Chapter Text
Things change.
Things change and it’s usually not for the better or for the worst. Life’s a mess full of joyous and horrible coincidences that one cannot control.
Kiyoomi learnt all that when he first started to go through puberty and realized he had to stack up on deodorant and take two showers a day. He was the only one aware, as every other boy his age ignored the change. They turned up to practice with unwashed shirts and gave no shits about cleaning their hands after constantly touching the unwashed floor and (volley) balls. It was like he was the only one aware that everything stopped being normal, and that he was in hell. Hormonal, sweaty and dirty hell.
Kiyoomi was doomed to have his nose trills perforated by cheap deodorant and perfume forever.
Or so he thought, until he reached his second year in middle school and met another boy who was aware of everything, and didn’t in fact seem like he was in hell. A 14 year old boy with olive hair, who didn’t talk much.
In the great order of things, that whole interaction was insignificant. Insignificant in the sense that Kiyoomi felt the outcome would’ve always been the same. But for the Sakusa Kiyoomi that wasn’t skeptical, his life changed. Ushijima Wakatoshi wiped his hands with a pocket handkerchief holding the damp side in, being careful of not using the same dirty side twice. Sakusa watched in awe and replayed the scene over and over again. It wasn’t anything peculiarly extraordinary, other than the fact that a single interaction made him know he wasn’t delusional, or for a matter of fact alone. He had lived wrapped inside a plastic bubble, aware of everything and sure that people knew he existed, but forever doomed to be alone.
It was alright, until it wasn’t and someone saw inside the plastic bubble. And instead of judging or dismissing him, with the most comfortable and beautiful silence, they understood. He understood.
The rash force behind every spike of Wakatoshi still felt vividly fresh in Kiyoomi’s forearm. His wicked and nasty spin that got him eager to receive another one. Kiyoomi hated the narrative of someone being born to do anything, it annulated every hour of practice and development, interest and talent were a meager amount of what it took. It was like discrediting human work and giving in to a premade destiny, giving in to an ever so powerful omnipotent being fooling around. However, when he replayed the instances of how he met Wakatoshi, he was grateful that perhaps that omnipotent being knew what it was doing. Wakatoshi was born for that sport, for being gracefully strong, for wiping his hands the correct way at the correct time and letting him walk in and watch. Destiny aligned, the stars had it all spelled out, everything happened for a reason. Admitting it out loud was almost embarrassing but maybe… He just got lucky.
Scoring a point in something so systematic as volleyball was like a one of a thousand steps in a consistent routine. Scoring in that match, or any match he ever played against Wakatoshi, felt like a long awaited synchronization. Natural like speaking (without doing it so), except they were exchanging words in an imaginary language only both of them understood. It was more intimate than a secret, no words ever leaving their mouths.
Perhaps it was also luck, ill timed luck, what made him realize that the piercing thing on his chest at every match they played against Shiratorizawa wasn’t simple admiration. It was adoration, and maybe longing, but he was too self conscious to admit it due to how pathetic it sounded.
He admired someone. His Itachiyama captain had always kept going, had done the things in the right order, thrived on consistency. Iizuna was worthy of his admiration, and it was well deserved. Maybe, with reluctance, his 8 month older cousin too. Not many 13 year olds change their entire formation and training to challenge themselves for a risky position on a team where they were already regulars. But he wouldn’t allow him the privilege of being in his brain. Not since the Mario Kart session where he casually implied that the admiration and respect for the older ace seemed like… Pretty intense.
If it was, he wanted to have the right to humiliate himself before anyone else peeked inside his brain. Love was a drug produced by the brain, not the heart. He wanted to leave an essential organ out of the innocent and rude part of realizing there were… Feelings involved.
“Why don’t you two talk at tournaments? It kinda looks like you’d get along.” Komori suggested that one Mario Kart session. Kiyoomi resisted the urge to commit an act of violence, how he wished it were so simple.
Kiyoomi trains, sweats, plays and wins. That’s a routine. He cleans his dormbed, showers and sleeps. Somewhere in between, the presence of Wakatoshi becomes a constant too.
He makes it to junior Interhigh, Wakatoshi moves a year, Komori stays with him. He copes well with the absence, he’s being groomed to become one of the best players for Japanese volleyball and the pressure is real. They both are being scouted left and right, their team makes it to the finals. Komori resists his urge to make a dumb comment once he realized Iizuna’s charm moved him to Itachiyama Academy. And then, after four months of evading any thought of Ushijima Wakatoshi (including interviews and magazines constantly shared throughout the boy’s locker room), Kiyoomi meets him again at the Interhigh nationals.
Kiyoomi bites his tongue for the first time, Ushijima Wakatoshi was always recognizable in any crowd, despite being only a second year everyone acknowledged his presence. Kiyoomi’s palms start sweating when he sees the boy separating from his team and walking towards him. His team Jersey feels tighter, his mouth is dry, his chest is embarrassingly compressed. When Wakatoshi appears in front of him, he’s for once glad about the immense crowd making it difficult to hear his gulps. His mask is the only shield against the unexplained heat rising from his shoulders to his cheeks.
“I saw the preliminary rounds. I’m looking forward.” He bows, says no more and leaves.
Kiyoomi comes to the realization that those words were the exact same reason he’d tolerated his absence, that the greatest comfort was actually the certainty of meeting or even being in the same room again. Wakatoshi’s sudden vanishing didn’t affect him much, because he was already in the path of chasing him… Kiyoomi rationalized it and frankly wished to die on the spot. The implications were never disappearing and neither were the feelings. His cousin said nothing, Kiyoomi wished to vanish from all known surfaces of the earth cause that meant he probably knew everything.
Sakusa Kiyoomi loathed saying that’s how he knew he’d fallen in love, even if much of the sentence was correct. None of the details he remembered suggested it was accidental, he didn’t fall. He chose and almost jumped. It was embarrassing that his precision stretched so much. But he wasn’t an idiot, he did not fall. Or maybe he was an idiot, because he blindly made the decision of jumping… And being painfully in love. It was a thousand times more torturous than simple infatuation.
Things like that happened, things changed.
