Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Ya can't be a setter until ya get yer hands sorted," Atsumu's first volleyball coach had said. He had started to believe the man hated him; even in fourth grade, Atsumu was observant. However, he wasn't wrong, and when Atsumu glanced down at his hands, his eyes immediately jumped to the blood leaking out of a destroyed hangnail.

He gritted his teeth. The guy had promised him he'd be a setter once he was better than Osamu! He was better now!

"Whatever," Atsumu pouted, crossing his arms. "I don't see how my hands have anythin' ta do wit' my settin' skills."

His coach grinned. "I know yer serious 'bout this, kid. Yer gonna be glad if yer hands’re in good condition later on. Promise ya. Now, go on. Practice is over. Head on home; Osamu-kun's waitin' fer ya."

Wordlessly and with a glare to the man, Atsumu slowly trudged his way to the door of the gym where his brother and Aran were waiting for him. Osamu reached out for his arm, but he shoved past and stomped down the dirt path leading away from the gym.

It was cold outside, and he shivered. Atsumu could hear the two chasing after him, so he sped up. Before they were even 20 meters from the gym, Aran had caught up and was keeping him in place by wrapping his arms underneath Atsumu's armpits.

"Let me go!" he whined as he kicked his feet and swiped his hand backwards in hopes of hitting Aran's face.

"Nope," Aran sighed, "not until ya put a coat on."

Atsumu stopped struggling and went boneless in his friend's arms. "Ya act just like Ma."

"Somebody has ta keep ya in check while she's not around." He tugged at Atsumu's arms so that he could pull them through the sleeves of the jacket.

While Aran zipped up the front of Atsumu's jacket (because he refused to), he glanced behind him to see Osamu idly waiting for them. He glared at his brother's hands. Why weren't they covered in calluses and blisters and dried blood? They spent their days doing the same things!

"What are ya glarin' at me fer?" Osamu wondered in astonishment.

"Coach said I can't be setter until I fix ma hands!" Atsumu blurted. "But I don't understand what's wrong with 'em!"

His brother shrugged, and his stomach growled. Osamu frowned. "I'm hungry. Let's go home." He ran off down the path.

Atsumu couldn't argue with him because he was starving just as much as Osamu, and he was pretty sure he heard Aran's stomach rumbling earlier, too. He trailed after his brother as soon as Aran scooted out of his way. Their friend kept pace with him as they chased after Osamu even though they all knew Aran could easily speed ahead of them both and be at his house minutes before he would if he stuck with the twins.

Eventually, they reached the crossroad where they split up, and they said "bye bye" and "see ya tomorrow" and "hurry up, I'm hungry." The twins raced the rest of the way home, shouting insults and mean names at each other until they both were loudly kicking off their shoes in the genkan and calling out to Ma that they were home. Osamu won the race, which meant he could bathe first.

They ate quickly, and afterwards Osamu got into the bath while Atsumu still had just enough energy left to bounce around Ma, begging her to finish up eating.

She said, "Help me wash the dishes, n' I'll think 'bout eatin' quicker, ya lil' devil."

Atsumu easily agreed and immediately ran to the closet they kept the step stool in. He'd need it to be able to reach the sink. He propped it up and sat down on top of it to (im)patiently wait for Ma to finish her food.

As promised, she came into the kitchen a mere minute later with her and the twins' dishes balancing precariously in her arms. He rushed to help her bring them to the sink.

"Now, what do ya need?" she asked, flicking the faucet on.

"Ma…" Atsumu began carefully. "Coach says I need ta 'fix' my hands or whateva, but I don't really get what he means. He won't let me set if I don't…"

Her eyebrows pulled together, and she shut off the water, drying her hands on the towel sitting on the counter. She knelt beside him and pulled him closer. His hands were held carefully in hers.

The dried blood had washed away when he had washed his hands before eating, but everything else was still there and blatantly ruining his fourth-grade life. Her pointer finger ran over a scratch on the back of his hand. It was red, and he felt a faint burning sensation coming from it. He winced.

She frowned. "Well, I can see his concern, sweetie. Yer hands are a disaster." Tears welled up in his eyes, and Ma fought to keep them from spilling out. "But! Do not fret, Ma's got an idea. Stay put." She grinned, and gently set his hands back into his own lap, pushing him to sit down on the stool. Rushing to the bathroom door, she unceremoniously pushed it open, not a care in the world for her other son's privacy. Osamu screamed, and she made no attempt to apologize, leaving just as quickly as she came.

"I have just the thing!" Ma exclaimed as she kneeled in front of him. The first-aid kit was in her hands. "Let's clean up those scrapes and blisters first though."

He whined. Atsumu was well-acquainted with the anti-bacterial spray that would be used on his open cuts, but he still couldn't stand the burn of it.

Before he could scramble away from Ma, she had both of his wrists held in one hand and her leg over both of his feet, holding them down so he couldn't escape.

"None of that," she deadpanned, bringing the spray close to his knuckles. Quickly, he shut his mouth and gritted his teeth, ready to bear the stinging pain that the disinfectant spray would no doubt cause. “You are such a baby…”

She sprayed his knuckles, and he sucked in a big breath through his teeth, letting out a high-pitched noise. Ma placed band-aids with Sanrio characters across the scratches that she sprayed, carefully pressing them into place. His favorite characters were, of course, Kiki and Lala, the twin stars. Osamu always said Gudetama was his favorite, but Atsumu always hoped that it was actually the twins, too, and he was lying so Atsumu wouldn’t make a big deal out of their favorite characters being the same.

He was fixed up quickly as being patched up was a regular thing in the Miya household. Ma had gotten quite good at bandaging unruly, fidgety kids.

After Atsumu was done being bandaged, Ma took out the nail clippers and a nail file. She was careful with his hands, far gentler than Atsumu had ever been with them. They were always covered in dirt or blisters or scratches or whatever concoction he had made to throw at his brother. He watched her work. It seemed stupid to trim and file down his nails when they were already bitten down enough that they stung.

He said as much to Ma.

She answered, “Well, hun, I’m gonna put some magic sauce on ‘em later, and they’re gonna look so freakin’ cute. This’ll just make ‘em look even better n’ hurt less. See? I’m gettin’ rid of yer hangnails.” She snipped one of them. “I still ain’t understandin’ why ya bite yer nails. Disgustin’.”

Atsumu pouted. “I dunno… I think it helps me think.”

She laughed at her son. “Oh, really? Then why ain’t ya got anythin’ in that brain o’ yers?”

“Huh?” He blinked at her with eyes full of confusion.

“Ma’s callin’ ya stupid, idiot,” Osamu explained. His hair was dripping wet, and as he approached, he left a trail of water droplets behind him.

“That’s mean!” he exclaimed, glaring up at Ma. “Yer mean!”

“I’m yer ma, Atsumu. I can be as mean as I like ta ya.” She cupped his face with her hands. “But, ya know I don’t mean it, right?”

