Work Text:
i. break up
Atsumu recalls the text Akari used to send him. I know how much you enjoy pushing yourself, but don't injure yourself in the process; your six-pack won't vanish just because you don't do the seven sets of pull-ups today.
He used to relish in it; the feeling of being in love and then being loved in return. Osamu may refer to him as a sappy-ass, but he'd bet a million yen that Osamu is just jealous because he's been single for far too long.
Unfortunately, karma is a bitch. Karma does seem to have a habit of coming after him when he least expects it. He kissed Akari all over her face a hundred times and another two days ago, but yesterday the girl told him that she was done because you're too much for me. Right. Tell him, then: Why did Akari talk softly to him under the moonlight, you're perfect for me; you're my love; I cannot live without you, essentially giving Atsumu a pair of wings to soar in the sky, only to rip them off cruelly after he's learned to fly?
Atsumu didn’t cry when the world shattered. He buried the bits and bobs of his rotten core deep within the earth and went about his day, eating three packs of instant ramen at midnight and feeling guilty because it didn't follow the diet his coach had been evangelizing on. He awoke with a horrific headache, but it didn't bother him as much as the pain in his chest, so he proceeded to the gym. Burn the calories and traces of his pride, they said. It would be good for the heartbreak, they said.
So, there he has it. Half-alive, Atsumu stares at his reflection on the elevator screen. The gym is on the roof, and he despises how quickly he rises to it. He's seen too much I Origins with Akari, and the elevator scene has left such a crater—a traumatic cinematic experience that they ought to appropriately warn the audience. And a good marksman may miss, he supposes. He doesn't want to think about what it would be like to free fall in a confined ferric capsule and crash to the land when he's high. However, it might feel quite like this break-up.
At least Akari had taught him a lot about life.
The number on the side of the door halts when it reaches 13, and Atsumu anchors his thoughts to reality. He schools his face so that he could at least muster a nice greeting for whoever comes. They always expect him to be nice and polite, always, ever since he was still a kid. It becomes a curdled habit. He must play a role even when he doesn’t want to be good.
But when the door slides open, revealing another man with gray hair and a pair of lovely gold eyes, Atsumu nullifies his smile.
“Oh, it’s just you.”
“Just me?” Koutarou’s smile also falters, just a little bit. “Am I disappointing you?” He asks, his tone dancing between an antic and sincerity.
“No, just a bad day.”
“Yeah … you kinda look like a zombie.”
“Thanks.”
Now that he's with someone else, a friend he appreciates, Atsumu finally admits how utterly pathetic his current situation is. He has no right to be here in the first place. Koutarou is aware that Atsumu's gym session is scheduled for every Wednesday and Friday. It's only Monday afternoon. He longs to return home, shuts himself away in his room, and goes to sleep until the bitterness melts away. Yet he isn't sure he could.
“I’m sorry for ….” Koutarou hesitates, glancing at Atsumu, and fiddling with his fingers.
“For what?”
“Akari?”
Huh.
“News travels fast.”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t apologize, though. It’s not your fault.”
“I guess so.”
And now that Koutarou has brought it up, Atsumu realizes the salty sting in the corner of his eyes. He looks down and sniffs, wishing that he had a shell to live in, like a garden snail or a scallop, so he wouldn’t have to deal with this embarrassing situation. Everyone who claims to know him well knows how much he despises losing.
He feels as if he's losing everything right now.
A drop spills on the floor, like the first leak of a sorrowful downpour.
It's a little surprising that Koutarou manages to catch the flood with his palms open, patiently picking up Atsumu's pieces, rubs circles on his back, and mutters, "You deserve more than you're giving yourself credit for, you know?"
Koutarou's attempt to calm him down brings back some hazy memories for Atsumu.
When he was still in high school, his English teacher assigned a reading to summarize over the summer. He borrowed one book from the library without giving it much thought. It had a bright yellow cover with brittle pages. Never the one who cared much for academics, he can't remember what it was called or who wrote it, but one line has stuck with him for the longest time: we accept the love we think we deserve.
Who would accept him as he is if he doesn't even deserve Akari?
ii. break free
Akari has been doing great.
Awesome.
"What a malicious woman." Shion, who is sitting quietly next to Atsumu, cranes his neck to look at his phone, which has been showing a roll of Akari's Instagram stories. On his usually adorable and childlike face, he has a disapproving expression. "It’s only been two months."
"Don’t fret. A closed chapter is a closed chapter," Kiyoomi retorts from behind. As he wipes sweat from his brow, a curly black lock surges from its sticking points. "She can do whatever she wants with her life now. It's no longer Atsumu's problem."