Kiyoomi tightened his face mask, approached his team afterwards and was perpetually silent for the rest of the day.
~
Atsumu doesn't recall ever being the object of a reciprocated crush.
The first painful example that comes to mind is Hiroko-chan, a pale, slender, dark haired girl that used to ogle him up and down in his final year of elementary school. It was cool at the time, before junior high, perfect time to land a final blow on Osamu.
At the end of the day, Osamu was his baby brother and it was his responsibility to teach him the ways of the world. The problem is: 12 year old Atsumu overestimated the time limit that a 12 year old girl’s feelings can be left hanging before she eventually chooses a different battle. Graduation day comes, Atsumu’s jaw drops when he sees Hiroko-chan placing a handwritten letter on a backpack during lunch. A backpack that didn’t in fact belong to him.
Later, when Osamu notices him cleaning the classroom one last time with slightly more effort, he kind of has an idea of what’s going on.
And so, his junior high school career started with the harshest and lowest of blows. A love rejection.
Therefore, he starts to think that it’s dangerous to rely completely on another person’s emotions. Just like everything else in nature, a human being’s psyche wasn’t stable or consistent. One minute the weather was a clear blue sky with bright sunshine, only to be followed by the fiercest thunderstorm. That example applies to a human being’s heart too.
Since nothing is reliable, 12 year old Atsumu decided to take matters into his own hands and never let himself develop another platonic affection if he wasn’t sure he’d take the first step. Only then, would his own heart be sure of the weather, and he could confidently take out an umbrella, a coat or a fresh linen shirt. The perfect remedy for heartbreak, he announces one night where neither him nor Osamu could catch a sleep.
“I think you’re dying single ‘tsumu.” Osamu curses under his breath, and if his grandmother hadn’t being visiting them that specific weekend, a fight would’ve ensued.
Osamu doesn’t really get how genius his solution to heartbreak is because his rose colored tainted glasses hadn’t been stained with deception yet. Atsumu wasn’t exactly jealous of that, someday he’d grow up and understand.
Meanwhile he practiced for hours and had a conviction for being the best player he could be, Osamu challenged him with a bit more of natural talent to help breach the gap. Osamu was the naturally talented twin, Atsumu was the hard worker. Translating that sentence to middle school slang meant that
1.- Osamu was the cool twin.
2.- Atsumu was the obnoxiously self-centered one that got into petty arguments.
None payed much attention, just because it was very far from the actual actual truth. Their mom oversaw their arguments and talks so often, and she’d always reassure them both of their gifts and talents. It’s an excercise the school’s psychologist made them do after a particularly nasty argument; Atsumu sees his brother as someone he’s got to watch over and accompany, Osamu sees his brother as the one thing he’d never get rid of (no matter how many times his patience got tested or how many average monthly fights they had).
Still, as Atsumu lied awake in the middle of the night, he couldn’t really fucking help but notice that he, the older brother, was doing a shit job at guiding his baby brother through the ups and downs of tween-age.
Osamu wasn’t a tween boy who’d share his curiosity surrounding love affairs, his idea of fun was testing out combos and formations with his brother and being annoyingly good at it. He wasn’t charismatic, or charming, or even attractive. That worried Atsumu because from the very technical, superficial and objective standpoint: they were visually equal. So what did Osamu’s obliviousness towards love meant for him? If Osamu turned out to be a single loser, that’d definetely reflect badly.
Fortunately, teenagehood came around fast enough. Atsumu’s hands were still as calloused but his brain stopped overthinking about being a proper teacher and started focusing on passing the aptitude test for High School. Mainly because he knows average grades will reflect badly and also because Osamu is now the «Brooding and mysterious guy», which in junior high terms meant that he got a confession letter every month or so. 14 year old Atsumu with pro volleyball dreams and a best setter award in sight, doesn’t think much of Osamu’s sudden popularity. As long as he doesn’t slack off in practice and becomes shit…
The thing with being a 14 year old eyeing trophies and a career, is that most 14 year olds have their heads somewhere else… Not in the future but in the dark and musty present. It’s no wonder Atsumu gets mad when he trains to perfect his assisted set and one of his teammates who preferred to stay up playing video games screws up. It’s at moments like that when he remembers the most important value at his home was honesty, so telling someone they suck shouldn’t be the end of the world.
Except it kind of is the end of the world when Atsumu is friendless. All of sudden he feels proud, honesty overcomes kindness, or else he’ll start to suck too. If kids his age were too immature to comprehend his tactics, then they could watch him win. As long as they don’t stand in his way, he’s got nothing to be sorry for.
“Ya’ know everyone kinda hates you?” Samu approaches him one time at lunch time. He should showcase respect instead of sounding genuinely concerned. He wishes to say there’s nothing to worry about cause it goes both ways, feelings are mutual. “I think no one would hate ya’ if ya’ weren’t such a dick.”
tsumu doesn’t really raise his view from his lunch plate. “I know.” But he’s got to compensate with something because his pro career is surely not gonna be built with compliments and laughs from his school peers. “I wouldn’t hate ya’ elther if your serve didn’t suck.”
Osamu leaves, making a mean gesture.
Eventually, nationals hit the team up and they don’t win. Atsumu wins best setter and gets nominated for best serve. His grades aren’t genius, but they’re surely well above average. Osamu gets approached by many coaches who see his potential… And by a random girl from a Tokyo team with a white envelope. By the time the tournament is over they have their high school offers at hand, neither have the time to process a response for Osamu’s confession letter.
Atsumu tries to talk with Osamu about where the other guys their age are going, not because he finds it concerning but because it might give them an idea.
Ushiwaka? who pretty much crushed every skinny junior high blocker, remains nasty and sticks with his alma mater, predictable and consistent (boring). There’s Iizuna, who won best setter, he chooses Itachiyama… Sakusa Kiyoomi and Komori Motoya, who are distinctly apart from the crowd and never found one without the other, decide to follow him there. Atsumu thinks he should keep track of that one, it’s rare to find duos in the volleyball stage with talent, he’d confirmed personally. Wakatsu Kiryu is now in Mujinazaka High, he makes a note of that one too, his team did win nationals every now and then even if he lacked consistency. He was an adversary.
