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Chapter Text

Kiyoomi never thought his morning would go this way. Never thought that, when he woke up this morning, it would eventually lead to his standing where he was currently, his feet frozen in place on the cold marble floor, while he felt as though a bucket of ice cold water had been thrown over his head in the middle of winter. He finds himself wishing he could just go back to bed and close his eyes, or maybe even rewind time so that he could continue to sleep without any abandon. Only so the heartache that throbbed deeply in his chest and made his throat burn would fade away.  

His day had started off normal, well, as normal as morning could be for a newlywed. He’d had the honour of experiencing the feeling of waking up with lips kissing up his neck and a stray hand slowly creeping down to the elastic of his waistband. He’d cursed his husbands libido as always, his waist aching as his bones practically creaked with every step he took. 

But that wasn’t so out of the ordinary, because as annoying as it was, Kiyoomi had gotten used to feeling as though a foreign object was still penetrating his body even after the bastard behind his suffering had already long kissed his forehead before stepping out of the front door and disappearing to become somebody else's problem for the next few hours. 

Even so, for how aggravating his husband and his childish mannerisms could be, everything had been fine during those earlier hours of dawn. The feeling of Atsumu’s soft lips dragging across Kiyoomi’s sun-kissed skin, tracing the constellation of freckles that adorned his body like one of the many pieces of gold chain that Atsumu enjoyed flaunting Kiyoomi around in would. Atsumu had been infuriating as always, a gentle grind that eventually ending in sharp thrusts that had the harsh sound of skin slapping filling the room from where the supple flesh of Kiyoomi’s cheeks, bruised and red from the sheer strength behind Atsumu’s hips when he’d pull Kiyoomi back by a tight grip on his arm while his fingers dug into the raven’s hip, tight enough to leave marks. Wanton sounds that had Kiyoomi’s ears burning to even think about had left his lips so shamelessly, cascading off the thick white walls of their home. 

Home. His and Atsumu’s home. ‘

It’d made Kiyoomi giddy to even think about. He’d stared at his ring for hours after they’d gotten the last of their necessary furniture moved in. Atsumu had sat down next to him a few seconds later, pulling Kiyoomi in tight to his side as the couch dipped low under their joint weight. Together, they’d stared at the heavy rock that adorned Kiyoomi’s ring finger together. It was a family heirloom of the Miya’s, given from generation to generation to the partner of the eldest of the Miya twins because what was the Miya empire if not an inter-generational factory of producing twins. 

But now that very same ring that Kiyoomi had adored so dearly, holding it tight to his chest whenever he’d gone to bed, felt like a heavy iron shackle that weighed down his arm. Even standing within the four walls of his and Atsumu’s home, surrounded by the Atsumu’s scent that, before today he’d loved to be caressed by gently. His hands clenched into fists, crumbling the blueprint in his hands of the home he’d painstakingly designed by hand, pulling all-nighters back to back just so he could surprise Atsumu. It had been why he even stepped in Atsumu’s office in the first place, but who knew that would lead to him feeling as though there were a tight rope wrapped around his neck, cutting off his airflow until it hurt to even take a breath. 

At least, Kiyoomi certainly didn’t. 

Acid churns in his stomach as bile threatens to rise in his throat. Frozen, Kiyoomi stands in the office of his newly-wed husband and boyfriend of over 2 years, taking in the sight before him. 

It’s a painting, large and grand; breathtaking from its position where it's hung so proudly on the wall. Kiyoomi wouldn’t deny it, he knew it was true. The colours are gorgeous, the frame one looks almost ancient yet nonetheless elegant. Its golden glint had been the reason Kiyoomi even noticed the painting in the first place, it had been hidden around the wall, covered by a velvet curtain that Kiyoomi had only seen in the historical films he’d indulge himself to ever so often. When the light reflected into the deep ebony pools of Kiyoomi’s eyes, his curiosity had been immediately spiked and he’d been unable to help but get closer for a better look at the unknown canvas.

Kiyoomi only wishes he hadn’t. He wonders if that way his heart would have hurt a little less than it did now, the sounds of the fragile pieces cracking one by one a haunting sound in his ears as the slow seconds go by. 

Having never been in the office before, Kiyoomi hadn’t known what to expect. But he was certain that it had never been this. It brings tears to his eyes because standing proudly in the painting is Atsumu who's clad in a black suit, just like the one he wore at the altar while Sakusa wore white. 

One of Atsumu's hands wrap around a slim waist, pulling the body tight against his own, while the other holds a pale hand, a dazzling diamond ring adorning the hand, the white band contrasting to Atsumu own in glittering gold. Atsumu has a smile stretched across his face, wide and genuine. He looks as though he's in pure glee. 

He doesn’t know what hurts more. The fact that Atsumu still kept the painting of his and his ex-lovers marriage, or the fact that even through the painting, Kiyoomi could still see the love that radiated through the soft honey-brown of Atsumu’s eyes as he looked down at her. The thought makes Kiyoomi’s heart throb painfully in his chest, his eyes burning from the sheer amount of tears that sprung to his eyes, blurring his vision as they dripped down his flushed cheeks. 

Atsumu's honey-brown eyes are met by deep inky black and a face that looks back at Atsumu in equal bliss. They look ethereal standing next to each other , Kiyoomi can’t help but think. The cold touch of his icy teardrops running down the expanse of his cheek and down into his shirt makes Kiyoomi shiver and he rushes to white the salty wetness. He’s not that quick though, since the more he attempts to wipe them away, the more his vision continues to blur as his eyes stay fixated on the painting. 

But even with his vision obscured by his tears, Kiyoomi can still see it. His sister stands on the white marble staircase leading to the altar, dark curls framing her face as she looks up at her partner, at her husband in pure adoration. Then, Kiyoomi looks back at the Atsumu in the painting, and no longer knows who exactly he's looking at. 