“Yeah…”

She smiled softly at him and turned to Osamu. “Why don’t I doll up yer nails, too? I’m done with clippin’ Atsumu’s anyway, so let’s move to the livin’ room.”

“What are ya doin’ to ma hands?” Osamu asked. He didn’t receive an answer though and was instead instructed to wipe up the water that had dripped on the floor and to dry his hair better.

Atsumu waited on the couch for Ma and his brother. He rocked back and forth while sitting on his hands to keep himself busy without picking at the Band-Aids on them. They felt so weird and not in pain now. All of the open cuts had been cleaned and covered, and no hangnails or jagged nails were catching on the plush fabric of the couch. Ma returned first, a cream-colored bag in her hands. He had seen it sitting on the vanity in her room before, but he had never really known what was in it. Osamu returned just after her and took a seat beside Atsumu.

Ma remained standing, and she set down the bag on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“What’s that?” Osamu asked, ever curious.

Turning to them, she grinned. “Nail polish!” She held out her hands in front of them, showing off the bright blue paint on her nails. “It’s what I use ta color ma nails, and it’ll help ya not to chew on yer nails.”

“Ooh…” Atsumu murmured in wonder. “It‘s pretty!”

The grin persisted on Ma's face, so she ignored the look of disgust on Osamu’s face.

“I dunno, ‘Tsumu… It’s girly… and won’ it be sticky?” he said.

“C’mon, ‘Samu! It’ll be fun!”

Ma’s eyes softened. “Ya don’t hafta, Osamu. It’s jus’ fer fun.” She took his hand in hers and massaged the sides of it.

“Do ya got a not-so-bright color?”

“Mhm!” Atsumu exclaimed. He had leaned forward to pluck the bag off the table and was now digging through it. Bottles of polish fell out each time his hand moved. “There’s uh… white, pink-”

“Pink’s bright.”

“Uhh… there’s this… not color?” He held up one of the bottles. “There’s nothin’ in it, Ma.”

“That’s just a clear polish,” she explained. “We could do that, Osamu.”

Osamu hesitantly agreed, and Atsumu dug through the bag a little more before deciding on a color.

“Ya wan’ hot pink?” Osamu said, the judgment in his statement was blatant.

“Yeah! I think it’ll look cool!” Atsumu exclaimed, oblivious.

“Uh-huh.”

“Stop it, Osamu. Let ‘im have this,” Ma chastised. She picked up the bottles they had picked out and set them on the coffee table. “I’m gonna lay out some paper towels fer ya ta set yer hands on. I don’t wanna see yer hands leave ‘em. If I do… n’ ya get polish on anythin’ , yer done fer.”

“Yes, Ma,” they chimed, obediently laying their hands on the paper towels.

And thus began Atsumu’s fascination with nail polish. (Ma knew to start ‘em early.)

Chapter Text

Junior high sucked. It was there that he realized that it wasn’t exactly socially acceptable for a boy to wear nail polish. Sure, when he was younger, it was fine. He was a little kid, and he’d grow out of it just as he had grown out of his old clothes!

At twelve years old, Atsumu found himself a month into the school year, cleaning bathrooms after school ended even though they had been cleaned earlier in the day. It was the punishment he had been given for wearing nail polish to school. Supposedly, it went against the dress code, but how come the girls were allowed to wear it then?

He scrubbed already clean sinks bawling his eyes out. It wasn’t about the cleaning, though; there was more to his punishment than that.

He had been suspended from the volleyball club until he “shaped up.” For two weeks, the volleyball club practiced, and Atsumu scrubbed bathroom floors. He didn’t leave until Osamu and Aran came and found him each day. They would pick him up off the tiled floor and drag him home.

These were the most miserable days of his life.

Each day, he trudged home with his eyes pointed to the ground. He went through the front door and barely muttered a greeting before shutting himself into his and Osamu’s bedroom while Ma and his twin made dinner together. Atsumu pretended that he couldn’t hear them quietly whispering about him while he sat on the floor in front of their bedroom door.

His nails grew out and the nail polish he had applied three weeks ago had chipped, but he did nothing about it. A week and a half into his punishment, he shut himself into the bathroom after school instead of his room.

Osamu had knocked on the door after 15 minutes, wondering if he was okay. Ma did the same 5 minutes later.

Atsumu had left the bathroom that day with puffy, red eyes, an upturned head, and colorless nails. Dinner was quiet, but the twins sat down with Ma afterward to watch Princess Mononoke. Halfway through, Ma picked up Atsumu's hand and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything,” she whispered beside his ear.

He dropped his head onto her shoulder and fell asleep there that night. Aran later told him that Osamu had almost gotten into an altercation with their principal, and the only thing that had stopped him had been Aran’s arms holding him back.

The punishment had ended at the end of that week with a quick meeting with the vice-principal after school—when he would’ve been cleaning bathrooms. Atsumu had been congratulated for realizing that nail polish was childish and something that only girls could wear now.

The following week, he was back in the gym practicing volleyball with Osamu and Aran, but his hands were destroyed once again. At the end of each day’s practice, blood seeped through the wrapping around his fingers. He had to replace the bandages at least three times a day.

Ma watched him struggle. After the twins came home, she would meet them at the door instead of continuing to work in her office. She would gently guide him to the couch where the first-aid kit was already sitting and rewrap his left hand while Osamu wrapped his right. After the first day of this, he cried.

Wasn’t he a nuisance for being the way he was? The principal, his teachers, and even some students had told him that it was weird for him to wear nail polish as a boy, but now that he wasn’t, wasn’t it just as weird that he was so bent out of shape over it? How could he have people who cared so much about him that they were willing to fix the hands that he had ruined? Maybe they were just as weird as him. They were related to him, so he must’ve gotten it from somewhere.

The solution was as simple as it was when the twins were in 4th grade. 

“We’re gonna try somethin’ a little different today,” Ma announced when they got home on Friday.

The twins both paused in the genkan as the door clattered shut behind Osamu. She quirked an eyebrow up and walked over to the couch, surely expecting her sons to follow.

A second later, with their shoes off and house slippers on, they were sitting on either side of her. A bottle of clear polish sat innocently on the coffee table.

Atsumu’s eyes widened when he saw it.

“Oh…” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

“Kinda crazy we didn’t think of this earlier…”

“We are Miyas… and Miyas never were particularly smart,” Ma pointed out.

He wore clear nail polish through the rest of junior high.

He stepped into his new gym on the first day of high school and took a deep breath. It smelled like volleyball. Aran was already in the gym, setting up the net with others in his year, and as soon as he spotted Atsumu, he stopped what he was doing and ran over.

“Hey ‘Tsumu!” he called. “Where’s ‘Samu?”

“On his way…” Atsumu replied breezily, picking at his nails. He could feel the nail polish on them.

Aran grinned. “How was yer first day? Like it?”