Finally, after going through every option with their parents and their grandma, they both settle for Inarizaki’s offer. It’s a little cheaper, a little closer and their positioning at tournaments and vinculation with universities is perfect. Aran goes there, and he’s cool with his cool nickname and compression sleeves and ridiculously good spikes. That should be a good sign.
So it’s a good choice.
Turns out, being focused on your volleyball career stops being a character default once you enter the upper stages of puberty where everyone is trying to figure out everything and everyone. It also helps being on one of the most notorious high school teams.
Atsumu approaches his 16th birthday with a little less hostility from his team, he still hates players having bad days and having to round up bench warmers. There’s still some general dislike of his methods.
Inarizaki feels like a calm stage, where he can finally take volleyball seriously.
Even as first year brothers debuting as regular fresh faces of the Inarizaki team, people start attending their matches. Girls and boys from their classes start thinking it’s cool, the fact that they’re twins and play volleyball, some upperclass girls even say it’s a dashing charm. Osamu doesn’t mind the attention, he and Suna try to hide the fact that girls cheering bumps up their spirits. They even try to bring out overly flashy moves at unimportant practice matches… for the sake of practice, or so they like to say.
Atsumu’s different is not so little, he feels planets apart from everyone in regards on how to deal with attention.
The cheering squad and band get the memo, Atsumu can’t fucking focus if there’s too much around him, particularly high pitched screaming of any kind. Attention isn’t entirely unbearable and not something he dislikes, the audience is an essential part of volleyball. The thing that bothers Atsumu isn’t attention itself, just how much he cannot control it or how truly not excited it makes him feel. Every story needs proper development, Atsumu needed to go from friendless whiny loser to a respectable setter and elite player, that’s how he envisioned himself so many times. He did it right, trained the right amount of hours and now he had a cheering squad right behind him and girls cheering. He should’ve expected those and want them, Right?
The thing that bothered Atsumu was just that. The fact that he didn’t want the attention as much as he’d expect it to want it, and he couldn’t control how much he did not want it.
The band complies, the cheer squad follows his instructions when he’s serving. Osamu makes sure the request doesn’t sound like an obstinated, bratty and ungrateful 16 year old first year pulling a tantrum. Atsumu guesses it’s just how he is, high school isn’t particularly easy, volleyball is his focus and it should be above anything else. Perhaps it isn’t that he unwants the attention, maybe he’s just at a difficult life stage where there’s not enough space in his brain and heart. His standards are high, and not many high school aged girls are able to meet them just right, eventually someone will come and meet them just right. Patience above anything else, Atsumu needed to wait and focus. He’s already the starting setter despite being a first year.
But it’s three days before he’s chosen for the December national concentration camp where he realizes time is just fucking with him.
Osamu preferred to play smash with Suna, Atsumu finds it annoying but knows that’s how it’s supposed to go, and he allows (watches infuriated) his companion go… Since it’s a bit lonely, he invites Aran to practice some spiking and a snarky little combination he knows will bother everyone at the upcoming spring inter high.
Aran, the best spiker on the team doesn’t come into the practice room alone, besides him stands a second year boy Atsumu’s seen on the second row team who specializes in defense or something like that. Just there to take notes and watch, he says. Atsumu bows, trying to hide something he doesn’t realize he has, and trying to unscramble sentences he cannot form with simple words.
It’s not the first time Atsumu’s seen Kita Shinsuke, yet, as the ball grasps his fingertips and he stays in position to set, he finds himself wishing for the older boy to watch. Kita Shinsuke’s brown eyes are paying close attention to his every move and touch, Atsumu craves it. He craves the slight polite smile, the sounds of pencil and paper and words about him being written, the focus on his movement. His heart started beating a little faster, his sweat felt a little more wet. Atsumu for the first time desired to captivate and entice someone. Not just someone… him.
It’s not the first time Atsumu saw Kita Shinsuke, but something about that evening was unlike anything else he’d ever felt before.
Later when he’s back at the dorm, he retells everything with precision to Osamu thinking something’s wrong, and he wakes up in the middle of the night from his first ever funny dream… Atsumu hears and forever remembers his brother’s nonchalant proverb.
“Tsumu, I think ya’re for real dying a virgin.”
~
Something happens at the training camp, one moment leaves him going back to process and relive it over and over again.
Sakusa is 16, chosen for the national concentration for the first time, and painfully aware that he has a developing crush on his rival. Komori is there too, making sure his younger cousin doesn’t die of disgust once he notices everyone is planning on sharing the onsen.
It’s one thing to play out different instances of unspoken tension and silly moments that assert Ushijima Wakatoshi is a divine perfect presence on earth. It’s another thing to be rooming with an annoying same age cousin who knows a little too much about those conversations. Right next to Wakatoshi’s room. Kiyoomi was just that lucky.
“Why don’t you just go talk to him? He may look scary and all but you look the same at times. Seniority doesn’t quite really exist in sports context, Kiyoomi.” Komori says while he files his nails.
What does he know about anything? “Say that in front of the third years and I’ll be giving the speech at your funeral.” Kiyoomi fires back.
“Stop saying shit, you couldn’t handle being 5 meters away from my dead decomposed body.”
“I have to handle being closer than that to you every single day. I’m sure it’s not that different.” Kiyoomi hisses as he cleans his knee pads and disinfects his water bottle.
“I’m flattered.” Komori looks impressed as he wiggles one eyebrow and gets closer. “Do you really like me that much, Kiyoomi-kun?”
“Your corpse wouldn’t be so noisy, I just think that’s an advantage.”
Both laugh a little under breath. Komori doesn’t really suck as much a Sakusa’s description could indicate. He’s a bit loud, a bit noisy, but somehow he always knows. It must be blood.
“Listen, you don’t need to listen to me or anything, but I really do think it’d be better if you just talked to him.” Komori says one last time before putting his cellphone besides his futon and yawning. “Ushiwaka doesn’t seem so pretentious.”
