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The thing about secretly dating your teammate is that when you inevitably break apart, it’s a secret too. Sakusa hadn’t considered this when they began their secrecy, under a lock and key within Atsumu’s shabby apartment underneath Sakusa’s own, enveloped by their other teammates. Despite being surrounded by these nosy, boisterous idiots, Sakusa truly didn’t think their breakup being a secret was a problem he would have. Mostly because he thought by the time they broke up, their relationship wouldn’t be a secret anymore. But then, the other smaller, more hopeful part of Sakusa thought the pain and longing of seeing Atsumu across the gym and not being able to graze his hip would never exist, because he thought they would make it.
It was Hinata that startled Sakusa out of his stupor, spiking a volleyball into the divot between neck and shoulder. “Omi-san!” he called from the other side of the net, eyes wide and hands praying upon his open mouth. “I’m so sorry!”
If the rest of the team—Atsumu—didn’t notice Sakusa standing with a hand on his shoulder before, they did after Hinata yelled his apologies for the continent to hear. Sakusa looked down to his feet, one further back from impact, and sighed. “It’s alright, Hinata.”
Bokuto blew out a breath. “No death glares? Chibi-chan, you messed up with this one.”
When Sakusa looked up to scold Bokuto, attempting to steer the conversation away from himself and back to normalcy, he made the mistake of finding Atsumu’s eyes first. A mistake that could be argued was a tug of fate, the tethered string fighting for its life to restart the connection between them.
He really did think he and Atsumu would be the end of it all, not something that would inevitably end.
Quickly, Sakusa’s eyes went to the hand Bokuto placed on Hinata’s shoulder, a shoulder which wasn’t afflicted. “Can we continue?” he asked, looking to Meian for help. The man nodded and called for everyone to “get back to it.” And for the life of him, Sakusa tried.
There was no use escaping Atsumu by leaving him in the locker room, back gazing into back, to go back to the apartment Sakusa barely knew. Most of his stuff was in Atsumu’s own apartment, tentatively moved in throughout the two years together, which left the one in Sakusa’s name barren of any trace of the man he was becoming. It was almost worse than if it was full of his and Atsumu’s stuff. At least there would’ve been a haunting, a reaping to sow. Instead, with their relationship, Kiyoomi got washed away and was replaced by the version of himself before Atsumu.
He didn’t know where to sit on the couch or what cup to use. Sure, Sakusa had his weary days alone or comfortable solitude in the apartment before, needing space from Atsumu as anyone would when cohabitating, but that was when he had an Atsumu to go back to. There wasn’t much point in the table by the door to place his keys when there was no promise of happiness in leaving. If the key to Atsumu’s apartment was not on the key ring next to his.
How could he mourn Atsumu when there was no trace of him? When the ghost didn’t care enough to haunt, able to ascend without unfinished business?
Sakusa pressed his palms against his eyes, breathing deep as he leaned his head against his front door. He couldn’t make it past the front door. How pathetic of him, he thought. Certainly, it shouldn’t hurt this much when you lose a single person from joint efforts which slipped through both sets of hands. It just didn’t work out. Life happened. It happens all the time, constantly, never ending, this wasn’t any different. It shouldn’t hurt this much.
It did, though, so as he slid down the front door of the apartment where nothing was lost and nothing was earned, Sakusa let himself cry. He mourned and mourned at the funeral he turned over and over in his mind.
It was simple, really.
Atsumu got a contract in Italy. Kiyoomi was reluctant. What would it mean for their relationship? They barely had time to be real, didn’t even tell their friends and family about them. Atsumu reminded Kiyoomi of why they hadn’t told anyone yet. He told Kiyoomi that he wanted to grow. He felt stifled in the apartment they shared.
If they weren’t going to grow together, then Atsumu wanted to grow by himself. Kiyoomi said he would tell the whole world if it meant Atsumu would stay, but “that wasn’t the point, Omi.”
“Are you saying you want to break up?”
“It’s not not what I’m saying.”
With that, unfortunately, it was simple. They died with the absence of sunlight; a plant shut away in the basement because it was thought to be too beautiful for the world to handle. It wasn’t even a fight from there. They didn’t even break up. They left the conversation to be picked up another day, and eventually the words they had planned to say—the fight that was on the tips of their tongues—withered.
Space between bedsheets grew bigger and the silence at meals became a death sentence. A hand once outstretched to hold onto turned flat and unfeeling, asking for a key.
Simple and somehow so much worse.
Their first kiss thrummed in Kiyoomi’s chest the rest of the night. Sitting on Atsumu’s couch, head on the man’s chest, Kiyoomi worried Atsumu felt this thrumming. If it seeped from his own chest down onto the man he loved and shook the couch and the walls and the entire earth. Atsumu never brought it up, so it must’ve been in his head.
He recalled how they won their match against the Adlers, Atsumu scoring the winning point from Kiyoomi’s set. He recalled the live wire wrapping itself around Atsumu’s eyes as they met Kiyoomi’s. He recalled the bar he let himself be dragged to, unable to untether himself from Atsumu. And he recalled, most of all, a movie in his head, the way Atsumu brought him home and kissed him against the door.
“I don’t get it,” Atsumu said, kissing his top lip. It was sloppy and uncontrolled, at the mercy of whatever God had orchestrated their first meeting at fifteen. Kiyoomi grabbed Atsumu’s jaw, tilting their heads to fit together better. “You’re perfect.”