He’s unsure of who he was truly looking at. The man who married him just a few nights ago at snowfall under the blinding white light of the chandelier, or the man who, apparently, was his late sister's husband; a mysterious upperclassmen that Sakusa, as an illegitimate child, was deemed never worthy enough to meet even when her cold dead body lay soundlessly in her casket that was decorated by soft white lilies. 

The crumbled blueprint had long fallen to the floor in a heap, ripped through the middle where Kiyoomi’s nails had dug in and through the paper and dyed it a crimson red when even the pain wasn’t enough to pull him away from the turmoil of emotions that filled his bleeding heart. 

Numbly, he brings up another hand. In it he holds a painting. His grip is gentle, fingers ensuring not to scratch the glass even as everything screams at him to throw it to the floor and let the class that protected the smaller, much more modest art piece, shatter. Kiyoomi had asked Motoya to paint it secretly a few moments before he’d had to walk down the aisle. His ears had burned a bright red that was noticeable even under the dim lighting. Under his cousin’s teasing gaze, he’d whispered his request in a trembling voice, fighting his embarrassment to whisper out the words through clenched teeth because he knew the bastard would never let him hear the end of it. 

He’d wanted to surprise Atsumu with the picture alongside the drawing he’d made of his and Atsumu’s dream home. They’d talked about it under the stars one night, watching as the Meteors went by in the back of Atsumu’s truck, a soft blanket wrapped around their illuminated figures as they’d chattered into the night. 

Who would’ve known that would’ve been a futile effort. Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure if the words Atsumu had told him of his dream home were even true anymore. He was so stupid for even trying. Someone like Atsumu, a rich, desirable alpha with more money than Kiyoomi would ever be worth in his lifetime could make such miniscule things like a dream home come true in a minute. 

So why didn’t he? Maybe it had been because the words Atsumu had whispered in his ears that night were the words he’d once shared with her, but never been able to make come true. Kiyoomi could only assume it were that because truly, he didn’t know otherwise. 

His eyes glisten with tears that threaten to fall past the red rims any second as he stares down at the small portrait. Atsumu had a half-smile on his face in the picture, one Kiyoomi had come to love despite how irritating the bastard and his smug little smirk could be. He had a gloved hand in the pocket of his dress pants while the other wrapped around Kiyoomi’s waist who smiled politely at the camera, the glass of champagne in his other hand sparkling under the surrounding camera flashes. Then, he looked up at the painting at the wall and wondered how he could’ve ever compared. 

Especially to her. Kiyoomi always seemed to fall short to her.

 Her presence had always been void in Kiyoomi’s life. He’d been born when their father had been long past his prime, a bastard child of a mistress the old man kept to enjoy the best of his last few years of being able to get an erection naturally. He’d only ever seen her when he was younger once, having caught a slight glance of her figure as she excitedly ran down the hallway, her small backpack bouncing up and down as she squealed without a care in the world. It had been years ago, when the Madam found him after his mothers death; so far back that the memory is a distant one that comes black other than that one snippet that he never expected would come back to haunt him. After that particular day, it’d be the occasional pictures in the newspaper when he’d catch a glimpse of them over the shoulder of a caprons reading one at one of his jobs he’d worked at to make it through college. 

Though, now that Kiyoomi thinks about it, he really should’ve found it weird when the Sakusa’s suddenly promised to pay off his debts if he married an alpha of their choosing. And if not that then the fact that said alpha who was much more well-off than a broke colleague who’d been conjured up from the remaining, rotting semen that had just barely been holding out swimming in an old man's sack, had agreed to marry him. Seriously , Kiyoomi mused, how had he not suspected a thing when Atsumu had decided that it would be fine for them to go at Kiyoomi’s pace and endured simply dating him for well over two years if not for some other ulterior motive like his family’s money since even the dogs down the street knew Kiyoomi’s worth within the Sakusa Clan was no better than a stray’s that would roam around the main house looking for scraps in the litter they’d throw during one of their many occasions. 

He just never thought that the same would apply to the image of him that Atsumu would carry. That he too would think Kiyoomi fell short. A far-fetched replacement to the alpha sister that he could never come close to in anything but the fact they both were the only children that took after their sire instead of whoever he’d chosen as his broodmare to breed.  

It was humorous, really. As the icy tears continued to drip down his flushed tears, ugly sniffles that Kiyoomi realised came from him filling the quiet room as he was left with wistful thoughts, wondering whether or not he truly should’ve expected it. Maybe that way he could’ve closed his oh so fragile heart off a little earlier and instead of getting hurt in this good for nothing relationship- “Mama?”  

Kiyoomi jumped up in place. Hurriedly, he wiped his tears before looking towards the child who was currently peering into the office with wide eyes, head of curly brown hair, falling over his furrowed brows as he peeked his small head through the door to the office before he whimpered slightly, “Mama, heavy..!” 

Roused into action, Kiyoomi took quick steps, walking over to pick his son up from under his armpits. Miya Koutarou let out soft giggles when Kiyoomi peppered his face in gentle kisses, the raven’s urgency in the action going unnoticed to the starry-eyed toddler. 

“Mama, tickles!” The young babe shrieked in between cheerful laughter as Kiyoomi blew raspberries into his stomach. Hearing the youthful laughter leave Koutarou’s lips, Kiyoomi felt his red-rimmed eyes begin to heat up once again. 

Kiyoomi had always been aware of Atsumu having a past lover. He hadn’t known the details, only that she’d been a normal beta with an average lifespan and eventually lost her life a little earlier due to being ill. He’d always admired the unknown woman, and he respected her too. Just as he’d had his past boyfriends, and few day flings, so had Atsumu. Kiyoomi wasn’t so immature not to know that. He just thought that the both of them had moved on from it. Never in his life had he thought of the possibility that some, if not all, of Atsumu’s feelings might’ve been because she was his sister and that he’d be the perfect replacement. 