“I think… ” Kiyoomi thinks about the last statement, conversation wasn’t genius to figure out. But what’d be his first sentence? «I saw the way you fold your handkerchief once and haven’t stopped thinking about you since then.» It sounded like a shit pop song with catchy lyrics that made no sense, just like his actual true feelings. “I’m getting some water, turn off the lights when I get back.”
Komori sighs and clicks his tongue, one more time.
~
10 minutes after pouring some cold water into his water bottle, Kiyoomi returns to their shared room and finds the sliding door stuck. Somehow, he feels it isn’t exactly an accident or destiny’s doing.
He tries knocking, forcing the door open, calling Komori (before he realizes his cellphone is inside the room), and eventually using every muscle in his body to move the damn door. It’s useless, and Kiyoomi wants to die due to how sore he is and how he’s sleeping on hard Tatamis. His life’s hell, he decided abruptly, so he hides his face on his knees.
“Is there anything wrong?”
Incorrect, his life isn’t just hell, it’s the purgatory where someone just keeps landing punches at him. What sin does he need to atone to end his suffering? Just who exactly did he kill in his past life to deserve all of it?
Everything is fucking wrong. “No-, I mean, the door’s just stuck and Komo-, my roommate is asleep. You don’t need to worry, Ushijima-san.”
The older boy lands him a look of genuine concern, probably thinking he looks pathetic scrunched over the wall instead of looking for a repository set of keys or planning Komori’s murder. Both are too bothersome.
“I see.” Ushijima Wakatoshi turns around, Sakusa hopes it’s the end of the painful encounter and that he can sulk in peace after that encounter… but Ushijima instead of ignoring the scene, opens the door to his own room and lingers there. He turns around and speaks again. “You should be worried, tomorrow’s tryouts for the player classification. It’s essential to catch 8 hours of sleep.”
Kiyoomi blinks slowly in place, his brain is somewhere else the moment he understands. But he doesn’t in fact understand until…
“Would you like to wait in my room? It’s bad for posture to sleep while sitting.” There aren’t any distinct emotions in his voice. “I saw it in an article.”
It takes Kiyoomi two full seconds to recalibrate every single emotion on his body and every single emotion he’s ever really felt as to not burst out of his body in that exact moment. And another single second to calm down and not die out of second hand embarrassment and bliss.
“I don’t want to bother your roommate, or you.” It’s the lamest excuse, Kiyoomi thinks. “I’d be fine with a cellphone call to try to wake him up, if that’s alright with you, Ushijima-san.”
“I didn’t get assigned a roommate.” And Kiyoomi wants to plummet to the ground and hide and never be seen again, because that’s a fact anyone with common sense should’ve seen coming. “I don’t see a cellphone necessary so I don’t have one.”
Maybe he had massacred an entire village and made reliquary out of their bodies. It doesn’t make sense.
Wakatoshi looks unimpressed, and that only makes him better in Kiyoomi’s eyes. Despite being bothered by a random kid at night, an important night where he could’ve just walked past by and already be sleeping, he chose to aid him. Without any second thoughts or repulse or even looking weirded out. Wakatoshi may be that prepared, aloof and special. The A/C isn’t faulty like most training camps, yet Kiyoomi feels like the tatami floor is on fire and an unexpected drop of sweat appears on his forehead.
“There’s a double futon.” Wakatoshi steps inside the room, his face turned exactly towards Kiyoomi. He’s making sure it’s comfortable for him. That detail further sends blood towards his cheeks and now he has to make sure he isn’t in fact on fire. Ushijima Wakatoshi isn’t just a beautiful volleyball player, he’s considerate and nice. Why did Kiyoomi have to meet him and know there’s guys like him?
It’s gonna be a lot more awkward to deal with if he denies what Ushijima offers him. He’s somehow ignorant of the stream of feelings he provokes. Wakatoshi is a shining star and the cause of his misery.
“If you seriously don’t mind…” Kiyoomi tries being brave for once, bows once and tries to enter the room at the slowest pace. “Thank you, Ushijima-san.”
The crawl inside the bedroom stops being embarrassing once Kiyoomi commits to playing the part of Wakatoshi’s innocent and lost Kohai. He can’t be stupid and get his hopes up for a single act of kindness. Wakatoshi mumbles something as he enters the room three seconds later.
Air felt heavy on his lungs, Kiyoomi didn’t want to die. He stood inside the room waiting to do anything in approval of the older.
“I saw your team at the Inter-high playoffs.” Wakatoshi says while he neatly folds the blanket he isn’t gonna use for the night. The other futon is close to the first one. A little too close for his own comfort. “I saw the winning point… It was a good match.”
Kiyoomi scored that winning point, and Wakatoshi watched. Ushijima Wakatoshi watched his match, took mental notes and recited them back to him in the quiet comfort of his hotel room. Somehow, the lump on his throat didn’t make any noise or made him choke in that instant. Wakatoshi’s stare decimates him in pieces, even with the lights off.
Words are somehow melting in Kiyoomi’s mouth, so he reckons to the smartest thing he can possibly say. “Your round of sets at practice… They were good too.”
“Thank you.” Wakatoshi, Kiyoomi has now learned, never beats the fucking bush around. Everything he said, he felt. Everything he did, he meant. This wasn’t an act of pity, it was pure and simple kindness. “I’m looking forward to our match, Sakusa.”
Sakusa, his name sounded a thousand times better in his mouth than in anyone else’s, but…
“It’s Kiyoomi.” Sakusa bites his cheek, fuck. He can’t believe he said something so rude out of the blue. His volleyball crush is paying him every attention in the world and all he can do is be rude? “Sorry-, I mean… I’m just more used to my first name. You can call me Kiyoomi, if you’d like.”
“I see.” It’s a good sign Kiyoomi didn’t fuck up his first and so far most memorable encounter with this man. “You can call me Wakatoshi, if you’d like too.”
Kiyoomi shifted uncomfortably in the sheets of the futon. He heard him right, and a smile crept upon his face. He was being ridiculous, but he might as well enjoy the moment.