"Ah … Omi-kun." Atsumu frowns. His eyes were droopy, resembling those of a sad puppy. He puts his free hand on the chest, emphasizing the agony that he feels. "That’s a bit harsh."
Suddenly and hastily, Koutarou slaps the back of Kiyoomi's head—suicidal as it may sound. "Yeah, that’s too harsh, Omi-Omi!"
An abhorrent scream is heard when Kiyoomi leaps from his seat to hunt Koutarou down, followed by the sound of the changing room door slamming. For a brief moment, Atsumu is so engrossed in the scene that he forgets to keep his thumb on the screen. The image changes to show some fancy, traditional Kanto-style food, still hot and steaming. It appears to be good enough for Oliver to say, "Even though I despise her, I must admit that she eats incredibly well. We should try something like that every now and then. For vengeance. Show her your own taste, Atsumu.”
What irritates Atsumu the most isn't the mouth-watering food porn. A man's hand with a wooden bracelet, a silver thumb ring, and an expensive watch is also in the frame, next to Akari’s own.
It's not even a tricky photograph. Clearly, this is an image you want to show off on a first date. The dreamy picture of a companion's hand near yours, with the embedded secret message: We're having a marvelous meeting! Also, possibly, a silent fuck you for some exes. Stop thinking about me; I have moved on; you’re not important anymore. Those kinds of messages.
"Get this man a break." On the way to the shower, Shuugo slaps Atsumu on the back.
One by one, Atsumu's teammates begin to straighten their shoulders and make their way to the shower. It makes the blond pout even more. That can only mean several things. One, they must see him in such despair that they reserve the right to give him a solitude time to sulk … or perhaps to cry again (note: Not that he wants to). Two, he has talked about it so frequently that they may believe it is no longer as important as it was when the news first broke. Three, he's truly pitiful for not being able to move on with his life as he had hoped.
He would love to be close to someone else, to find a new partner, to mend his broken heart, but … at what cost? The wound is still fresh and gaping. Closing it with a rebound would only make matters worse. He's not the type to hurt more people for his sake, anyway.
But, why … why does Akari show every sign of having a good time without him?
Was he actually worthless to Akari? Was it all a lie?
"You should raise your standard, Atsumu-san."
There’s also that. The consolation talk, which has been too perplexing for him.
"I can't even meet Akari's standard which you thought was the worst. And you're expecting me to lift the bar? Shouyou-kun, what kind of logic is that? Shouldn't I be the one to lower my standards?"
Shouyou, whom Atsumu believes never ceases to shine, laughs crisply, something that makes him glow even brighter. He shakes his head and continues, "Stop pondering over the logic. In this case, you should rely on your emotions. Love is more about the way you feel than how you think."
In contrast, Atsumu glooms. "I feel completely betrayed."
"Then look for someone who will not betray you." Shouyou's smile stretches. He speaks eagerly and merrily, as if he were announcing their next get-together with Kageyama and the other from Adlers. "You deserve someone who can make you happy and make you laugh when you're sad."
Atsumu falls silent. When Shouyou puts it like that, it sounds so easy; so simple. But there's a drawback: He has no idea where to look for someone like that. He has almost no indication whether he will ever meet someone like that.
"Stop thinking about it." Shouyou taps him on the shoulder with the corkcicle containing his protein shake. He wiggles his brows; a usual gesture of offering. The proposal is accepted by Atsumu. "It's not that difficult to find someone like that for you, you know, 'Tsumu-san?"
"Why are you so sure?"
The wing-spiker winks. "Because I know exactly who has been treating you in this sort of way."
Huh? Has he been treated that way?
"Who?"
The door leading to the court opens before Shouyou can respond. Kiyoomi enters with a murderous aura, followed by Koutarou, who complains, "Tsum-Tsum, you need to help me practice my spikes and get rid of bad energy."
"Bokkun! You survived?" Shouyou asks with utmost care.
"Omi almost axed my body into pieces …." Atsumu notices the way his hair is dropping. "And Atsumu's heart has already been severed. So, why don't you toss some balls for me until we forget about our misery?"
Atsumu can't think of a reason to refuse, so he follows, tossing Koutarou ball after ball until they're both exhausted and sweating profusely on the floor with empty thoughts.
iii. break down
The world just can’t seem to give Atsumu a rest. One day he had been lied to by someone who told him that he’s loved unconditionally, and the next day he was humiliated at a large fan event in front of hundreds of audiences and some giggly kids by falling without any particular reasons.