The thought left behind a bitter taste in his mouth, one that assaulted his senses. Kiyoomi felt as though his tongue had turned to lead. Though he now knew the truth behind Atsumu’s mysterious past lover whom he didn’t know much about past the passing words he’d heard that let him piece together a broken picture, Kiyoomi couldn’t help the utter adoration that filled his heart as he looked down at the baby he held in his arms. Even while knowing who his carrier had been, or the fact that Atsumu picking Kiyoomi in the first place could have been for Koutarou, Kiyoomi rocked the young toddler in his arms, stroking the child’s back. If nothing else had been good, or real, in his and Atsumu’s marriage, Kiyoomi still loved Koutarou as he would his own. 

Koutarou calling Kiyoomi ‘mama’ was unknown to Atsumu, a little secret only the two of them were in on when the man of the house was busy doing god knows what at his mysterious job that Kiyoomi never cared to learn about and Atsumu never showed any plans to speak of. But now that he knew, Kiyoomi couldn’t help feeling as though the saliva he swallowed was a boulder that clogged his throat when Koutarou called out to him once more. 

Cradling Koutarou to his chest with one hand, Kiyoomi bends down to grab the fallen blueprint that he holds alongside his and Atsumu’s wedding portrait. He forces a strained smile that he can only hope looks even a shred comforting because of how stiff his cheeks felt with his dry cheers coating the supple flesh. He looks down at the curious yet confused Koutarou, meeting his eyes that were near identical to Atsumus own. “Mama, what are you doing in daddy’s office?” 

“Hmm.. That’s a secret. Ma-'' Kiyoomi started, only for his eyes to widen as he felt the strings that lead to his heart snap as he caught sight of the edge of the now covered painting as he went to close the heavy oak door. Quickly, he corrected before Koutarou could question his pause, “I have a surprise for your daddy.” 

Easily convinced, Koutarou nodded as though hanging onto Kiyoomi’s every word. Then, with the seriousness of a fisherman who’d lost his last bait of the day, the boy nodded as he brought up one of his index fingers to his lips. “Shh. It's our secret, mama! Papa won’t know, pinky promise!” 

In all honesty, as he looked at the beloved boy, Kiyoomi didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He couldn’t help but think what a horrible person he was to suddenly stop thinking of the sweet child as his own, and instead Atsumu and his late-sister’s. But that was the truth, and no matter how bad Kiyoomi felt, denying reality would help neither of them, let alone the baby who would undoubtedly hate Kiyoomi in the future if he learnt that Kiyoomi wasn’t truly his mother.

At least, that was what he wanted himself to believe and not the fact that... Now that he knew, Kiyoomi couldn’t do anything but acknowledge that he would have to abide by the contract in big bold letters that lay collecting dust at the very bottom of his bedside table. 

Briefly, Kiyoomi wondered if getting hit by a bullet would hurt less than admitting to such a thing, especially when he knew deep in his heart that he could never consider Koutarou as anything other than his own. 

“Master, will you two be eating now?” 

Jolting, Kiyoomi glanced over towards the family butler. He was a nice old man that had watched Atsumu grow up, he was an equivalent of family at this point but a workaholic at core and refused to step down from the position no matter what benefits Atsumu or Kiyoomi had tried to convince him with. 

Knowing he shouldn’t dwell on his negative thoughts any longer, especially with Koutarou in his arms, the pup tucked close to Kiyoomi’s chest, his soft milky cheeks pressing against Kiyoomi’s shoulder as the toddler hummed, kicking his feet out from where they were hanging in the air. With Koutarou pressed to his scent gland, Kiyoomi closed his eyes, trying to rein in his emotions lest the keen pup pick up on a change or souring in Kiyoomi’s scent and worry pointlessly. 

With a polite smile, Kiyoomi nodded. “Yes, I think so. We’ll head there now, thank you, Mister Nakamura.” 

With that, Kiyoomi plastered a face he’d practiced many times in front of the dirty mirror in his old apartment bathroom for a few times. A well mannered look, the quirk of his lips were not too wide to look creepy but also not too low to be called a frown. His eyes were calm, half-lidded as his eyebrows sat relaxed on his face. 

Truly, it was a smile he’d practiced many times, and had used more times than he could count. He’d just never thought he would need to make use of it in a place he’d come to learn as his home, and around those he’d come to know as his family, in one way or another. 

Though he supposes, neither of the two were his to begin with. A replacement never truly has a place. Kiyoomi had learnt this lesson so long ago. He just wishes he didn’t have to grow through the pain of being taught it once again, and this time by correlation to someone who Kiyoomi had considered connected to the thin strings of his heart. 

As he walked through the dining room door, Koutarou babbling happily in his arms, Kiyoomi found himself wondering whether what he wished for was for Atsumu to have snapped those strings before they’d had a chance to properly connect, or weather he wished to stay blissfully ignorant, if only so those fragile strings would’ve stayed connected. 

Though, he supposes, he’d never have the chance to know. The strings had connected, and they had already snapped.

Chapter Text

Hours went by like this, with Kiyoomi idling himself by playing with Koutarou, then when the pup took a nap, busying himself with paperwork. But even that didn’t last long, Kiyoomi had always been a fast worker after all. Atsumu always loved to claim his determination towards work might beat that of those who managed to climb Mount Everest. For a moment, Kiyoomi let himself smile at the thought of his husband only to catch himself a mere second later, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. His throat began to feel tight, and Kiyoomi could feel as the rims of his eyes began to ache once more, a heat that had never been familiar until the dawn of the day’s morning returned as tears started to well at his eyes, the floodgates just the briefest of seconds from falling apart and opening.

“Kiyoomi-sama, the young master has fallen asleep. Should we take him to his room?” 

The quiet sound of Nakamura-san’s polite question falling onto his ears startled Kiyoomi, the raven quickly blinking away his tears before their glisten could be noticed by the keen butler. Wordlessly, he brought up two hands, smacking them into each of his cheeks. Naturally, this time it was time for Nakamura-san to be startled, and it almost made Kiyoomi laugh at the poor man’s expanse as he fretted over him almost like a baby chick. 