Ushijima Wakatoshi was a symbol of brute force, power and dominance. Yet for Kiyoomi (he wished to think so), he was willing to be Wakatoshi. Just Wakatoshi, the kind upperclassmen who saved him from such a terrible night. Wakatoshi, the one who payed attention to his every set.
“Well… Good night, sorry for the interruption.” Kiyoomi swallows “Wakatoshi-kun.”
“Yes.” Wakatoshi is around two minutes away from falling asleep, he knows what he’s about to say. He needs to hear it, it’s only logical what comes after but he needs to hear it. “Good night. Kiyoomi.”
There it is. His confirmation that being stuck in a tragedy sometimes changes everything. There was a tingling sensation everywhere in his body and his forehead was hot. What was wrong with him?
Only the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was now, on a first name basis with him.
~
It’s the hottest fucking pre-summer of Atsumu’s life.
It’s only his second season in first division, the gymnasium has enough ventilation, the apartment he’s renting has a decent A/C. He’s not really dwelling Osamu’s loss… At least not as much as he felt it during his first year.
It’s the hottest summer of Atsumu’s life because Bokuto just told him he has a tick. (A fucking tick of all things). His hands sweat when he’s nervous, or so the older spiker tells him in their last practice session of the week. Kinda ironic for a setter, a guy who’s supposed to do magic with his hands. It’s not like Bokuto of all people would suddenly puncture his heart with an ever so crafted insult. As much as he was clueless about his never ending energy, he was sure those words lacked malice. But that sentence, its practical implications and so on… He couldn’t take them lightly.
So then… How did Bokuto notice that pattern of Atsumu’s personality and pointed it out like it was common knowledge? Atsumu asked at the locker rooms while they finished showering. He never gave up on anything once it entered his head. He couldn’t possibly be so transparent and obvious. That was a set up for creating a possible threat pattern for their rivals.
“Is it like… True?”
“True?” Bokuto asks throughout munching a granola bar he had three days in his backpack. It’s very clear his comment was casual, a joke. “What’s supposed to be true Tsum-Tsum?”
That fucking nickname, but it was Bokuto, he had to roll with it. Atsumu placed the right conditions for his spikers, and if it was easier that way then…
“Is it true that you saw me sweating?” The man looks concerned by Atsumu’s poor wording, “Out of my palms?” Bokuto fails to get it and Atsumu is growing concerned, “Out of nerves?”
There’s a perpetual silence in that moment, he knows his question is ridiculous. He knows it sounds like an ego thing, like something childish and absurd. But he needs to know.
“Well, I don’t know... Maybe you should rest a bit if you’ve felt nervous, it happens to the best of us, I think.” Right, perfect answer. “I didn’t take you for the type to be intimidated so easily, Tsum-Tsum.”
Oh fuck that. The last time he was intimidated (as far as he could recall), he’d been watching horror movies non-stop at 5 am without permission at his granny’s house.
“What do you mean?” Assume arches a brow, hoping it transmits his indignation.
“Annual concentration? When coach Suzuki wanted to go over jump serve formations? Your serve looked rough. You wiped your hands like 4 times after. Another 3 after Kageyama did his.” The spiker looked amused, mocking a moment of weakness. “Don’t get me wrong man, I know you don’t get nervous… But it’s normal, you’ve been competing with each other since like, you met.”
Ah, so it was THAT INSTANCE.
“That’s not an exactly nice thing to say to your starting setter, Bo-kun.”Atsumu says, slightly offended.
“Well, not exactly, but imagine if you’d gotten nervous at a combo practice… You’d get me psyched out too. But we all get nervous at times,Tsum-tsum.” Atsumu wants to scream, he isn’t weak and neither is he a beginner. Since when the fuck did nerves mean anything to him?
“You know I’d never screw it up when it matters, Right?” Bokuto needs to get it.
“Yeah, sure. ‘m just saying it was so unlike you that I had to mention it.” Bokuto says “Just think about what got you so psyched out, maybe you can find a pattern there. If it helps, maybe someone can help you professionally with that.”
Atsumu is wondering if he heard that last sentence right.
“Are you saying I need to go to therapy because I screwed up a jump serve?” Atsumu is speechless and Bokuto is calm, serene and stern. Like he didn’t just land a punch on his imaginary testicles called pride.
“My sister has a clinic! She can give you a discount if you tell her I recommended you!” Bokuto winks, finishes tying his shoelaces and gives him a hard slap on the shoulder. It’s the greatest amount of degradation Atsumu’s ever experienced (by his own spiker, of all people).
•
Two weeks later Atsumu is wearing a black cap, dark sunglasses and a dark hoodie. He’s in the waiting room of a renowned sports psychologist, NOT BOKUTO’S SISTER because his darkest secrets can’t stay too close to his teammate. And to be frank, he’s there because weakness and vulnerability during matches are definitely not a Miya Atsumu thing. Neither was therapy, but life gives him unexpected twists.
The male assistant receives him with a polite and uptight smile and guides him through a corridor that smells like eucalyptus and hospital hall. He tries his best to pretend to be fully functional and serious. But he needs to know what’s wrong.
“Miya-san, it’s a pleasure to welcome you here. Do you wish me to explain the procedure in depth?” She sounds professional and has a beautiful taste in clothes. However, the thousand yen fee makes Atsumu smile awkwardly and go straight to the point.
“Thank you very much Fujiwara-san, but I’m just here to talk about a certain issue that I believe is of high concern for my career.” Atsumu drops the bomb and expects her to give him some sign of of approval. She’s a psychologist, he can’t be the only athlete in the whole fucking world with a tic.
“Alright Miya-san, Can you describe this problem and how exactly is it affecting your personal life?” She opens her digital notes. Atsumu notices she has somewhat of a worry in her face.
Atsumu goes on. “Well, one of my teammates complained about a tick that I apparently have. You see, I've always managed my nerves just fine, it's the dumbest way to lose points. But somehow, my hands got extremely sweaty during this one match. The room temperature was just fine, and I felt alright.”
“And why did this event particularly impact you, Miya-san?” He needs her to drop the Miya, it reminds him of the actual situation that is happening instead of feeling like actual counseling.
