had never had so much fun in his entire life. Something about using the dance lessons he’d been forced to attend as a kid (so he could marry a “proper lady from an important family”) and unleashing them on the dance floor of a stranger’s wedding with his male, bi, demi-sexual fiancé was oddly cathartic. Like he was taking back a part of himself from his parents, allowing himself the freedom to be himself.

Kiyoomi barely had time to finish that thought when Atsumu decided that he was done with the waltz and decided to aggressively drag Kiyoomi around in what he could only assume to be an attempt at tango. Or maybe foxtrot? Kiyoomi wasn’t sure Atsumu even knew the difference between the two.

“What’re you doing?” Kiyoomi tried to yell over the music.

“Dancing! Why? What’re you doing?”

“Trying not to die!”

“Oh please, Omi-kun, would ya relax for once?”

Omi scoffed. “How could I, with you planning to burn this place down?”

Now it was Atsumu’s turn to scoff, pretending to be hurt. “Omii-kun, you think too little of me.” He grabbed a glass of lord knows what from a waiter passing by and took a long sip. “I need to be at least a little drunk before arson becomes a tempting option.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi couldn’t remember when he’d started finding Atsumu endearing instead of annoying, or when he began allowing himself to go along with Atsumu’s antics. But realising he’d changed so much was slightly disconcerting. He grabbed the glass from Atsumu, who’d downed half the drink at a concerning pace. Kiyoomi sipped the rest of it, to which Atsumu raised a questioning eyebrow. “I can’t be sober when I have to deal with this,” was his only response as he put down the glass and allowed himself to be dragged across the floor again in a weird and should-be-illegal mix of dance styles.

Overall, their antics were much more well-received than they’d been expecting. A girl with a polaroid camera took a picture of them as Atsumu dipped Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi slipped on someone’s dress and fell, but he blamed Atsumu anyway, much to the guests’ amusement. After that, Atsumu disappeared into the crowd, allowing Kiyoomi to try to eat a little. By the time they reunited, Atsumu was too loud, too drunk, and too eager to show off his new ring to the circle of older women he had managed to collect like a magnet. Or Pokémon cards.

“OMMIIII!” Atsumu yelled as he made his way back to his fiancé. He flung his arms around his neck, nearly choking him in the process. “Omi, baby, show Aunty your ring!”

Kiyoomi looked once at Atsumu, then at the circle of ladies surrounding them, and then back at Atsumu. Atsumu only stared back like a baby pug. Sighing, he put his hand up to better show his own black and gold ring that coordinated with Atsumu’s. A chorus of ‘oohs and ‘wow’s erupted as they stared at his majestic ring. Atsumu put his hand up to show his own one and said, “See, Aunty? I told you they matched.”

Kiyoomi froze as he finally saw who Atsumu kept calling ‘Aunty.’ She gingerly touched his ring, checking it out, and if he weren’t so shocked and busy staring at her, he would have probably snatched his hand back as a reflex from the touch.

Of all the people Atsumu could have possibly befriended, he found one who looked precisely like Kiyoomi’s mother. Kiyoomi’s mother, who had threatened to pull Kiyoomi out of high school if he didn’t stop talking to the only friend he had. All because she thought his friend was gay. Kiyoomi’s mother, who refused to watch any of his school theatre activities since their director was rumoured to be gay. Kiyoomi’s mother, who had smiled when the news anchor covered the story of Kiyoomi’s high school best friend getting beaten up the day of their graduation. Kiyoomi’s mother, who blocked him when he publicly came out with Atsumu, not before preaching to him about religion. Kiyoomi’s mother, who had tried to trick Kiyoomi into an arranged marriage with a woman. Kiyoomi’s mother, who liked to pretend she had never had Kiyoomi.

Mrs. Sakusa, who he hadn’t even thought of as his mother in months.

And yet there she was, admiring their rings in awe, smiling softly. She had the same long black hair that was styled into stiff curls, pinned neatly in place. She had the same taste for silk blouses, impressive pencil skirts, and glinting pearls. The same almost-black eyes Kiyoomi had inherited.

Still too stunned and barely thinking, he almost allowed himself to utter the word he hadn’t thought about in a long time. Mother.

But it was her who spoke up first instead. “It’s much more beautiful than you described it to be, dear,” she said kindly but formally. That’s when Kiyoomi finally saw or rather heard, the difference.

Ah, not his mother. Of course. He should have known better. He regained his composure, shifting his weight to better support Atsumu, who was leaning against him now.