Atsumu blinked and stopped trying to peer around his friend. He turned his eyes up to Aran. “Yeah, it’s great ‘ere.”

“Ya look happy.”

“I am,” he admitted easily. “I don’ think there’s any place I’d be ‘appier.”

His first day at Inarizaki High was better than his last day at Yako Junior High.

“Good, ‘cuz you’re not leavin’ anytime soon! Let’s go play some volleyball.”

The twins had known where they were going for high school before their third year of junior high had even started. They, alongside Aran, had shot up the junior high rankings. Anyone who had eyes or ears in the junior volleyball scene knew about them.

Aran had been invited to Inarizaki by a scout who had been keeping tabs on them throughout junior high. Atsumu and Osamu already knew that they would follow Aran wherever he went, so they had their eyes set on Inarizaki, too. A week later, they received invites to the school from the same scout. They accepted without a second thought.

Two weeks had passed since their first volleyball practice, and he and Osamu were beginning to make friends. It was nice. In junior high, Atsumu’s classmates had never exactly liked him. They hadn't ever said anything mean to him before, but he could tell. He was a setter; he was constantly trying to figure people out. They had respected him, at least, but now, he felt like he was making real friends.

Suna Rintarou was somebody Atsumu didn’t realize he needed.

They hadn’t liked each other much at first; the middle blocker had gotten closer to Osamu by making fun of Atsumu. The two constantly antagonized and teased him, which only made him do more things that would upset and annoy Suna. Still, the boy stuck around and quickly situated himself next to Osamu at lunch.

At first, Atsumu wondered if Suna had any other friends, and then he realized, no, he didn’t. Suna had been scouted, just as Aran, Atsumu, and Osamu had been, but he had come from several prefectures away. Atsumu recognized a few faces from junior high, even if they weren’t people he had ever spoken to before; Suna had no one.

He began to understand him a little bit more after that, but they were never anything more than mutual annoyances.

Atsumu painted his nails over the weekend for the first time since coming to Inarizaki. It felt monumental to him, and when Aran noticed it during morning practice early in the day, he shot Atsumu a wide smile and slapped him on the back. No one else had said anything to him about them, and he was confident that he wouldn’t be punished or made fun of.

That was what he thought until lunchtime.

As he had for the past two weeks, Atsumu barged his way into Osamu’s classroom to eat lunch with his twin. His brother’s classmates were no longer phased by the sudden intrusion and had already witnessed one Miya fight.

Suna had already scooted his desk over to Osamu’s, but he wasn’t in the room. Atsumu’s lip curled up, but he couldn’t be mad, Suna had also moved a desk over for Atsumu. It was the nicest thing he had ever done for Atsumu.

“Hey, scrub,” Atsumu greeted, plopping into the desk facing Osamu.

“Whaddya want?” Osamu sighed. A piece of rice fell out of his mouth as he spoke and dropped back into his bento box.

“Fer ya not to be fuckin’ disgustin’. What’s wrong with ya?”

He was glared at. “I made yer lunch, I can take it away.”

“Jeez! Fine.” Atsumu shut up. He was not willing to sacrifice his lunch to make fun of his brother.

Suna returned and slid into his seat. He dumped a canned coffee onto his desk along with a packaged anpan. The package of bread was opened silently, and he frowned down at it. Without taking a bite of it, he moved on to crack the canned coffee open. He took a drink from it and only stopped when he realized that the twins were both looking at him.

“Is that all yer eatin’?” Osamu asked, mouth finally not full of food.

“That ain’t much food…” Atsumu added.

“My sister took my pocket money…”

Osamu barked out a laugh, and Atsumu choked on a piece of egg.

“Deadass?” Osamu snorted.

“Stop making fun of me! She’s a little kleptomaniac, I swear.”

They returned to their own meals after that. Atsumu would have given part of his bento to Suna because he did feel bad for him, but Suna wasn’t nice to him, and he wanted to be petty. Sue him. He knew Osamu would never give up his lunch to anyone else. It was pitiful to watch Suna nibble at his bread, though.

Lunch was a quiet affair, which was unusual for the three of them—the twins were prone to being loud and Suna fueled their flames—but Atsumu, oddly, didn’t mind it. He was pleasantly surprised that he could be comfortably quiet around Suna.

What was not pleasant was the way Suna followed Atsumu’s hands with his eyes as he picked up food with his chopsticks and brought the pieces to his mouth.

His eyebrow twitched.

He sighed and set down his chopsticks. “Is there a problem, Suna?” Atsumu deadpanned, staring him straight in the eyes.

Osamu glanced between the two of them with creases in between his eyebrows. Suna blinked at him.

“What?”

“Ya keep on starin’ at me while I’m eatin’!”

“Oh… sorry. I was spacing out.”

His twin side-eyed Suna. “Ya sure that's all it was?”

“I’m not understanding what you’re getting at.”

Atsumu glanced down at his hands. His eyes caught on the light blue nail polish. He slowly looked back up at Suna and found that the boy’s eyes had already focused back on his hands.

“I’m gettin’ at the fact that ya’ve been starin’ at my brother’s nails since ya sat down. If ya got a problem with ‘em, get out.”

Osamu’s voice was rough with anger, and his chopsticks were clenched in a fist. Atsumu swiveled his head to look at his brother, almost surprised that he was willing to risk this relationship to defend him.

Suna’s eyes bounced from the blue nails to Atsumu to Osamu. His face was pulled into an expression Atsumu didn’t think the boy could make. He was shocked.

“I was actually admiring them…” Suna mumbled quietly. It was the twins’ turn to be shocked. “I’m sorry if you thought that I was bothered by them. Seriously.”

Atsumu smiled softly. “An’ I’m sorry fer jumpin’ to conclusions.” He stared pointedly at Osamu.

He looked ashamed. His grip on his chopsticks had loosened to the point that they were almost falling out of his hand, and he gazed solemnly at his almost empty bento box.

“Me too. ‘M sorry,” Osamu murmured.

Suna looked at him with his head tilted. “It’s fine. I’m sure I would’ve been pretty pissed off if that happened to my sibling.” He paused. “Do you have black nail polish?” he finished softly.

A bright grin overtook Atsumu’s face. “Not with me, but I can bring some tomorrow!” he exclaimed. “If, of course, ya were implyin’ ya want me to paint yer nails.”

“I was implying.”

The bell signifying the end of lunch rang, and the spell over the three of them broke.

“Oh, c’mon! I didn’t even get to finish my lunch!” Osamu cried, smacking his desk.

“Deal with it, loser. I’m headin’ back to class now. Bye!” With a wave and his finished bento in hand, he ran out of their classroom and next door to his own.

Once all of the students had returned, class resumed, but Atsumu’s mind wandered.

Did… this mean that he and Suna were friends now? Although, Atsumu supposed asking someone to paint their nails didn’t necessarily imply that they were friends. He doubted Suna would ever admit to being his friend anyway, so it was up to him to define their relationship.