“Well, I was playing against, well they say he’s my biggest rival, right now but he’s more of a younger friendly acquaintance.” Atsumu doesn’t drift off. “The point is I can’t look weak against this guy because my team would notice, his team would notice, our National coach would notice and he would notice. Looking weak and nervous against Kageyama Tobio is not an option.”
“What would be so negative about this situation being found out? Wouldn’t it be freeing to share it with a lot of people?”
That’s an absolute pass. “I’d rather die than seeing that happening in real life to me.” Atsumu concentrates to remark the last sentence, because it’s the worst case possible scenario.
The psychologist pauses for a second and stops typing. “I understand now Miya-san, and I apologize for the sudden intrusion. You shouldn’t worry too much.”
Atsumu eyes her up and down twice. Did she use some type of witchcraft to diagnose him? Was he that psychologically transparent?
“Miya-san,” her gaze softens and he sees her smile for the first time. “Love, infatuation, whatever you wish to call it is hard, and I know it must be at least a hundred times harder when you’re a high caliber athlete, in love with another high caliber athlete.”
The room goes dead silent after she expresses sympathy towards him. It’s kind of obnoxious how quiet the room is. Oh, and Atsumu wishes to murder Bokuto and hire a hitman for himself.
That didn’t just happen, absolutely didn’t happen.
“I don’t think I understand…”
“Miya-san, there’s nothing to worry about. This is a safe space for you, you can be yourself however you like.”
Atsumu feels his soul was pierced through and demolished, then rebuilt and vandalized. He opens his mouth to deny it and focus on the actual thing bothering him. Nothing comes out.
Fucking shit.
~
Sakusa Kiyoomi is only sixteen and a half years old when he knows his first heartbreak happens.
Kiyoomi up to that point had streamed every match and every point Ushijima Wakatoshi ever scored. Because asides from him being an Adonis, he was also the player Kiyoomi aspired to be and exceed him. Funny feelings aside, Wakatoshi’s dedication to volleyball was inspiring and exciting. It’s not really weird for the whole team to get together and watch the matches for spring selection. But just this time, Kiyoomi skips the viewing because he’s aware of how it goes. How could he doubt Wakatoshi?
Somehow, during interhigh, Sakusa managed to exchange a few words with Wakatoshi. Partially, due to the fact that everyone found him scary. And when they spoke, everything made sense. In those moments Kiyoomi wasn’t a blushing virgin, and Wakatoshi wasn’t the scary rude and rough upperclassman. They both just were, and the vibrant synergy between them made it.
Komori stops bothering him so much partially aware of what’s going on. Kiyoomi ignores him every time the topic comes up. But deep in his tiny high schooler heart, he feels curious. What’d his next conversation with Wakatoshi sound like? It’d be the last between them while both were in High School. There were rumors about overseas teams scouting Wakatoshi, he wonders if then and only then would he start using his cellphone. Other people say he’s going pro after graduating. Somehow, Kiyoomi wants to see how he can continue on with their dynamic even after their paths separate again. Maybe Wakatoshi would go on to even greater lengths, maybe he’d choose school.
Deep in Kiyoomi Sakusa’s heart was one last high school wish, to have one last great high school match against Wakatoshi before he departed. In his tiny and strict heart, he wished that’d be enough for Wakatoshi to remember him just until he caught up. Maybe that way Wakatoshi would remember him and keep his mind occupied with him, and maybe and just maybe would his fondness for the younger player grow. And perhaps college adult Wakatoshi then would be willing to exchange contact information with Kiyoomi. And then and only then would Kiyoomi get the privilege of knowing what Wakatoshi was planning to do before anyone else knew. That’d be his greatest wish, and it was incredibly foolish to wish. He longed for that quiet intimacy, to figure out a way to solve Wakatoshi like the puzzle he was before anyone else and keep every piece of information to himself and shield it from the rest of the world
It’s hopeless, but Kiyoomi has a right to cling and hope, that maybe and just maybe his last match with Wakatoshi would give him an advantage of clearing his mind and know exactly what he was chasing after.
Kiyoomi grumbles against the sheets, and decides his brain had overheated enough.
That very same morning, he finds out Wakatoshi didn't make it to the national stage.
~
Even if Atsumu is kind of aware of his sexuality, conceiving the fact that he was a young adult with very much inappropriate feelings for a rival still made him feel nauseous. Of course he had to fuck up and fall for the dumb, unaware and clueless volleyball prodigy instead of any other man in the entire universe. Fortunately for him, no one else in the world knew.
It's painful to even think about. So atsumu signs up for meditation classes and tries to figure out a decent hobby. All while he deals with the pressure of being a competing athlete, managing his personal brand and get in the best shape for the national selection.
Part of how his crush towards the raven setter manifests is what really makes Atsumu feel like he’s going insane. For instance, Atsumu believes it happened because all of the unnecessary information and details on his mind. He knows that Kageyama developed physically and mentally into a strong and marketable man. He knows Kageyama looks like a cool unpreoccupied and marketable movie star with his new haircut. He knows his habit of clipping his nails before a match, and how therapeutic it seems. Atsumu know he hates the curry he announces because he heard him talk about his dislike of species last olympics. Atsumu knows so much about Kageyama, and so little, and it’s inevitable because they’re forever rivals. But somehow, Atsumu mixed up the rivalry and respect part and turned it into a pathetic little crush.
He wants to stop the useless thoughts, such as if Kageyama Tobio would ever soften up to romance, or if he could make him smile in a genuine and loving manner instead of a cocky grin, or if he had any prospect for his future lover, or if he could be the wise and older athlete that could guide him through everything. But just when Atsumu thinks it’s over, and that the intrusive thoughts are just fantasies that he can control, Hinata Shōyo gets a contract with the Jackals.
It’s not bad, Atsumu’s seen the kid play and develop. He’s the type of player that make Atsumu’s passes look even better. He’s a hard worker and nice. Just that Atsumu dies inside a little when he hears his cellphone beep with Kageyama Tobio’s dumb texts all the damn time.
One day, when he’s working out with all of the team and trying to ignore that he’s now in the same team as his crush’s best friend, Hinata cheerfully opens his mouth.