Brushing his hair out of his face, Kiyoomi stopped the older man as he stood up. “It’s alright Nakamura-san, thank you. I’ll go get him.” Receiving a nod, Kiyoomi ignored the uncertainty and unease in Nakamura-san’s eyes as exhaustion seeped through him, rendering him almost uncaring where he’d normally feel bad as he moved from his place at the dining table before made his way towards Koutarou’s playroom, finding the young pup curled up in a ball at the middle of the room, surrounded by the field of his seemingly endless soft toys.

Careful not to rouse Koutarou, Kiyoomi gently cradled the pup to his chest before making his way down the hallway. In his pockets, his phone buzzed once. Then twice. The vibrations followed by the sound of two ringtones, though muffled, chiming into the open air. Kiyoomi, of course, would only answer to one. 

“Ah-” Kiyoomi called out to Nakamura-san who stood by the room's entrance, holding the door open for him and the sleeping toddler, “I’ll be going out in a bit.” 

…. 

“So.. You’re telling me that your dead sister's husband is Miya Atsumu? As in filthy rich Miya Atsumu who married you not that long ago, the same Miya Atsumu that I walked in on fucking you into the locker-room walls after the last game you played for MSBY?” 

At his friend's questions, Kiyoomi let his head fall forward with a thud onto the table before them. The impact caused the way-too-many glasses of alcohol for 3pm on a Tuesday to shake, though they all stayed upright, so Kiyoomi still counted it as a win. Ironically, speaking off the way too many finished glasses of alcohol, next to him, Motoya took yet another sip from his nth newly-ordered glass of vodka, “Now now Keiji, let's not play rapid fire questions just yet.. But Kiyo, seriously?” 

Exasperated, Kiyoomi groaned before he sat upright, a glare sent towards his cousin. “No Motoya, I’m just making up the whole story of my husband and my dead sister, who mind you hated my guts, apparently being married and me finding that out because apparently my husband continues to treasure a picture of their wedding picture, which again mind you, he looked much happier to be in than he was at our entire fucking wedding just because I fucking can- yes I’m being serious!” 

“Jesus Kiyo-take a shot. You probably need it.” Akaashi Keiji, award-winning model said as he fluttered his pretty lashes in Kiyoomi’s direction with clear worry between the shimmering emerald eyes that would, probably, let him kill a man with a teacup or maybe even a blink. 

Having thrown back the shot handed at him, Kiyoomi wiped his lips. “Fucking fuck, do I really look that bad, Keiji?” 

When silence was the other answer he got from the other two sat beside him at the round table, Kiyoomi let out another self-suffering groan as he, gratefully, snatched the small shot-glass offered to him from Motoya’s hands as his cousin attempted to offer Kiyoomi some sort of comfort, (“Just… take another shot Kiyo”) despite however futile they all knew it might’ve been.  

Moping with his hand wrapped around yet another glass, Kiyoomi was shaken out of his self-wallow when he felt a warm hand rest upon his own on the table top. “What do you want to do next, Kiyoomi?” 

As he met the gentle warmth behind Keiji’s eyes, Kiyoomi sniffled. Mixed with Motoya’s comforting presence, and the hand that rested upon his back that gave him a familiar sense of safety reminiscent to when they were young and Kiyoomi would be in tears to his cousin, wishing for everything to just go away, the heavy floodgates that had been shaken from the moment Kiyoomi had stood in front of the doomed painting finally split open as soon as the first teardrop fell, “I just-hic I don’t know…!” 

Soon, a rush of crystal tears glittered as they welled in his ears, threatening to fall as well as they casted.a clear sheen in his eyes. They dripped down the expanse of his skin, kissing the constellation of moles that decorated his face before dripping down his skin and into his shirt, causing Kiyoomi to briefly shiver in discomfort yet unable to stop as the next wave of tears rushed down like a waterfall that never would never end, created after a heavy storm would shake a once sturdy island.

Almost immediately, a pair of warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a soft embrace, soon after followed by another pair, stronger, yet just as familiar. “Keiji-I-I what do I do?” 

“It's okay, It’s okay.” Motoya soothed, his voice low as his hands gently rubbed up and down the expanse of his back, “Just let it out. You’ll be alright.” 

In reassurance, Kiyoomi could feel Keiji nod, “We’ve got you, Kiyoomi. You’ll be okay so just..cry. It’ll be okay.” 

And so, Kiyoomi did. He cried, and cried, sobbing into the other omega’s shoulder, no doubt making the expensive fabric a wet, salty, mess. But even so, Keiji didn’t seem to mind, whispering soft assurance in Kiyoomi’s ear even as the raven himself became a incoherent mess of babbles and murmuring that was too quiet to hear, especially over his choking sobs that, had they not been in a VIP room alone, would’ve undoubtedly gotten the attention of nearby chaperones, or maybe even the entire rooms attention. 

They stayed like this for a few moments until Kiyoomi’s eyes were red rimmed, and achingly sore, while his nose flushed so bright Motoya the fucking bastard couldn’t help but tease It’s like that one Christmas raindere, Rudolph? 

Despite allowing himself to be emotionally vulnerable in a moment of weakness, especially in public, Kiyoomi pulled himself together and honestly? He felt refreshed. His head no longer felt like it was running on an overdrive where everything had gone static because before, the only conscious thing he could think was that if he let himself breathe or put his guard down for even a moment's notice, then his sister, or for hell’s sake, her ghost would drag her cold dead body out of the expensive coffin she’d been buried in and tell him for a second time that it wasn’t him that belonged there, but her.

But of course, Motoya being Motoya aka Kiyoomi’s royal pain in the ass, he couldn’t stay quiet and let Kiyoomi relish in such peace.   

“Y’know Kiyo, this might not be the best time to say it-” 

“Then why are you saying it-” 

“BUT if my husband-”

“Your hypothetical husband because you are a lonely old man-” 

“Was as rich as Atsumu is, then I would probably just stay quiet and spend all his money then dump his ass.” 

Kiyoomi simply stared at him with a deadpan look, which, of course, didn't seem to matter since Keiji filled the quiet silence instead. “He is right, Kiyoomi. I would probably do that too.” Traitor . 