They were friends. He decided.

Ginjima Hitoshi was somebody Atsumu didn’t realize he wanted.

They were in the same class, but they didn’t speak to each other outside of volleyball practice much, if at all.

Atsumu had made it a point to try to interact with his classmates as little as possible. His classmates in junior high had never liked him, and he assumed that his classmates at Inarizaki would think of him similarly. He hadn’t changed much, after all. Even if one of his classmates was on the volleyball team, he didn’t believe that his teammates would like him much outside of volleyball. Some didn't even like him in volleyball. He thought of the 3rd year whose position he had taken.

High school was better than junior high, but he knew it would take a miracle for people to like him for more than just his volleyball skills. He was loud, obnoxious, and a dickhead. He knew it, and everyone else knew it, too.

Three weeks into the school year, Ginjima offered to stay after to practice extra with Atsumu. Osamu had refused after three days of agreeing to extra practice, Aran had refused, citing a family dinner, and Suna never agreed.

“Fer real?” Atsumu wondered. He tried not to get too hopeful, Ginjima could get bored five minutes into it and leave.

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I’ve been meanin’ to put in some extra practice anyway, but I didn’t wanna invade yer space.”

Atsumu was a little shocked. He would have loved to have another person to practice with! “Never worry ‘bout that again! Ya’ll hear if you’re invadin’ my space.”

Osamu snorted, “Yeah, ya’ll certainly hear ‘im.”

“Ugh, go home already, ‘Samu. No one wants ya here. C’mon, Gin, let’s start with servin’!”

Ginjima dutifully followed after Atsumu.

“Yer gonna regret this, Gin! Yer never gonna be able to get outta extra practice after this!” Osamu called to Ginjima as the boy ran after Atsumu.

“Don’t listen to ‘im, Gin. We’re gonna have a blast!” Atsumu told him, stopping in front of the volleyball cart. “Wanna receive some serves?”

An hour later, Gin collapsed to the floor dramatically, sweat dripping off of his body and onto the hardwood.

Atsumu meandered over and squatted beside his form. He poked his shoulder once, twice. Gin groaned.

“Ya doin’ okay?” Atsumu asked.

“Fine,” he grunted, still laying with his face smushed into the floor.

“Hm… It’s gettin’ kinda late now… It’s prolly best we stop.”

“Thank the lord…” Gin sighed, pushing himself up with his hands.

Atsumu stood and offered a hand to Ginjima. They picked up the balls scattered across the floor slowly and dropped them into the basket. Gin rolled it into the equipment closet and Atsumu started to take down the net. After another fifteen minutes, everything had been picked up and put away, and they headed to the clubroom to change.

At the front of the school, they went their separate ways.

“That was fun, Gin,” Atsumu said. “Thank ya.”

Gin smiled crookedly. “Right… See ya tomorrow, Atsumu,” he replied, waving lazily as he swiveled around to walk in the opposite direction.

For the rest of the night, a grin remained on his face.

The next day, Atsumu asked Ginjima if he wanted to eat lunch with him, his brother, and Suna. It was a last-minute thought right before he walked out of the classroom at lunchtime.

“Sure!” Gin answered, popping out of his chair. He met Atsumu at the door, and the two went next door to Osamu and Suna’s classroom.

The other two didn’t think anything of the extra person, and Suna simply pulled another chair up to the desks they had pushed together.

It was more cramped now, and their knees bumped into each other frequently. Atsumu couldn’t find it in himself to care. It was fun playing footsie underneath tables with more than just his twin during dinnertime at home.

Osamu slid Atsumu’s bento box across the desks. “Be glad I’m kind 'nough to remember yer lunch fer ya. I coulda left it on the counter where you left it. Oh… but if ya left it there ‘cuz ya didn’t want it then I s’pose I could eat it…”

He reached his hand out slowly towards Atsumu’s lunch.

Atsumu slapped it away. “No ya fuckin’ won’t.” There was a large pause as he unwrapped the cloth around his bento box and opened it. Three plump onigiri sat in the middle of it. Osamu had spoiled him today. “Thanks… When’d ya have time to make these?”

“It’s no fatty tuna… but I was feelin’ generous.” Osamu looked away, pink singed the tops of his cheekbones.

He let the others fill the air with words, and he, instead, picked up one of the onigiri with both of his hands. Atsumu stared down at it with wide eyes, taking a minute to admire the triangular perfection resting in his hands. He sniffled. Chomping down, he let the rice and a fraction of the filling settle in his mouth, savoring the flavor. Tears about sprang to his eyes in joy.

Ginjima stared at him openly, watching in amazement as he finished the rest of the onigiri in three more big bites.

“Wha..?” Atsumu wondered, cheeks bulging with rice and tuna mayo. 

“You amaze me, Atsumu-kun…” he murmured.

“I amaze myself sometimes!” he exclaimed after swallowing the food in his mouth. He grinned. A piece of rice fell off his face and onto his uniform pants.

Osamu rolled his eyes at him and Suna scoffed, but Ginjima continued to watch him as he picked up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks.

He didn’t say anything until Atsumu had finished the piece of chicken and was going for another one.

“Why do ya paint yer nails?” he asked, leaning his head on his palm. There was no way Gin would be mean about something like this, so there was no reason to get defensive.

“So I don’t I mess with ‘em,” Atsumu replied simply. “Setters gotta have good hand health! Actually, all volleyball players do, so ya better be takin’ care of ‘em.”

“That’s really smart, Atsumu-kun…”

“He does not deserve to be called that, Gin. He should be the last person you’re callin’ smart. Ma came up with that, not that moron.”

Atsumu blustered, “Jus’ ‘cuz I’m smarter than you—”

“Unlikely.”

“I’ve got better grades!”

“Grades do not prove how smart someone is, an’ ya demonstrate that perfectly.”

“Yer a liar.”

Suna sat up a little straighter. “He isn’t. It’s pretty commonly known that grades don’t prove your intelligence,” he commented.

Atsumu turned to Gin, eyes wide. “Don’t listen to ‘em! They’re in the worst class of our grade.”

“Hey… that’s true,” Ginjima mumbled.

It certainly felt nice to have someone who agreed with Atsumu—or someone who at least went along with what he said.

“Ginjima… you really need to find a better influence than Miya Atsumu,” Suna sighed.

Atsumu blinked. “‘Least he ain’t in the worst class of our grade,” he replied.

“There are second years on the team in class seven, and you chose Atsumu.”

“I see ‘im regularly! Can’t look up to someone ya don’t see ‘cept for in volleyball practice.”

Suna groaned, resting his head in his hands. He had given up.

“You’re a good man, Gin,” Atsumu declared, patting his shoulder.

He beamed.

Maybe his ego was just being inflated by Ginjima, but it was nice to have someone who agreed with him, it was nice to have someone on his side. It made him feel important and needed in a way that didn’t correlate to volleyball. Atsumu hadn’t realized that he wanted to be more than just a volleyball freak. He realized that now, and fuck, it felt good.