“Hey guys! Is anyone up for dinner tonight? The Adlers are having a get together and we’re invited!”
While dinner with his crush doesn’t sound entirely bad, dinner with 24 grown immature and unaware men didn’t sound so thrilling.
“Sounds fun, count me in!” Bokuto replies quickly, sounding very much alive after 1 hour and a half of conditioning.
“Count me out, I’m sure one of you is throwing up, and I don’t want to ruin my Wednesday doing that.” Kiyoomi says out loud.
Meian and Inunaki are still panting, but shake their heads in agreement.
And Atsumu doesn’t do anything because well, he’s having problems processing the situation.
Alcohol party with everyone he knows, an obvious chance to talk in private with the boy he’s crushing on. It’s like hanging below the Damocles sword. The choice is his and it’s not at the same time. Hanging out with your crush in front of your annoying teammates is a double ended sword. Anything and everything could happen.
“I need to check my schedule.” One that doesn’t exist because Atsumu hates agendas. He declares and gets out before his sacred decision making ritual Can be affected by his teammates.
~
Atsumu tries to decide by flipping a 100 yen coin. Heads, he goes out, tails and he stays in. A Sakura Blossom cannot grow eyes or lecture him, so he texts Kageyama Tobio once just to make sure everything makes sense.
hello
what’s the occasion and why are the adlers and jackals meeting up?
It’s boring and it lacks emotion. It’s what he needs to not seem like a desperate loser that’s choosing between two of his nicest shirts to impress his crush. Kageyama is just a year younger, but there’s pressure to appear older, cooler and enviable. They’re rivals first and foremost, but Atsumu wishes his dry texting can facilitate the interaction.
Two minutes after, his phone makes a chirpy sound and Atsumu’s heart lights up. He hesitates to read the text.
Hello, Miya-san
I didn’t know we were meeting up
Atsumu smiles fondly as he sees the typing animation, because that boy is just as clueless.
Sorry, I just remembered
Yeah, it was Hinata’s idea
Atsumu types quickly, hoping he doesn’t sound rude
So we’re meeting up then?
The younger man types his answer just as fast
Yeah, apparently
Are you coming, Miya-san?
You should, I wanted to ask you some questions
And it’s like someone nibbed his heart with a pen. It’s a pinch me moment, because he knows it’s a literal sentence and yet his imagination runs wild. Maybe Atsumu’s willing to be Kageyama’s older and cooler senpai that can advise him throughly if that means getting over his stupid crush.
Atsumu got up from his bed and finally went for his second best shirt to not seem suspicious.
~
An hour later after fate gave Atsumu an open chance, he receives a call from his brother.
The situation is the worst in the whole world, their grandma apparently was emergency hospitalized and his priorities shift. While he gets the keys to his car, he gets the urge to text the younger man.
Something came up, see you next time Tobio-Kun
And he drives, without focusing on anything.
~
Kiyoomi recalls that morning like what it was: the abrupt and shitty ending of everything.
His adjustment to adult life had had its own fair share of ups and downs. There were no more people helping around the house, so he had to be particular about details with his guests. No canned soda or hard to clean beverages on the couch, snacks were only for the kitchen, and his guest bathroom had to be disinfected at least once a week. Other than that, his life as a young athlete remained the same. Now instead of his college teammates he has louder, idiotic and chaotic men by his side. Part of growing up or something.
And all of sudden, while he finishes up his usual carrot and cucumber snack, he receives news that make him violently sick.
Wakatoshi, his Wakatoshi is on screen, on the news. It’s an scandal, not another prize or title. Wakatoshi is on the news because he’s the protagonist of an scandal.
*V-league/National selection athletes Ushijima Wakatoshi and Kageyama Tobio spotted on a secret date.*
Then, an image of the two holding hands as they walk appears on screen. Kageyama looks at something on his cellphone while Wakatoshi walks by his side, hand in hand, with sunglasses and for the whole world to see. Outside of a coffee shop, walking towards Wakatoshi’s apartment and being careless. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the message.
It’s exactly 10:28 am when Kiyoomi figures out his life is practically over. His heart sinks to his knees and everything looks blurry.
Everything apparently, went to shit.
~
Atsumu is a simple man, when he’s bored he scrolls through Twitter. His boredom on that particular day, leads him to the most soul crushing and aggravating realization of all times.
Cause maybe, just like Samu predicted, he was dying a fucking virgin, a doomed single loser.
His all time crush was out and about, spotted on a casual date with another man, careless and apparently happy. Looking even slightly fashionable while he shocked the whole country.
Kageyama Tobio was dating a tall, cool and obsessive volleyball player. He wasn’t dating Atsumu.
His heart wasn’t torn, it was decimated. Atsumu was a coward, an idiot and every word in between. And before he screams on the threadmill and dies of a stroke, he strolls to the only place he can think of.
~
It’s a cheap, simple and boring izakaya. Atsumu’s aware he can’t even drink that much, yet he feels a place with sad drunks is the only one he’ll fit in.
The TV is airing out the news, their management apparently confirmed everything and it’s a mess. Two of the most prominent v-league male athletes in a public relationship, it’s certainly an uproar. Atsumu hears someone think it’s a joke, a planned experiment or something. He wishes there was a way for the whole world to go on mute.
He asks for a table, and he sits down trying to think of what to do after his doom.
Someone clicks their glass against the table too hard, and when Atsumu goes to shut them up and ask for silence while he grieves, he meets curly black hair and dark eyes.
“Omi-kun? The fuck are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing.” The man replies with a dry unusual voice. “It seems they’re the new protagonists of the sport.”
Atsumu refuses to look at the TV. He doesn’t need anymore details.
“It’s a publicity stunt.” Atsumu says bitterly reaching for the cheapest bottle of sake. He means it, comforting no one but himself at the unknown izakaya. He resents no one, just himself, maybe.
“It’s not PR, It’s shit,” He turns his head. Neat, reserved and cool Kiyoomi is cleaning the edge of his glass, three fingers full of whiskey. A pair of charcoal eyes leave the illuminated smartphone screen, he gazes at the setter. “That’s what it is.”