A guy was also laughing at him, loudly. Atsumu is used to being laughed at, but he'd be happier if it was for his brilliant jokes rather than his clumsiness. Not to mention that, at first glance, the guy resembled Akari’s new boyfriend so much that it had choked Atsumu to imagine Akari was secretly doing the same. Time heals, but that doesn't mean the embarrassment doesn't come back to haunt him every now and then.
"What is he? A corpse?" Adriah observes this as he hangs his uniform in his rack.
Oliver adds, "Isn’t this worse than when we lose a match?"
Augh! Atsumu loathes it when people expect him to bounce back quickly. This is one of those occasions when he does not desire to play a part. He wants to bang his head firmly against the wall. Why does he even exist? Can’t he be just a void? A vacant hole drenched in darkness, something which glides in space with no regard for anyone's perception?
"Hey! Hey! Hey! Tsumu-Tsumu! You doing alright?"
Koutarou did get the latest update about Atsumu’s well-being, but he chose not to listen. "Ugh! I told you to leave me alone!"
"I’m doing great!"
"I didn’t ask!"
"Still! Don’t be sad for too long! People will soon forget about it!"
"It’s still written in last week’s news!"
MSBY goes through about four rounds of practice that day, and Koutarou continues to pester Atsumu with lame jokes or about petty issues. While this is going on, Shouyou delivers him a glance from across the court—one that Atsumu doesn't quite understand. He insists on inquiring without saying stuff, flying back the look with his own silent question, but the answer remains vague.
Once they are back in the changing room, Koutarou asks, "Are you still sad?"
"I don’t know," Atsumu answers just to spite the man, "Am I?"
Koutarou, on the other hand, is resistant to Atsumu's sarcastic quips; he even replies with a fond look in his gaze. "You're still in a bad mood, aren't you? That's it! We're leaving to have lots and lots of fun tonight!"
The truth is: Atsumu simply happens to enjoy his time being with Koutarou. He makes him laugh the most after the alcohol loosens his tongue. He also never stops him from being drunk. Atsumu once blacked out and woke up the next morning tucked up in his bed. Koutarou expanded his level of care by carrying Atsumu on his back from the pub and even fixing his sneakers in front of the genkan.
If there's one thing he managed to learn from his former team captain, Kita Shinsuke, it'll be to always give back in return. The following day, Atsumu presented Koutarou with a bag of ripe peaches, which he accepted with the warmest smile a man could muster.
"Fine," Atsumu says as he puts the last item in his backpack and zips up his jacket. "But I get to pick the location tonight."
"No worries!"
iv. break through
So it goes. Days and nights of Koutarou sticking by Atsumu’s side. Halfway through the ride, Atsumu finally admits that a companion can patch a damaged tapestry caused by a lost love. He feels appreciated. They hurl their troubles out the window over a plate of horrible omurice that Koutarou intends to cook at 2:34 AM, telling each other personal experiences about their childhood, the traces of their high school team, and the moment they realized that they're going to be volleyball pros.
"I tried to persuade Osamu to join V. League 1 because he has the same potential as me to be a good volleyball player, if not more. That said, he still favored food over volleyball. It hurt me at the time, but I'd be selfish if I continued to press him."
They relocate to the dining table beside the tall window, sitting side by side while watching the city light blooms. Koutarou leans back on his chair and grins. "Akaashi is the same."
"Akaashi, huh? How close are you to him?" Because Atsumu has heard a few parables about them dating …? Koutarou never discloses his love life to Atsumu. And, despite the fact that Koutarou is aware of Atsumu's ups and downs, and even holds him tightly when he was crying foolishly, Atsumu still hasn't known a squeak about his preferences. What kind of people does he like? How does he treat a significant other?
Koutarou’s boisterous laugh surprises Atsumu. "He’s younger, but he’s more like my big brother."
"The rumors aren’t true, then?"
"What rumors?" Koutarou tilts his head, swishing his wine glass slowly. "That I used to date him?"
"Yeah?"
"No!" Koutarou shakes his head wildly; the tips of his hair bounce with the winds. "He’s too stable for me."
"Too stable? Then what kind of people do you like?"
Koutarou's shiny eyes twinkle with delight. His face flushes; perhaps getting a little tipsy. "Someone who reflects me in some ways. Someone who is a little bold … and free-spirited …. Someone with a nice laugh."
"Nice laugh, huh?"
"Yes, very nice. I mean … this person … he’s handsome, always handsome, but he’s most handsome when he laughs." This time, his eyes flicker with something else—warmth. Fondness. Affection. Atsumu has forgotten what it's like to be in love until he sees Koutarou look so eager to sail around the world for this mysterious guy with a nice laugh. Koutarou makes a pause before he continues, "That’s why I like making him laugh!"