Chapter Text

“Atsumu,” Coach Kurosu said as they neared the end of practice, “come see me in my office when ya can. I need to talk to ya.”

“Yessir,” Atsumu replied solemnly. He had behaved all of practice! What could his coach possibly want to talk to him about?

“Whaddya do this time?” Osamu wondered as he pushed down on one of Suna’s calves.

The twins weren’t allowed to stretch together after an… incident, so Atsumu and Gin stretched together now, and Osamu and Suna stretched together.

“I dunno…” Atsumu moaned.

“Ya haven’t even really done anythin’ wrong,” Ginjima mentioned.

“Surprisingly,” Suna added.

“Guess we’ll find out… Aran-kun n’ I will still wait fer ya. I’m sure he’s curious, too.”

Atsumu nodded and switched positions with Gin while dread and anticipation filled him.

The time passed like syrup dripped; slow. Eventually, he was almost ready and only had to change clothes before he could go see what Coach needed him for. He dressed quickly as several teammates slapped his back or shoulder while wishing him good luck.

With his school bag in hand, he made his way from the clubroom to Coach Kurosu’s office. He looked longingly back at where Suna was spraying Gin with his water bottle. How he wished to be there, getting sprayed with water, instead of on his way to his coach’s office to get scolded for who knows what.

He stopped in front of the door and stared up at it. Atsumu swallowed. It was now or never.

Knocking softly, he heard a muffled, “Come in!” and entered the office.

His coach was leaning against his desk and glanced up at Atsumu as he came in.

“Close the door, will ya?”

Atsumu pushed it shut and came to stand in front of Coach Kurosu.

“Ya wanted to speak to me?”

“More like I’ve got somethin’ ta give ya,” he explained. He turned and plucked an envelope off his desk, handing it to Atsumu.

All that was on the outside of the envelope was his name.

“What is it?” he asked, confused.

“Open it up.”

He glanced from his coach to the envelope and then back again before finally sliding his finger underneath the flap and loosening the adhesive. Inside the envelope was a letter, which he read through thoroughly.

And then he read it again, and again.

And-

“Excitin’, ain’t it?” his coach interrupted. His head shot up to stare wide-eyed at him.

“Yeah…” Atsumu breathed out. “I’m… invited? To an elite trainin’ camp in Tokyo?”

“Yup! So is Aran, but he went last year, too. I figured ya’d be a little… Atsumu-y ‘bout it, so I decided to let ya know separately. Ain’t I kind.”

Atsumu smirked. “Sure, sir. Let’s say that.” He glanced back down at the letter in his shaking hands. “What about ‘Samu? Was he not invited?” He finally asked the question that had been pressing on his mind since his second read-through.

Kurosu sighed deeply, and Atsumu stared at him. “He wasn’t…” Atsumu opened his mouth to interrupt, but Kurosu raised an eyebrow at him. “Atsumu… you’re brilliant. If yer ‘bout to say that ya ain’t goin’ ‘cuz Osamu can’t, ya won’t be playin’ at nationals.”

“You wouldn’t…”

His coach scoffed. “I would if it got ya to go to All-Japan. Yer gonna have a great time, stop worryin’ ‘bout Osamu.”

It’s not him I’m worried ‘bout.

Still, Atsumu admitted to himself that he did want to go to All-Japan. He had heard all about it from Aran when he had gone last year, and he recalled the stars in his friend’s eyes as he spoke about it. Atsumu wanted that.

“Alright,” he relented. “I’ll go.”

“Great! Those are the words I wanted ta hear from ya! Head on home now, we’ve got mornin’ practice tomorrow.” Kurosu patted his shoulder and led him out of the office.

He stared at the letter in his hands as he walked away from the building.

“Whatcha got there?” Osamu asked. Oh, he had reached the front gate.

Atsumu thrusted it into his twin’s hands. “Read it.”

They walked slowly as Osamu began to read the letter, and Atsumu met Aran’s eyes over his brother’s downturned head.

His face told Atsumu that he knew what the letter was and what it meant for the twins. His gaze was soft, and he offered Atsumu a half-smile, something hopeful.

Osamu broke the silence. “Ya got all bent outta shape over this?” He raised his head but refused to look in any direction but straight ahead. His tight grip on the letter crinkled the paper. “You were fuckin’ invited to a trainin’ camp fer the best of the best!”

“I didn’t know that’s what was happenin’!” he yelled back. “Ya didn’t either!”

“Well, I coulda guessed. You’re a fuckin’ prick jus’ like all the others that’re gonna be at that camp—no offense, Aran-kun.”

“Ya mean talented.”

“Exactly, ‘Tsumu! You’re fuckin’ talented, and ya deserve to be goin’ to freakin’ All-Japan!” Osamu screamed. “Don’t ya get it!?”

“No! I don’t get it, ya piece of shit!” Suddenly, there were tears in the corners of Atsumu’s eyes.

“UGH! I’m so done with ya. Take yer stupid letter n’ go to shitty All-Japan!” Osamu threw the crumpled letter on the ground and stormed away.

“BIT—” A hand was slapped over Atsumu’s mouth, and an arm wrapped around his torso, so he couldn’t even run after his brother.

“Calm down, Atsumu,” Aran murmured. He bent down and picked up the letter.

“But that idiot- he’s fuckin’...” He stopped himself as his voice cracked.

“C’mon.” And then, he was being pulled away from the path and towards the small park they always walked past on the way home. “Sit,” Aran commanded, pointing at a swing. He sat. Aran took a seat in the swing beside him. “Ya know he only meant half o' what he said.”

“What half?” Atsumu said, voice cracking once again. “The half where he told me I was a prick an’ called me shitty?”

“Ya obviously didn’t understand what he was tryin’ to say.”

“And you did?”

“I think?”

Atsumu groaned. “This is gonna end horribly…”

“No, just listen to me, ‘Tsumu! I think he was tryin’ to tell ya to fuckin’ go to All-Japan and not let ‘im hold ya back.”

“Where’d ya get that from?”

He sighed. “Fine. Don’t listen to me. Jus’ know, he’s gonna miss ya when ya go to Tokyo; don’t think that he won’t.” Aran handed the letter back to Atsumu.

“I’m goin’ home,” Atsumu declared, standing up.

Aran nodded. “Alright. See ya in the mornin’.”

Without replying, he stalked away from the playground and trudged the rest of the way home. The letter stayed clenched in his hand, crumpled into a wad.

Stupid Aran an’ his stupid words… What does he know? He’s not that piece o’ shit’s twin.

He stepped into the genkan without a greeting and pushed his shoes off without untying them. He’d probably bitch about it in the morning, but that was morning-Atsumu’s problem. The house was quiet, and the door to their room was closed.