“How come?” Maybe Kiyoomi is right about that, and he has a right to be mad. All of sudden they’re the secondary characters in the magnificent soap opera of Ushijima and Kageyama.
“Remember the night of the get together? Those two have been inseparable ever since.” Kiyoomi sighs, “It’s all over their Instagram.”
Two unbelievable statements “You use Instagram?”
It’s silent afterwards.
Atsumu comes to the realization he was one night out, one conversation, one single sentence away from confessing his repressed feelings for Kageyama Tobio and swallowing his pride. He’s a fool. One confession away from stopping his single loser curse and succeeding at love.
Kiyoomi wishes to tell Miya that in the unlucky love Olympics, He would come in second. Kiyoomi knows he’s the undisputed champion; because after pining like a schoolgirl ever since he was 13, he now gets the honor to watch Ushijima Wakatoshi out of the closet, triumphant about dating another man. A blue eyed raven setter he started courting less than 7 months ago.
Neither need or want to say anything to understand it all.
“And that’s it?”
The black haired boy looks at him.
“What?”
“I mean, that’s it? They get to be the grand protagonists of the league and we become their co-stars… and that’s all to it? We’re supposed to be the supporting cast or something?”
“Stop with the petty jealousy,” the boy says, annoyed “it’s not like we can do much.”
“I know it bothers you too, omi-Kun.” Atsumu replies, “You wouldn’t be here otherwise. You’re not precisely mysterious.”
“Shut the fuck up, Miya.” He’s firm and resentful “What’d you know about this? You’re just bitterly jealous that someone else is on the spotlight. You literally know shit.”
Atsumu’s not half as insulted as he is shocked to see a positively drunk Sakusa Kiyoomi. “Oh? And how are you so morally different from me? You’re in this shitty place, drinking and babbling, just like me.”
“We’re not the fucking same, Miya.” Sakusa seems to take a breath of fresh air before he plummets on the table again. It’s a loud face crash. “I… well- Oh fuck it, it doesn’t even matter anymore… I love him, and I’m sure it’s been that way… for, a very, long, long time.”
“You love Kageyama?!” And just before Atsumu screams-
“No! For fuck’s sake Miya!” At least it didn’t go the worst it could’ve gone. Sakusa lowers his tone “Wakatoshi, I’m a pathetic fool who’s in love with him, so I assure you, we are DEFINITELY not the same.”
And once the realization comes crashing down, it’s game over for Atsumu. They’re both fucked, and miserable, and fucked in the worst way possible. Sakusa looks fazed and messy, Atsumu grins because he’s just made the funniest joke of the evening.
“You’re funny,” Atsumu chuckles through his glass. “I’m dying single, Omi-kun. We’re the same, actually the same.”
Kiyoomi blinks, rapidly and harsh. Maybe his ears have betrayed him and the alcohol has destroyed his nervous system.
“Didn’t quite catch that.”
“Omi-kun, you’re not the tragic drama protagonist you think you are. We’re the same brand of secondary boring character. Exactly the same.” He continues, “I just didn’t get enough time to figure out if I loved him, just this.”
“Miya, it’s not funny.”
“What?! You think I’m feeling pity for your little adolescent crushes? It’s true. I have the worst luck at love, and just when I thought it could’ve possibly end good-”
“I said it’s not funny.”
“Kiyoomi-kun, the night of the get together, I was gonna invite Tobio for some drinks and talk about my little stupid pathetic crush on him for once and for all. My grandma got sick, and fate decided I’m dying a virgin. It’s not funny, it’s like, sad.”
And he just confessed all of his emotional vulnerability to drunk Sakusa Kiyoomi of all people. The official worst night of his life.
“Well, you do have a peculiarly shit taste in men.”
“You’re just saying that because Tobio is dating him.”
And Kiyoomi laughs, as in a tragedy comical laugh. Sometimes that’s all there was left, and somehow being left behind by fate and luck seemed normal.
“When you said you loved Ushiwaka… Were you for real?” Atsumu tries to look up, and there’s wasted Kiyoomi and find his rationality.
“Yes- Why would I lie about that?!”
“That’s it then.” Atsumu wipes a string of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. And even if Kiyoomi looks disgusted… “It’s decided. I’m not letting fate or luck, or god decide what’s in it for me. I’m doing what I need to do… and you… You’re helping.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”Kiyoomi raises his eyes, sunken to the bottom of his skull.
“Fate’s been a disgusting little nasty bitch to me. I’m not letting whatever needs to happen, happen. I’m making it happen.”
“And you’re battling God because you’re a coward in love with a 19 year old boy?”
“I’m battling God because I’m tired of him messing with me!” Atsumu is cheerful and maybe insane, “Kiyoomi-kun, it’s an act of charity. Those two dating, their sponsors could drop them at any minute, they’re gonna face massive scrutiny, if they move out they could get kicked out of the team. The pressure will add up and their careers will suffer too… If you say you love the man, do this for him.”
Kiyoomi looks at him like he just said something terrifying and wrong. But deep down, he can’t deny he’s right.
“What am I supposed to even do?”
“Take him away from Tobio, and I’ll take Tobio away from him. It’s a win-win for both of us and for them. It’s an act of love and your chance to do something.” Miya’s a motivational speaker instead of an adult, “Omi-kun, What wouldn’t you do for the love of your life?”
“How do you plan on doing that?” Kiyoomi feels like hallucinating, his cheeks are flushing red and his brain is two steps away from having a stroke.
Atsumu grabs Kiyoomi’s hand from the table, clutches it and takes an impromptu photo of their intertwined hands. Kiyoomi’s shock continues when he realizes who he’s texting that picture to.
Kageyama Tobio, it says on the smartphone screen.
Congrats, Tobio-kun.
Are you and Wakatoshi free any time this week?
*(´｡• ◡ •｡`)*
Kiyoomi and I want to ask you some questions
Sakusa has one last single moment before he realizes he’s indeed about to challenge God, with the only weapon in his possession being a shitty improv plan thought by Miya Atsumu.
“Like this.” And he sends the photo, the echo of the message ringing loudly in their ears.