For some strange reason, it tickles Atsumu's fascination to know more about this unknown man, so he persists. But Koutarou is unmoved, only asserting, "You'll find out eventually."
“When?”
“You’ll see.”
At the end of that night, Atsumu wonders if he is ever loved the way Koutarou loves this man (and for another peculiar reason, he kinda envies the guy.)
It's disconcerting to have a new point of view. He once saw Koutarou as someone who could only process a small range of emotion, but now he learns how deeply he loves. Each time their gazes meet, the question lingers. Koutarou holds the same emotions in those eyes: Of pure, unfiltered devotion. He looks at Atsumu as if he has kept their conversation that night as their own little secret, even though he hasn't revealed who it was meant to be.
But again, and again, and again, everytime Atsumu sees that warm glow, he wonders if someone will ever look at him that way.
Six weeks later, Atsumu sulks because he tripped again, this time on the sidewalk in front of his office building, where reporters had already gathered for the media briefing about the new match of the season. His picture isn't printed in the newspaper, but it ends up going across social media, and his fans (using words like "cute," "clumsy," and "baby") have already created memes out of it.
“I’m gonna kill myself.” Atsumu closes his phone and with it hides his face behind his palms. “My reputation is ruined. I will be known as the clumsy one in our team. Our opponent will aim at me because they know I’m going to trip and fall again.”
“Don’t be dramatic!” Koutarou, who sits beside him, swats Atsumu’s shoulder. “They won’t underestimate you. These memes are just for fun … like … uh, like inside jokes. Am I right, Akaashi?”
Keiji sips his tea with a calm smile. “That is correct.”
“Listen to him! Listen! If you don’t trust me, then trust the journalist!”
“I’m not a journalist, Bokuto-san, just a comic editor.”
“Potato, potato.”
"Oh, well …." Keiji exhales, adjusts his glasses, and begins to sweep up his belongings. "Anyhow, don’t worry, Miya-san. The memes won’t ruin you." He offers a kind pat before turning to Bokuto and saying, "I don’t want to bother your date longer than necessary. I should get going."
“What?” Atsumu chuckles awkwardly. Amidst Bokuto’s splutter, Atsumu remembers the mysterious man whom Koutarou loves, but only because he admires how he loves (and how he wants to be loved the same way). Keiji must know who that man is, right? He doesn’t want to create any misunderstanding. “We’re not dating.”
“Eh?”
“Yeah, I don’t date teammates. It’d be such a mess when one of us decides that we have run out of time.”
The bubble expands to its maximum size, before bursting on a spur of moment. Atsumu blinks at the two men sitting across from him: Keiji, putting down his bag slightly, and Koutarou, gawking at him with his lovely golden eyes. But then those golden eyes seem to be different from the last few weeks—instead of tenderness, he finds disappointment. Hurt. Defeat.
“You won’t date a teammate?”
“I ….” Atsumu wants to look somewhere else; at Keiji, at the servers, at some other couples holding hands with each other, straightening his shirt to grant them some privacy, anything. Why does this suddenly feel so intimate? Why does he feel guilty for something so insignificant that he feels the need to clarify? “No?”
“Not a chance? Even a tiny chance?” Koutarou almost sounds like he’s begging. There’s an ache in Atsumu’s chest.
“No! Why do you keep asking? You know how it ends with Akira. My partners are bound to get bored with me. If that happens again, I won’t survive—”
“Hey, Atsumu?”
Atsumu, Koutarou calls him. Not ‘Tsumu. Not Tsum-Tsum. Atsumu.
He shuts his mouth.
“Remember when I tell you how you don't give yourself enough credit?” Atsumu squirmed at that, feeling like he’s being under a microscope; cut open, observed, vulnerable. Without the answer he wants, Koutarou then sighs, and confesses before he flees, “You should know that I'll never be bored of you.”
At that exact moment, all thoughts had left Atsumu. Time stands still as he interprets the verdict that has been conveyed to him. Koutarou will never be bored of him. It sounds like a promise; an assurance; a commitment. All those gentle looks, all those timely jokes, all those attempts just to make him feel happy; appreciated; cherished. Then his eyes … the glow of love that Atsumu has yearned for. Are they all for him? Is it going to be another lie?
I know exactly who has been treating you in this sort of way, Shoyou’s voice echoes in his ears. Oh. Oh. How stupid Atsumu is—to completely disregard the precious treasure that’s right in front of him?
“He told me he likes to make someone laugh ….” Atsumu takes a fluttering breath and looks up at Keiji, who is seated again after Koutarou has left. “Is it me? The person he likes?”
“Oh, Miya-san ….” Keiji says it with a hint of frustration. “Only if you know how much he adores you.”
v. break a smile
Miya Atsumu:
i just looked in the mirror.