Atsumu squeezed his eyes shut and sighed silently. Turning around, he went into the kitchen.

Osamu was sitting on a stool at the counter. He looked at Atsumu with indifferent eyes as he lifted chopsticks carrying ramen noodles to his mouth.

“Ma’s gonna be late comin’ home,” he said.

So that was why it was so quiet in the house; Ma was still on her business trip. Her plane must’ve been delayed or something. Vaguely, he recalled hearing his phone chime while going home and choosing to ignore it. It had probably been her.

He stayed quiet and turned back around. Now that he knew Osamu wasn’t in their room, Atsumu was going to shut himself into it and probably cry himself to sleep.

Osamu could sleep on the couch for all he cared.

“The silent treatment? Seriously?” Atsumu huffed and opened their bedroom door. “Oh, no, ya fuckin’ don’t. Eat supper, at least.”

And suddenly, Osamu was in front of him with a hand pressed to his chest, pushing him backwards.

He glared at his brother and scoffed. “Fine, but lemme put my bag down,” he grumbled. He pushed through his brother’s hand and went into their room. Dumping his bag beside Osamu’s on the floor and tossing the balled-up letter onto his bunk, he snagged a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt from his dresser.

“I’m gettin’ dressed!” he called as he pulled the door to their room shut. He really didn’t want what little privacy he had destroyed by Osamu kicking down their bedroom door. Especially while he was changing.

He tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry basket and went back into the kitchen.

On the counter, steam billowed out of a second bowl of ramen. A set of chopsticks rested beside it, and Osamu had his head stuck in the fridge, completely avoiding Atsumu’s eyes.

Atsumu sat down heavily and eyed the ramen. It was most likely not poisoned, but he could never be too sure. He picked up some noodles with his chopsticks and slurped them into his mouth. The warmth filled his body, not just his mouth, and he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut as he took a deep breath.

His body relaxed in mere seconds.

Soon, his bowl had emptied of ramen, and Osamu had wordlessly picked it up to wash it. Atsumu opened his mouth to argue, but by that time, the sink was already running. No words would be heard over the gushing of the water. He closed it without saying anything and continued to watch his brother’s back. The bowl was set into the drying rack with a soft clatter, and the chopsticks were set beside it. Osamu didn’t return to his stool and instead slipped away to their bedroom.

Atsumu wondered curiously if that was the end of his brother’s kindness and if they were back to fighting. Osamu’s head poked out their door, and he waved at Atsumu to follow him.

He sighed, wondering how long this hot and cold attitude would continue. Still, he dragged his feet over to their room.

“What?” he wondered as he crossed the threshold.

Osamu said, “Lemme paint yer nails.”

“Why should I?” Atsumu grumbled, crossing his arms and pouting.

“‘Cuz I want to, dumbass!”

“Well, that’s not a very good reason!”

“Shut the fuck up…” Osamu fell to the floor and pulled Atsumu down with him. They sat cross-legged in front of each other. “Just… lemme do this, alright?”

“Whatever.” Still, Atsumu held out his left hand for his brother. The nail polish that had been on his nails last had been cleaned off over the weekend, and he hadn’t bothered to put any more on yet, so his nails were a clean slate for Osamu to paint. “What color didja pick?”

“Ya’ll see.”

A second later, Osamu held a sky-blue polish in his hands. He uncapped it and gently wiped the wand against the lip of the bottle before delicately taking his brother’s hand in his. The first brush of polish against Atsumu’s nail was cold, but it was something he had long grown used to.

It started off silent.

It never stayed that way in the Miya household.

“Are ya excited?” Osamu spoke quietly.

“‘Bout what?” Atsumu replied, not nearly as quiet.

“The trainin’ camp, moron.”

“Oh.” Atsumu paused. He was excited, but was that what Osamu was asking, or was he asking some underlying question that Atsumu couldn’t figure out?

“It’s not a trick question, ‘Tsumu, swear.” He went on without looking up from Atsumu’s pinkie. “Ya should be excited, I mean, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, y’know?”

“Yer right,” Atsumu admitted, quietly tacking on, “but ya won’t be there with me.”

Osamu nodded and set Atsumu’s left hand down on some paper towels between them. “I won’t be.”

He started on his right hand.

He finished his thumb.

“Well? That’s all ya got ta say?” Atsumu sputtered helplessly.

“What do ya want me to say, ‘Tsumu?” Osamu retorted, throwing a hand up in exasperation. “Do ya want me to say that ya can’t go ‘cuz I’ll miss ya too bad? Do ya want me to threaten the camp ‘til they let me come wit’? Like, ‘Tsumu, I don’t want that. I want ya to go to All-Japan, have the best fuckin’ time o’ yer life, and come back home n’ tell me all about it.

“Is that too much to ask?”

Osamu’s arm fell back down to the carpet.

It brought the bottle of sky-blue nail polish with it.

They watched in horror as the polish oozed out of the bottle and soaked through the single layer of paper towels beneath it.

“‘Samu!” Atsumu exclaimed.

“Not my fault! Ya were the one who made me mad!” Osamu shouted, scrambling to his feet while still holding the nail polish brush. A drip of polish fell off of it and landed on the carpet beside the spillage.

Atsumu screamed.

“Yer makin’ it worse!”

“Clean it up, then, clean it up! We cannot let Ma see!”

Atsumu scrambled to his feet and stood beside Osamu as they watched more nail polish seep through the paper towels.

“I can’t! My nails are still wet! Ya need to pick up the bottle!”

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” He bent down and picked up the leaking bottle, wiped the edge off with his finger, and capped it. “There.”

“Idiot! There’s still nail polish on the carpet… Oh, whatever…” Atsumu groaned, digging his palms into his eyes and holding his fingers away from his face. “There’s no way it’s comin’ outta the carpet now…”

Osamu set the bottle in a safe place with new paper towels underneath it and gingerly picked up the ones that were covered in nail polish. He grimaced when he glanced down at the carpet.

“Yeah, there’s no way that’s comin’ out,” he agreed. He tossed the paper towels into the trash can. “We’ll figure out what to do when yer nails are dry.”

Osamu hadn’t even finished painting his nails… There was still one nail without any polish on it.

“We’ll finish tha’ in the bathroom…” Osamu mumbled.

“After we figure out what to do with this shit,” Atsumu added.

The twins gathered some cleaning materials and finished picking up what they could of the mess—well, Osamu did, Atsumu kind of stood motionless in the room, helplessly holding his hands out in front of him. Soon, though, Atsumu’s nails dried, and they tried to figure out what to do about the polish-covered carpet.

“Try some water,” Atsumu suggested, handing his twin a half-empty bottle of water he found underneath their bunk bed. It was, at least, two weeks old.

He watched as his brother dumped more than half of the water onto the carpet and scrubbed it with a towel.

“Nothin’s happenin’,” Osamu grunted as he continued to scrub.

“Do we have nail polish remover?”