“But,” Keiji started, Kiyoomi cutting him off with a bitter mutter of course there's a but which Keiji dutifully ignored as he continued speaking with his perfectly plump and permanently pink lips (that Motoya was undoubtedly lusting after because ew the googly eyes his cousin was making at his friend was disgusting-) “On the other hand, I do want to ask Kiyo, do you want us to give you advice right now or instead listen to you?” 

Kiyoomi blinked. “Listen to me?” 

“As in, do you want to vent? Rant to us about this issue? Or, as I asked earlier, do you perhaps have a plan for your next course of action already planned?” At Keiji’s confirmation, Motoya hummed from next to Kiyoomi. “If so, is there any way we can help Kiyo?” 

Their stares were both focused on Kiyoomi, yet he knew they weren’t pressuring him to anything. Warmth flooded his heart, and Kiyoomi looked down for a moment, considering. 

Seeing him duck his head low once again, as though he were crying or about to double over, Motoya shifted in his seat with concern, a hand once again reaching forward to rest on Kiyoomi’s back. “Kiyo? You alright?” 

Similarly, Keiji too came forward as he rang the bell for the waiter in one hand, “Do you need a tissue? Are you going to vomit?” 

Shaking his head, Kiyoomi looked up. “We signed a premarital contract.” 

This, unsurprisingly came as a shock as they asked in unison. “You did?” 

Kiyoomi nodded in affirmation, “Of course. Motoya, you’re a lawyer. The amount of times you’ve given me a lecture about the benefits of a premarital contract is endless, so naturally I made sure we did.” 

Still, Kiyoomi could tell why they were surprised. Though he’d been skeptical of Atsumu and the entire courtship at first, once he and Atsumu had truly begun their relationship, Kiyoomi had been utterly taken with the older alpha. It was no surprise that they would question Kiyoomi taking such an action. But even though he’d written a contract and come up with the clauses with Atsumu, he just never thought he’d ever be using one of the agreed upon terms so quickly. 

| Clause 3.  If either party wishes at any point to end the relationship and file for a divorce, if it is within reason and meets both parties' conditions, the separation should be granted. |

In his pocket, his phone once again buzzed, the vibration mixed with a familiar chime that they had all been ignoring throughout the night.

Chapter Text

As he left the restaurant, Kiyoomi shivered as a gust of cold air brushed against him. As refreshing as the night air could be, it sure could be cold when all the breeze loved to do was caress his face, Kiyoomi mused with a huff. A ghost of a smile caused the upward quirk of pale lips, plump as ever though void of their normally pretty pink shade that would, on other and considerably better days, glisten and glow, swollen after many ministrations that would take up the late hours of Kiyoomi’s night before bleeding into the early hours of the following morning.  

The thought caused a throb in his chest. One that had, for the better part of the night, vanished as he lost himself to the comforting burn of the many tequila shots, he’d been able to temporarily drown his sorrow in as, suspicious, kissing noises would sound from next to him as he sobbed, pausing every so often to check on his 

hollow form of sad that had turned into a sentient blob of wailing. His tears had stopped eventually, eyes sore and red as he continued to drown drink after drink while purposely ignoring how his cousin was, quite literally, eating out his friend's face right next to him. 

He could only thank the bastard's consideration of him and the poor bartender that had, unfortunately, become their babysitter for their night that Motoya hadn’t bent Keiji stomach over the table to take him out in public in all his vulgarness because Kiyoomi damn well knew his cousin was capable of that bullshit. (Thankfully, by the grace of whatever god had decided to take pity upon the three of them and the poor worker just trying to do his job without bursting into tears with Kiyoomi, they had managed somehow managed to have enough sober decency to leave behind a hefty tip before stumbling out in a drunken pile of make sure to ban those fuckers who almost ran us dry of our drinks tonight.) 

“Kiyoomi?” Motoya’s unsure voice sounded in his ears finally breaking through the water-like barrier his mind had conjured up at some point, so lost in his thoughts that Kiyoomi hadn’t even registered the call of his name, nor the concerned expressions the two shared on their faces. 

With a hum, Kiyoomi swatted away Motoya’s hand that was swishing back and forth before his eyes. With an eyebrow raised, he questioned “What’s up?” 

The pair shared a glance at his airy reply, glancing down at Kiyoomi's much to calm form, unhidden concern behind the pools of their eyes as the worrywhats, visibly, pondered his emotional state. It was normal, he supposed. Especially for the distress he’d shown within the walls of the bar where the flashing had illuminated over his sorry figure in an array of colours, music loud enough that his sobs went unnoticed by the betterment of the sweaty crowd. 

Finally, Motoya spoke again, turning to Kiyoomi with only softness hidden in the chocolate brown of his eyes. “Will you be alright getting home?”

Kiyoomi flashed a smile at his cousin, hoping it was as reassuring as he hoped it to be. At least to let the anxiousness be not just them, but him as well, settle down a little bit. As the light words left his lips, “I’ll be fine”, Kiyoomi found himself being pulled into a warm hug that caused heat to pool at his chest, the thud of his heartbeat slowing down a little in his ears as he let the embrace rush a peaceful tranquility over his form under the streetlights. Motoya’s arms would probably be one of the most familiar places to Kiyoomi. The trinkle of sweetness that honeycombs would radiate filling his ears as the aroma radiated to Kiyoomi’s nostrils. 

They shared no more words after that, but as Keiji too wrapped his arms around the two of them, the pine of forest trees that followed Keiji around mixing with Motoya’s own sweetness casting a blanket of comfort through the very veins that carried his blood in waves before they reached the heavy pump of his heart; Kiyoomi would’ve been a fool had he claimed not to know the message they were sending him with their silent, intertwined, embrace. 

We’ll be here. They told him. 

I know. He answered, his arms pulling them tight to his body, only if so to revel a little longer in such rare softness that they would all share in such seriousness. 

Kiyoomi was the first to let go. Stepping back slightly on the pavement under the limelight of a nearby streetlight that casted a shadow over his face. He brushed his bangs back, as he scowled though his words lacked heat, “Motoya you bastard, you messed up my hair.” 