Miya Atsumu:
you’re right. i look the most handsome when i laugh.
It takes Atsumu exactly four minutes and seven seconds of staring at his phone for it to vibrate with Koutarou’s name blinking on it. He answers on the first ring. There is a brief pause, preceded by hesitation. Atsumu waits until he hears Koutarou's voice on the other end of the line.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice frail. For a brief moment, Atsumu wishes Koutarou would never use the same tone again in the future.
Atsumu can be stubborn, but not stubborn enough to deny what he's hoping to grow. Koutarou's presence is continuously comforting; maybe a little too comforting, blinding Atsumu to the evolving emotions bubbling in his stomach. He's given it some thought, and with a little help from both Keiji and Shouyou, he acknowledges that perhaps he does share his feelings. He isn't sure yet. He's not even sure whether this is a smart idea, but once he comes to grips with reality, he embarks on a new mission: trying.
"What are you even sorry for?"
"Being too forward?"
"Don’t." Atsumu chuckles tenderly. "I kinda need it. If you haven't noticed, I'm as dumb as a rock."
"But you said you don’t date teammates."
"Yeah … but, for you, I can make an exception."
Another pause as Atsumu tries to swallow a tiny ball of regret that has become lodged in his throat. Nonetheless, he provides Koutarou spacetime until he asks a question again, "Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He halts. “Then ... why? Why me?"
"Why not you?"
Then it hits Atsumu, at the same time, like a ton of bricks: Why not Koutarou? He blinks dumbly. His gaze darts to his reflection in the mirror, and he uncovers a path out of the labyrinth that has been confining him. He discovers a way to resolve his heartbreak. He finds a way to get away from the pain.
"It's just too abrupt." Koutarou's voice returns him to the real world. "I don't want to burden you with my feelings, you understand? I'm fine with being ... the way we are right now. You're not obligated to feel the same for me."
"Ah, but that hurts my feelings more," Atsumu blurts almost instinctively, having no idea why. He doesn't feel any pain, just a strong desire to convince Koutarou of his intentions. So, they can give it a shot, so that the page will turn beautifully.
"What?"
"Don't you want to give it a chance?" Atsumu looks in the mirror and notices a smirk settling back on his face. He lets go of his second thought, realizing that he wants this. He wants Koutarou. "I'd like to try."
"With me?"
"No, with Akaashi." He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Of course with you, Dumbass."
"But, again, why?"
"Does everything have to have a reason for you?" He snorts impatiently, and Koutarou almost reacts, but Atsumu leaps ahead. "Don't you looooove me?" He teases. "Well, at least, that's what Akaashi told me."
"I—" Koutarou gulps, flabbergasted. "So, what if I do?"
"And you said I deserved more?"
"That's what I said."
It wasn't easy to let go of long-held truths about himself. He has thought that he is harder to love; that he does not deserve to be loved the way Koutarou loves; that he would fail when he starts again; that he has to raise and spread his wings with the risk of falling. Nothing has been easy these days.
However, Atsumu prefers the truth.
"I've always wondered what it's like to be loved by you. Wholeheartedly. Truthfully. Deeply." Atsumu shrugs, but his heart is beating a thousand times faster. “I want it from you. I think you’re the good person that I deserve … if you’ll have me.”
One last lag, but this one feels lighter, even though Koutarou’s question has a deeper purpose: "But, do you love me?"
"Hmm …." He hums and decides, "It’s too early to answer that." Still, he tries to touch this topic with genuinity. "But I’ll be glad to find out. I want to find out."
Koutarou makes a sound that is somewhere between choking and exhaling. They both stop talking. Atsumu scans the room with his eyes before making his judgment.
In all honesty, he believes in Koutarou. Atsumu is certain that Koutarou will never let him down. That leaves him with a question: could he do the same for Koutarou? In this bathroom, standing barefoot on the cold, hard floor, he's currently afraid of himself. He’s scared of disappointing Koutarou.
But … with everything in between, that should be a good start, right?
He ought to be reluctant to let down his loved ones.
"Are you still there?" Atsumu breaks the silence, leans against the sink, and bends his legs thirty degrees.
"Yeah I was just …." Koutarou sighs. "I’m still confused, I guess. And surprised."
"Right, I get that. Who wouldn't, after what I said in the restaurant?" Atsumu shakes Koutarou's fear with his brand of humor, attempting to break through the hesitation and crack a smile. "Look, what about an official date? Let me take you to a cafe next weekend. I’ll buy you your favorite drink … and maybe we can hold hands?"
Atsumu doesn’t have to wait for a blink to get an answer.
"I would love that."