“Ya finished it off over the weekend, an’ didn’t write it on the grocery list.” Osamu stopped trying and leaned back on his knees with a sigh. The stain was only a smidge fainter and had mostly just smudged more. “This ain’t comin’ out, is it?”

“Prolly not… Let’s cover it.”

“That’ll be so obvious, ‘Tsumu!”

Atsumu shrugged. “Unless ya have a better idea, that's the best I got.”

Osamu glanced away. “I don’t…”

“That’s what I thought.” He stood and surveyed their room.

Surprisingly, they kept it decently clean. Only one pair of dirty pants (Osamu’s) and three clean socks (all from three different pairs, and all of which were Atsumu’s) were scattered across the floor. There wasn’t much they could inconspicuously use to cover the stain on the carpet. Atsumu’s eye caught on their laundry basket.

He dragged it over and plopped it in between him and his brother. It covered the entirety of the stain, and thankfully, didn’t look too out of place beside Osamu’s dresser. None of it blocked his drawers, and it was close enough to the wall to not look too strange.

“That’ll do it.”

“Let’s never speak o’ this again,” Atsumu suggested, lifting his hand.

“Agreed.”

Instead of shaking his hand, however, Osamu pulled Atsumu into a tight, but brief, hug.

On the last day of November, Atsumu found himself alone at home. Osamu had gone to Suna’s house after practice that day, and Ma had taken on some extra hours at work (again).

He toed off his shoes in the genkan as he greeted the house. He threw his bag onto his bed and quickly changed out of his Inarizaki sweats and jacket. It was chilly in the house, and Atsumu regretted not turning on the heat before changing clothes.

After he changed, he immediately went to the thermostat and turned on the heat. He found himself a snack after digging through each kitchen cabinet and the fridge at least twice. The fridge now had Atsumu’s invitation to the All-Japan training camp hanging on it, in all its wrinkled glory.

Atsumu carried around his plate of snacks as he collected the last of what he needed before he brought it all back to his room. He set the plate down first—so he didn't break it—and then set down Ma’s cream-colored bag beside it. It still held all of the nail polish in the house. He also tossed a brand-new roll of paper towels onto the floor.

On his dresser sat a small tray full of his other nail care products, which he picked up and set on the floor. It was reminiscent of his time with Osamu just over a week ago. Hopefully, it would not be quite so similar that the nail polish would spill again.

He glanced over at the laundry basket still innocently covering the stained carpet and shuddered. Atsumu would do anything to never spill nail polish again.

Turning back to his collected items, he picked up one of the seaweed salt-flavored Calbee potato chips on his plate of snacks. Atsumu popped it into his mouth and crunched down. He opened the bottle of nail polish remover and began to remove the sky-blue polish with a cotton ball.

After all of the nail polish had been removed, he picked up the bag and pulled out one of the bottles. He had gotten it the weekend after junior high ended, and it was as close to Inarizaki-red as he could find. Stick to Your Burgundies had seen lots of use since then, and now, the bottle was almost completely empty. He made a note in his head to ask Ma to get some more.

There was still more left to do before he could paint his nails, though. He still had to clip, file, buff, and moisturize his nails. Atsumu made quick work of the routine he had (almost) perfected, and soon, it was time for nail polish!

He opened the bottle of nail polish carefully. There was no way he’d make the same mistake that Osamu had made. Another look towards Osamu’s dresser showed Atsumu that the laundry basket still covered the sky blue stain and had not, in fact, disappeared from when he last glanced over.

The bottle rocked precariously as he dipped the wand back in for the second coat. He bit his lip nervously and made a high-pitched noise in the back of his throat, trying to stabilize the bottle with the wand. It rocked… and then it didn’t; he had safely avoided disaster. He lifted the wand again, more carefully this time, and brought it to his left thumb where the first coat was sitting dry.

Within a few minutes, he had applied the second coat to all of his nails, and all he had to do was wait for them to dry, and then he could start packing for All-Japan. Sure, it was still about a week away, but he couldn’t help it! He was excited.

He glared at his hands, wishing them to dry faster. Atsumu waved them around in the air, blew on them, and finally, gave up. Obviously, none of these things were helping the polish dry any faster. Sighing, he dropped to the floor and held his hands high above his head.

He counted the stick-on stars pressed onto the ceiling. Of course, he already knew that there were 26. Ma had bought two packages of 15 stars from some Western brand when they were in 5th grade. Three stars had fallen off the ceiling and now rested in a box on the twins’ bookshelf. The final star had broken while they were being put up on the ceiling, it also was in the box.

When Atsumu had counted 23 stars, he brought his hands down to rest on his thighs as he sat up. He tapped the paint on each of his nails and found that almost all of them were dry. He called that good enough.

Before he could pack, he needed to clean up his mess.

Atsumu tossed the used paper towels in the garbage and put away the nail polish. His nail clippers, file, and cuticle oil would all be going with him to All-Japan, so he set those on Osamu’s dresser. He moved his plate of snacks to a safer place and decided to begin packing.

His first task would be to find a suitable bag he could use. He dug through his side of the closet without any luck and glanced to where he dropped his school bag and duffel for volleyball.

Squinting, he tried to figure out if those two bags would be enough. His eyes caught on the Kiki and Lala charm hanging off the side of his school bag and decided that using that bag was not an option. He had to act somewhat professionally! It was All-Japan Youth after all! What if a crazy cool libero saw his dumb charm and decided he was a loser..?

He knew he’d be bringing his gym bag, that was a given, but that wasn’t going to be able to fit everything he would need.

A thought popped into Atsumu's head, and he glanced over to Osamu’s side of the closet. His brother definitely wouldn’t notice if anything was missing.

Chapter Text

Okay, so he was mostly right! (As Atsumu typically is regarding things related to Osamu.)

By the time Osamu noticed his things were missing, Atsumu and Aran were already on the train to Tokyo, and several angry texts from his twin couldn’t stop the train, force Atsumu back home, and make him give back everything he took.

Look , it wasn’t his fault that while searching for a bag to use on Osamu’s side of the closet, he saw a sweatshirt of his twin’s and instantly started bawling because it was then that he realized that this would be the first time he and Osamu would be separated for a whole week. Sure, he had known that they weren’t going to be together for about a week, but he didn’t realize how long a week was.

What if Osamu decided he liked not having a brother around while Atsumu was away?

However, it was his fault that after that, he decided that half the clothes he packed had to be Osamu’s, but no one had to know that!

Most of the blame could still fall onto Osamu, though. He didn’t even notice that Atsumu was wearing his sweatpants when they were saying goodbye to each other (while sobbing-) at the train station. Ma had even noticed, and almost said something about it, but caught Atsumu’s eye and grinned.

Aran turned to him, leaning over his shoulder to read Osamu’s texts.

“Ya should get some sleep,” he said, glancing back up to Atsumu’s puffy, red eyes. “Yer gonna need it, an’ ya look like ya need it.”