Motoya simply snorted, his arms coming up in mock surrender. “Alri-”

“KIYOOMI!” 

At the call of his name this time, the reaction was immediate. Not just from him, but from the other two as well. Their heads immediately snapped sideways, body’s swiveling shortly after so as to ensure their necks wouldn’t crack in half. 

Atsumu rushed forward, pushing through the street crowds that surrounded the district as people came and went, some ending their night as others just began them at the hours where twilight was at its peak and the moon's magnetic pull awakened more than just the crashing waves. His husband reached his side within moments as immediately, a hand reached out to grab onto Kiyoomi’s own. The grip was tight with urgency. The trembling touch even caused Kiyoomi to momentarily ignore his own distaste for the clamminess of Atsumu’s sweat as the beady droplets of water drenched his own palm. 

Atsumu panted, sucking in air through his mouth his heavy gulps, clear exhaustion in his slightly bent over form. Sweat dripped down from his forehead in glistening droplets that shone brighter under the streetlights halo. Some of Atsumu’s blond hair had also become glued to his tan, sunkissed skin, now that Kiyoomi noticed. Unable to stop himself from the familiar action, he reached forward a hand, just about to brush away the streaks of hair that covered the honeydoe colour that Kiyoomi had come to love in the bright pools of Atsumu’s eyes. 

There was honestly a lack of words that Kiyoomi could even use to begin to describe his husband's state. So instead, he could only say, “You look like a hot mess.” 

But before his hand could even come to touch Atsumu’s face, the alpha flinched back. Even physically taking a step backwards to avoid the outward reach of Kiyoomi’s hand. The reaction made Kiyoomi pause. Confusion fogging ebony eyes as he watched Atsumu reach into his pocket before quickly pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his face, though never letting go of the hand that held Kiyoomi’s own hand in the process. The grip even tightening as if afraid Kiyoomi would be the one to move away first. 

Then, after wiping his face to what Atsumu seemed to deem satisfaction, he turned not to Kiyoomi but to Keiji and Motoya who had watched the spectacle with faces that matched Kiyoomi’s own. They too were utterly lost. After all, despite knowing of Atsumu, and meeting him at formal events, the pair had no real reason to properly associate with the Miya Atsumu, billionaire and one of the richest men in not just Japan but the world as a full circle. Hell, even Kiyoomi hadn’t had any reason before he’d suddenly found himself wedded to the man, his smaller hand held within Atsumu’s much larger, calloused one as they’d stood at the altar. 

Lost within his reminiscence, Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed Atsumu’s desperation as he spoke to the pair next to them. 

“How do I look? Not too dirty right?” Atsumu rushed out, his breath calmer now, though words sharing just as much urgency as they had in the desperate call of Kiyoomi’s name. 

Narrowing his eyes, Motoya spoke, “Of course not Atsumu-sama. You look fine.” 

Atsumu, of course, had noticed Motoya’s guard. Though remained uncaring as he turned towards the green-eyed omega next to him. Kiyoomi’s friend, Atsumu knew him as. “Maybe you’ll be more helpful than him, by Kiyoomi’s standards, do I look okay?” 

Astonished, Keiji repeated, “By Kiyoomi’s standards?” Momentarily, his green eyes flickered towards Kiyoomi who, as he had throughout the night, seemed once again lost in thought. 

Atsumu simply nodded in affirmation, his gaze firm though his freehand that still held onto the handkerchief balled into a fist. 

Anxiousness. Fear. Unsurety. Keiji noted. It was a familiar look. One that Kiyoomi had mirrored from the moment he’d stepped through the room of the private room at the restaurant up until they had stepped out of the bar. And from the look on Motoya’s face, the alpha had noticed the same. 

“...It seems that you two are in dire need of a discussion, Atsumu-sama. For a man as wise, your looks aren’t your gravest concern, clearly. Just one that you hope would cease Kiyoomi’s displeasure.” Keiji said, reaching out an arm to grip onto Motoya’s hand. 

His companion too spoke, though not abandoning the hostility he’d carried in his prior words, “I trust you won’t hold back the words you should’ve mentioned much earlier this time. Kiyoomi deserves as much.” 

Then, without answering Atsumu’s question, or his confusion, the pair walked away though not without sending another glance towards Kiyoomi who remained frozen by Atsumu's side. 

“...Kiyoomi.” Atsumu called out, after having watched the pair leave, his free hand reaching out to grab Kiyoomi’s own that still hovered in the air, though lowered slightly. 

Blinking, Kiyoomi looked up towards the man he married. To his husband. His alpha. The man he’d come to love within the time they’d spent together. How could he not have, after all? For someone like him, where the claw of darkness had forever been the cloak that filled the space around him, Atsumu’s light would naturally attract Kiyoomi who’d dragged himself out of the shadowed tunnel, if only so to be a little closer to the warmth he’d never known he thrived for, starved of it from when he was a mere babe. 

But at the same time, Kiyoomi also knew who else he was looking at. The reversed Miya Atsumu. Husband to the late Mitsuki Kiyoomi. Husband to his sister. Father to Miya Koutarou. His nephew it seemed, and the one who had Kiyoomi’s own blood running through him. Though just not shared in a way that made him so gleeful. 

Reminding himself of his role. Of his place. Kiyoomi bowed his head, “Atsumu-sama.” 

He was about to be divorced after all, he should not be lacking in his mannerisms, nor politeness towards someone so great. And thinking about it now, Kiyoomi wondered with astonishment, how had he ever let himself think they could stand side by side as equals. As lovers or partners. As husbands . 

“...Atsumu-sama?” Atsumu repeated, to which Kiyoomi just blinked up at him owlishly before nodding. 