Kiyoomi felt himself smile against Atsumu’s lips.
“Here’s the last of your stuff, Omi-Omi.”
Sakusa let Atsumu put the box on the floor in the hallway with the rest of them. It was hard figuring out a time to get back his stuff. They ended up waiting until a post-match celebration was afoot, Sakusa deciding not to go and Atsumu discreetly leaving before questions got asked.
In the hour spent between floors, Atsumu brought a box up and Sakusa opened the door a total of nine times. It was a lot of clothes, some he hadn’t seen months before they fell apart, but there were some trinkets, some books. Sakusa saw a magazine that Atsumu bought, but must’ve got confused in the blur of their lives together. All stuff that didn’t really matter anymore. He had to buy new clothes, too afraid to ask Atsumu for his back, and Sakusa wasn’t interested in anything he owned before.
He hoped Atsumu would never bring up the myriad of pieces Kiyoomi left of himself in that apartment, but he must’ve grown sick of all the stuff left behind. Some part of Sakusa hoped that Atsumu was being haunted by his memory. He didn’t voice it, didn’t want to admit such a useless piece of information. Instead, he said, “Thanks.”
Atsumu smiled, a sheepish and sad turn of the lips. The sincerest mockery Sakusa had ever seen.
“I’ll see you later, Omi.”
“You too,” Sakusa said and shut the door.
The team noticed. It was hard not to, Sakusa figured, with all the moping around he did. When he wasn’t at practice, he was in bed, unable to feel much of anything. At least when he and Atsumu where reluctant to lay their relationship to rest, he could pretend it was alive. He could turn around and see Atsumu who, despite all Sakusa’s faults, still slept next to him. He could see Atsumu’s dishes in the sink and wash them. He could laugh, occasionally, even on the worst days, at Atsumu being an idiot. So, when life drained out of Sakusa, they looked to Atsumu and saw the same.
They chopped it up to two friends parting ways, Atsumu’s transfer announced already. Meian tried to comfort Sakusa, telling him that there’s always the internet, and Hinata gave advice on how to maintain a relationship long-distance. He said, “I know it’s not the same as me and Tobio, but friendship is just as important!”
It was all in good faith, but he wanted to kill them anyways.
Sakusa ended up hearing Atsumu being given the same speech by Hinata, braving a look to his ex-boyfriend’s face. Atsumu winced and Sakusa tried to smile back, but it fell flat. When Atsumu looked away, Sakusa looked back to Hinata and saw him watching what transpired between the two of them. The gears shifted; the dots connected. Hinata’s eyes grew wide and his hands praying on his mouth.
“I’m so sorry.”
Sakusa started down the hallway, too sick for the pity, but heard Atsumu say, “Let’s just forget about it.”
The months following fell together into the endless pit that formed in Sakusa’s stomach. There was nothing special that happened. Their season was okay, and eventually, it was over. It was when dawn broke that everything else did.
A knock on Sakusa’s door woke him up.
When he finally dragged himself out of bed, wondering who would be knocking so early in the morning on their day off, and reached the door, Sakusa felt that pit sink deeper. His hand froze on the doorknob and the knocking resounded again, humming. With a deep breath, he opened the door.
Atsumu was on the other side, hand raised to knock again as if it was him that froze this time. Sakusa took him in: bleach blonde hair with strands going in every direction, grey sweatpants and wrinkled blue shirt, out of breath and red. He looked like a picture from their apartment that Kiyoomi took, unable to part from, materializing in the very place it would hurt most. Sakusa closed his eyes, wanting him to be real and wanting him to stay a picture. If he was real, they weren’t together anymore and he would have to face that reality over and over. But if Atsumu stayed a picture, well, then he truly wasn’t coming back.
When Sakusa opened his eyes, Atsumu was real. He noticed the roots growing out and the eyebags under Atsumu’s eyes. There was no smile on his face, and that was the real tell. Every picture Sakusa had of Atsumu had a smile or a lingering edge of happiness. This wasn’t the Atsumu he had given a key to, and he wasn’t the Kiyoomi who had given that key.
With a shuddered breath, Atsumu lowered his hand. He said, “I’m leaving today.”
“I know,” Kiyoomi said.
“I don’t think I can.”
Kiyoomi let himself fall back into that apartment, into that love that cleaved him in two. For Atsumu, he would allow his heart to break over and over until the pieces were too small to be put together again.
“Yes, you can.” Kiyoomi grabbed Atsumu’s jaw with both hands to tilt his head up, forcing their eyes to lock. “I’ve had a lot of time to realize that you were right. We got comfortable in that bubble we made—I got comfortable—and it was so hard to imagine where we would go from there. Where I would go from there. I lived for the moments I got to spend alone with you, and I…I shouldn’t have. Because now I realize that I have”—Kiyoomi’s voice broke and Atsumu held onto his forearms—“that I have nothing else that makes me happy. So, I want you to go to Italy and find what makes you happy, so that I can be here finding what makes me happy. I want you to find the world and hold it in your hands, okay?”
Atsumu let out a sob, burying his head into Kiyoomi’s chest as the latter cradled his head, both holding on for dear life because they knew they had to let go. Barely audible underneath hearts breaking, Atsumu said, “I can do that.”
Five years later, in a different apartment in a different corner of the city, there was a knock on Kiyoomi’s door. When he opened the door to the man on the other side, he smiled and stepped forward, stepped out of the apartment.
Beginning anew, Kiyoomi said, “I know someplace we can talk.”