She was still looking at Kiyoomi as if she’d known him his entire life. As if she was trying to see if Kiyoomi remembered her. Truth be told, he really didn’t until she said, “It’s been almost seven years, right?”

Of course, the mother of the best friend he hadn’t thought about in years. When Kiyoomi discovered why he’d missed their high school graduation from the news, he’d gotten scared and moved far away for university. He felt guilty suddenly for never having reached out to him, worried about him, or tried to contact him. Kiyoomi remembered the conflicted expression he’d worn when 16-year-old Kiyoomi had asked him whether he really was gay. He couldn't believe he'd let himself forget about the only kid in high school who talked to him, other than his cousin and teammates. He'd let himself forget the boy who had shown him that being gay was normal, the boy who’d been his first kiss.

Kiyoomi was worried suddenly. Was he alright? Had he also been able to build a better life, like Kiyoomi was?

As if on cue, a tall boy appeared beside ‘Aunty.’ He was tall, like tall tall. He was the same height as Atsumu, who huffed when the boy stood tall at his full height. What business he had being that tall was beyond Atsumu. Kiyoomi felt Atsumu’s weight shift as he stood up taller, proudly. Trust Atsumu to get competitive over the smallest of things. The boy smiled proudly, oblivious. “You did well, Kiyoomi-kun.”

“Oh, so you had no problem being on a first-name basis with him in high school?” That earned Atsumu a sharp nudge in his side.

“Thank you. Please excuse Atsumu; he’s drunk.”

“I’m the fiancé,” Atsumu cut in quickly, not so subtly showing off his ring as he wrapped his left hand around Kiyoomi’s shoulders.

“Hi,” he chuckled back. If he was awkward, he never showed it. He looked between Kiyoomi and Atsumu and smiled.

They talked for a while, catching up. It turned out that Kiyoomi’s high school best friend had managed to turn his part-time modelling stint into a full-time career.

“I must confess... When I started out, I hadn’t come out to anyone. But watching you two on social media and TV inspired me to come out and pursue my modelling career as an out person.”

That made Kiyoomi strangely emotional. Maybe he was drunk after all. His throat closed up as he tried to stop himself from crying. Thinking about what a colossal influence having him as a best friend had on Kiyoomi’s life, it was so strange and profound that Kiyoomi could have had a similar impact on him. Before Kiyoomi could even begin to attempt to express himself, ‘Aunty’ and her son smiled at him as if they were saying, ‘I know.’

They ended up staying and talking till much later into the night. They danced some more, and once Kiyoomi was happy and comfortable enough, he took the lead as he skillfully guided Atsumu across the dance floor. They were horrifically off-beat, and Atsumu bumped into more people than he cared to admit. He nearly toppled the champagne tower at one point and a lot of people lost several years off of their life spans thanks to them. Planning to end dramatically, Kiyoomi dipped Atsumu as the music crescendoed. He’d tried to time the ending- but boy did Kiyoomi have no knowledge about pop music. He held Atsumu awkwardly for about seven seconds before he finally admitted defeat. The people around them cheered loudly nonetheless, and Atsumu made some unintelligible promises about free tickets and autographs they were definitely not authorised to make.

Over the next few months, Kiyoomi was able to reconnect with a part of his childhood he’d never imagined coming back to him. He was able to find his own family in Aunty, his best friend, and of course, Atsumu. His new family got heavily involved in their wedding planning.

Watching a maternal figure in his life proudly straighten his tie as he got ready to get married was something Kiyoomi had never imagined he’d be able to have. He’d never allowed himself to hope that he could have everything he did, and yet he did.

The wedding ceremony was as chaotic as one could expect a gathering with most of the Div 1 Volleyball League to be. Hoshiumi, it turned out, was allergic to the flower decorations. Ushijima and Kageyama had shown up dressed like they were attending a funeral. Suna Rintarou live-tweeted the entire wedding while including his own commentary. The MSBY team, who was in charge of the cake, had forgotten to pick up the cake. When they drove to the bakery with an hour to go, they picked up the wrong one and then proceeded to go to the wrong venue when they finally managed to obtain the correct cake.

Never a dull moment in Division 1 Volleyball.

At the centre of the gazebo where they were getting married, Atsumu pulled Kiyoomi in close. The two were decked out in their coordinating embroidered suits and black and gold rings, all custom-made.

“Ready?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi placed a hand on the small of his back and whispered softly beside his ear, “I might drop you as revenge.” Atsumu laughed warmly in response. He had enough trust in Kiyoomi to know that that was never happening. Even if it did, Atsumu wouldn’t have it any other way.