For a moment, Atsumu simply stared at him. Eyes blown wide, and only now Kiyoomi notices the redness in the normally pure whites. Of the exhaustion that hides within the swell of Atsumu’s face, dark circles sunken in as Atsumu’s stare stays fixated on him. The alpha’s lips are parted, and Kiyoomi’s gaze zeros in onto the place where his lips chap, dried blood still sticking their plump swell. He feels Atsumu’s grip tighten, watches as his lips touch into a thin line, as his jaw clenches and his eyes grow dangerously narrow. 

Atsumu doesn’t say anything. Simply pulls on Kiyoomi’s hand, and Kiyoomi lets him. One would wonder if it were because of fear. The face Atsumu made to him was one that any omega would fear to be the subject of. But Kiyoomi’s face showed no more than wonder. Of concern. Of care. Beneath the coldness in the hardened face, for that moment before his expression changed, Kiyoomi saw raw brokenness that he couldn’t help but question. 

Suddenly, the glass of calmness that had frozen his senses shattered with meekness and once again, Kiyoomi felt lost. His questions felt like tidal waves in his mind and rocked at the boat he wished to steer towards firm land. 

They walked through the streets in silence, Atsumu guiding Kiyoomi as they moved through the bustling streets, crowds parting to let them through. Some people recognised Atsumu while others looked towards him with admiration, or fear. Maybe even a mix of both. Atsumu was angry. Anyone could see as much. His pheromones roared with attention despite the heavy suppressors. Despite being in the city, the smell of the ocean on a cold winter's night gradually circled around Kiyoomi, and it drew the attention of passersbys. They all watched as he and Atsumu’s heavy footsteps thudded through the concrete streets, numerous gazes following even as they’d turn the corner and fade into the night. 

He let Atsumu guide him through the streets, the pull of his hold almost magnetic as Kiyoomi’s footsteps would echo just a breath after Atsumu's own. And like this, they soon reached Atsumu’s car. It was a sleek black Koenigsegg Gemera custom made at Atsumu’s demand. Atsumu’s baby, as the man himself liked to call it. He’d spent weeks on end bragging to Kiyoomi about how it ran on vulconal instead of normal fuel. On the rooftop, there were small glowing stars, added at Koutarou’s insistence after seeing a post of a celebrity having one on the rooftop of her own car. 

The car lights flashed as Atsumu pressed the button on the keys in his hands. He let Atsumu guide him towards the passenger's seat wordlessly, silently watching as the alpha pulled the door open for Kiyoomi, even helping him sit down and watching as Kiyoomi pulled the seatbelt over himself before shutting the door and walking towards the driver's side and sitting down. The car ride started in silence safe for the rumble of the engine when the keys first turned, Atsumu’s many keychains jiggling. As he looked closely, Kiyoomi’s eyes caught onto a particular keychain that glittered in the dim light of the glowing stars. 

It was a dolphin, translucent and clearly made from glass. Kiyoomi’s eyes immediately drew towards it. It was old, Kiyoomi knew as much, yet somehow it stayed in the same condition…even when Kiyoomi’s own pair was now shattered. Kiyoomi could even see the engraved letters of their initials on the small thing. 

“...How did you get that?” Kiyoomi asked into the silence, his voice breathless as his eyes remained fixated on the shining object. It was inanimate. Kiyoomi knew it. Yet despite knowing so, he still couldn’t help but feel it would vanish if he looked away even for a moment. 

A moment passed. Then another. But the question continued to stay lingering in the heavy air. Kiyoomi knew Atsumu heard, the twitch of his fingers on the steering wheel when his words sounded a clear sign. 

“Atsumu.” Kiyoomi said again, this time looking up to turn his head at the alpha who gripped the steering a little tighter, his jaw clenching with visible tension as his gaze stayed watching the road in concentration. 

But Kiyoomi knew he was listening. And not even a breath later, Atsumu let out a sharp laugh. “What? So now you call me Atsumu?” 

When Kiyoomi didn’t answer, Atsumu’s frustration boiled over. His lips pursed into a thin line as his foot on the pedal pressed a little harder. Immediately, the numbers on the dashboard of the car rose, and the car’s rumble shook with the rushing increase of speed. The vibration seeped through his very veins. Kiyoomi blood rushed like water through his being, head feeling light as he watched with a bated breath as within a few flickering seconds, the numbers shot up tens of kilometers at a time until people had become the briefest of silhouettes that would vanish like they were a dream. Like Kiyoomi had never laid the ebony of his eyes on them. They drove like this for a few minutes, the city far behind them. In silence, Kiyoomi watched as the buildings washed away with the wind until they were just blurs of black with little blurbs of yellow or white mixed into them. 

Soon, they ended up by a beach. Atsumu parked the car, and stormed out of the car, but not before reaching backwards into the car and grabbing a stack of papers. A familiar stack of papers at that. He slammed the door behind him and moved towards the beach front where the waves came forward to crash into the sand. It was high tide now, with the moon being at its peak. Rushing after him, Kiyoomi got out of the car quickly, his own door slamming behind it. Briefly, he registered the sound of the door locking, as the headlines flashed for a moment. But that didn’t matter to him as he rushed forward to where Atsumu stood above the sand, at the grassy hillside that looked overhead. 

“What are you doing, Atsumu?!” Kiyoomi called out, his hands reaching forward to swat the stack of papers from Atsumu’s hands. The stack of papers that, in the moments it took for Kiyoomi to reach his side, Atsumu had begun to burn from the moment he’d left the car, taking advantage of Kiyoomi’s momentary freeze of shock at his outburst. The flames had already begun to caress the flesh of Atsumu’s hand by the time he’d reached, the paper nearly burnt to a crisp. 

Atsumu turned to him, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. The expression on Atsumu’s face could only be described as broken. His body hunched over slightly; eyes red as with trembling hands he grabbed Kiyoomi’s own. “...Don’t leave me.”

Atsumu reached forward, pulling Kiyoomi into his arms, “Please. I beg you. I-I’ll give you the world, lay it at your feet, if that’s what you want. Just don’t leave me…” 

Atsumu’s arms shook with tremors, body swaying dangerously that Kiyoomi tried to keep his body steady only to pause when an icy teardrop dripped onto his shoulder and soaked through his shirt where Atsumu tipped his head forward to rest.  His words were spoken so low they were a whisper whisked away by the wind’s howl, but they remained echoing within Kiyoomi’s ears. 

Kiyoomi’s answer was quiet. Hesitant. Though he wasn’t sure whether Atsumu could tell. “...We had an agreement with Atsumu. We both were there, in the lawyer's office, and signed those papers with complete awareness and given consent.” 

Immediately, Atsumu’s knees buckled, and slowly he dropped to the floor, kneeling at Kiyoomi’s feet. But even so, Atsumu's grip on Kiyoomi didn’t wane. His hands slipped to wrap around Kiyoomi’s calves “...Did I do something wrong? I don’t- I don’t understand Kiyoomi. Weren’t we fine this morning? Where is this coming from? Please, I beg you, tell me how to fix it.” 

As he looked down at the man before him, Kiyoomi found himself speechless. This was Miya Atsumu. His Atsumu. And now he was kneeling down to him. Begging. Pleading. Grasping at the straws to try to figure Kiyoomi’s mind out. To make him change whatever had caused the pen to first glide across the parchment of the papers that they had both forgotten in their marital bliss. 

“Kiyoomi…” Atsumu sobbed, pushing his face forward into Kiyoomi’s legs, the tears cold as they seeped through the fabric. 

Reaching down, Kiyoomi removed Atsumu’s hands from where they wrapped around his legs. Atsumu’s panic was immediate. He tried to fight against Kiyoomi but stopped when he noticed Kiyoomi hadn’t been leaving. Instead, Kiyoomi kneeled down in front of Atsumu, his hands reaching forward to cup the wet, fullness of Atsumu’s cheeks. His thumb stroked beneath Atsumu’s eyes, brushing away the ears that dripped down from his eyelashes. “Stop crying, what a stupid alpha. What if the paparazzi saw you right now?” 

He watched as Atsumu leaned into his touch, laying a kiss on his palm as he croaked out in a raspy voice, “Fuck those bastards, you expect a lot from me, beloved. How could I not cry?” 

How could he not cry 

The words rang in Kiyoomi’s head as he reached into his own pocket for his handkerchief, a matching one to Atsumu’s own that had been priorly discarded. Another custom made at the alpha’s demand. The question rang in Kiyoomi’s mind as he gently ran the piece of cloth, dabbing it until Atsumu’s face was dry. “...I saw the painting in your office.” Atsumu’s reaction was almost immediate. The alpha froze at his palms as Kiyoomi continued to dab the last few droplets from his eyelashes. 

“I mean, I know people enjoy calling you a mother fucker, but I’d never expected you to be a sister fucker as well. Or should I say brother fucker instead? Since you know, I’m the second piece.” Kiyoomi mused, though his words lacked any real humour. They both knew as much. 

“Kiyoomi. Omi. Oh god, please don’t say that my heart.” Atsumu rested his hand on the small of Kiyoomi’s back, pulling him forward until Kiyooi rested on his thighs, looking down at Atsumu who had his chin on Kiyoomi’s chest. 

Under the twinkle of moonlight, charcoal black clashed with coffee brown. Like the colour of their eyes, both held heavy feelings. 

Where Kiyoomi’s were dark, coursing with self-loathe that seeped out like inky tendrils that were slowly pulling Kiyoomi back into a rabbit hole of hatred he’d been pulled out of many months ago by Atsumu’s own hand. But now, they returned to the dull, lifeless shade that only a cracked stone of obsidian could hold.

“Am I really your second choice Atsumu?” Kiyoomi asked, shoulders dropping in defeat. “I won’t be mad, so just, please... be honest with me.” 

Where normally the pools of Atsumu’s eyes would soften with sweetness, a sugary glint in the honey brown pools, they now reminded Kiyoomi of nothingness. Like unsweetened coffee, Atsumu were bitter. Bitter with regret.

 “My heart,” Atsumu began, “My love, had you asked me, I’d pluck the very stars for you, if it meant the tears, you cry would never be followed by a painful ache in your chest, similar to the one I know you would’ve carried quietly today...” As he looked up at Kiyoomi, Atsumu lacked his usual shine in his gaze. Instead, a helpless filled it, one with so much remorse that it mirrored Kiyoomi’s own self-hate.

“I promise you, the choices I make, they start and end only with you. There’s no space for you to be a second choice Kiyoomi, you’ve only ever been the only one. Ever since the moment we got those matching keychains at the amusement park that one time. How could I not be mesmerized by the you who dragged around a possibly drunken stranger to have some fun simply because he looked a little sad, despite him clearly looking like he should be at an age where he knew not to cry like a babbling toddler in public." Atsumu continued with a huff of laughter leaving his lips, his gaze accompanied by one of the softest of smiles, as if he were reminiscing the moment that they'd first caught each other's eyes on a night neither had expected the other to remember, or even cherish. 

Yet, even despite the sweet words, Kiyoomi still felt unsure as he spoke once again. “You married my sister Atsumu, how can you claim that I am your only choice? I saw the painting of you two at the altar hanging in your office.” He said quietly, the crown of his forehead drooping slightly, bangs covering his eyes as he dropped his head onto Atsumu’s shoulder as Atsumu had done to him many minutes ago. 

He wanted to believe in Atsumu. He really, really did. He wanted to trust that the honesty he saw was raw. Broken like his own. Hurt, and helpless. His very soul ached with need, at this point, even if Atsumu gave him a heart-hearted lie, Kiyoomi would scramble to find something that would save the burn that coiled in his chest, if only so it would mean he and Atsumu could continue this closeness. 

Silently, Atsumu caressed the back of his head, cradling it gently like he was the most fragile of treasures. He rocked them slowly, the waves crashing just a way away from them. Kiyoomi shivered slightly when Atsumu placed a gentle kiss to his collarbone, a place he knew the alpha liked in particular to mark as his own when showing Kiyoomi’s body affection. Then, finally, he broke the silence. 

“Darling, did you forget I have a twin brother?”