“Are ya callin’ me ugly?” Atsumu whined.

“I’m sayin’ that yer gonna want sleep, so ya don’t crash in the middle o’ a game later.” Aran’s eyes softened. “Call ‘im t’night. He’ll be waitin’ fer the call, promise.”

“...Sometimes I forget how nice ya can be, Aran-kun.”

He thought for a minute before sending his brother one last message.

“No need to get all sappy on ‘im!” Aran exclaimed, but he pulled Atsumu’s head onto his shoulder, and Atsumu gladly let his eyes slide shut.

the stinky one

HEY YOU BETTER RESPOND TO ME DICKHEAD
Oh fuck you. you took my blue sweater too didn’t you?
YOU KNOW THAT ONE’S MY FAVORITE >:(((((

the better twin

I love you

…
I love you too

“‘Tsumu, wake up,” Aran mumbled. “We’re five minutes out from our stop.”

Grumbling, Atsumu pushed his head further into Aran’s shoulder. After a second, he lifted himself up out of fear of being scolded. He blinked slowly and rubbed his eyes.

“That was the best sleep I’ve had in like a week,” he yawned.

“Prolly cuz’ ya’ve been so stinkin’ nervous.”

“Me? Nervous?” Atsumu scoffed. “Never…”

“Uh-huh.”

The train was starting to slow down as it approached the station, and passengers were shuffling around to get closer to the doors. Aran and Atsumu stayed put but made sure that their bags were out of the way for the other passengers.

“Do ya have the directions?” Atsumu wondered.

“They’re in my bag. I’ll look.”

While Aran looked for the directions their coach had given them, Atsumu put a white mask on. It wasn’t long before the train rolled to a stop.

A robotic voice came over the intercom and announced that they had arrived in Tokyo; it was almost completely drowned out by the noises of the station. Aran zipped his backpack up quickly and threw the strap around his shoulder as he stood up. Atsumu followed after him.

He shivered as he stepped into the cold Tokyo air.

Zipping up his Inarizaki jacket, he was sure to let Aran know. “It’s cold…” Atsumu whined.

“No shit, it’s December, and that’s all ya chose to bring fer a coat, moron,” Aran replied, offering no sympathy.

“Yer wearin’ just as little clothing as I am!”

“I’m not a baby. Now, c’mon. It’s this way.”

Aran tugged on Atsumu’s arm, turning onto another street. It was loud and busy in the city, but thankfully, the sidewalks were clear enough that the two could easily stick together. It was bad enough that the two managed to get lost when they had the directions to the training center, but it would’ve been worse had they been separated.

Eventually, the Ajinomoto Training Center appeared. It loomed over them, and Atsumu couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about entering. This was where Olympians trained, and he was coming here? As a silly little first-year setter?

He stopped in the middle of the street and watched Aran's back as he approached the building. It was only a second later when he glanced back with a furrow in between his eyebrows.

“Are ya comin’?” he wondered.

“Yeah…” Atsumu replied.

He caught up to Aran quickly, and they made their way into the center together.

The building was big, and Atsumu stared up at the high ceilings and large windows with wide eyes. Aran pulled him away from his imagination with a sharp tug on his collar.

“Ya look like an idiot…” Aran muttered into Atsumu’s ear after tugging his mask down and underneath his chin. “C’mon. We should get our room assignments n’ set our things down.” His eyes widened. “‘Tsumu…”

“What?” he wondered cluelessly.

“I forgot to tell ya…” Atsumu made a nervous noise in the back of his throat, getting increasingly scared. “We gotta room with others in our year. They choose who ya share with.”

“Oh.” Atsumu shrugged, finally yanking his mask off his face. He tucked it in his pocket. “I don’ really care.”

“Of course ya don’t…” Aran sighed. He gestured lazily to a desk beside a winding set of stairs. “That’s where we get our room assignments.”

There were a few others dressed in sports jackets and sweats waiting in front of the desk, so the two joined the line. Within two minutes, they had reached the front of the line and were receiving their room numbers along with who they’d be rooming with.

To Atsumu, the lady said, “Room 209, Komori Motoya.” He had heard of him! Komori was a libero from Itachiyama and was like already a top-tier player even as a first-year. The lady gave him the keycard, and he slid it into his jacket pocket.

To Aran, she said, “Room 204, Ushijima Wakatoshi.” Aran shot a look at him. They all knew Ushijima. Atsumu had only ever seen him in magazines, but he looked so fierce and intimidating. It seemed even Aran was a little worried about rooming with a boy like that. Still, when the lady held out the keycard, he took it without anything more than a small grimace on his face.

He followed Aran to the stairs after they said their thanks to the lady. They hadn’t even reached the first step when a head poked around the stairwell corner. The head was accompanied by incredibly round eyebrows. This, of course, was Komori Motoya.

His smile was wide and competed with his eyebrows for the “thing that takes up the most space on Komori Motoya’s face” award.

“Did I hear Ozumi-san finally give me a roommate?” he exclaimed, gazing down at Atsumu and his companion.

The woman at the desk laughed, and Atsumu looked back at her. “Yes… You don’t have to wait there any longer,” she said, turning back to the boy in front of her.

Before Atsumu could turn back around, Komori was speaking again. This time, standing two stairs above them.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Komori Motoya, and you guys are Ojiro Aran and Miya Atsumu.”

“Guess we don’ need ta introduce ourselves…” Aran muttered. “Nice to meet ya.”

“Hey,” Atsumu greeted with a grin. “Mind showin’ me to our room?”

“Yeah! I can do that. Ojiro-san, do you need help finding your room?” Atsumu almost laughed. He knew very few people who spoke to Aran so formally. It wasn’t that they didn’t respect him, but…

“Nah, it’s just a few rooms down from yers.”

Komori nodded and made his way up the stairs, expecting them to follow him. He turned left on the second floor and right at the first hallway. Atsumu and Komori’s room was the second on the left. They had passed Aran’s room on the way to theirs, but he stuck with his underclassmen to “check out their room”; Atsumu knew the real reason he was still with them was out of nervousness. It seemed highly likely that Ushijima was already there. He seemed like quite the punctual guy.

Atsumu mused that he could have already found the weight room and was pumping some iron. That also seemed like something that guy would do. More likely, he was made of iron.

They followed Komori into the room, and Atsumu set his bags down beside the Western-style bed that did not look like someone had already claimed it. While Atsumu settled into the room, Komori hovered around him, and Aran sat on his bed, staying quiet, likely hoping that they wouldn’t kick him out.

Eventually, they managed to convince him to go to his room and meet the scariest man at All-Japan. Atsumu thought now was better than five minutes before Aran wanted to sleep. There was less of a chance of having nightmares, he figured.

Komori left soon after Aran to bother another person from Itachiyama who had come to All-Japan, so Atsumu took the time to message his family that he had made it to both Tokyo and the Ajinomoto Training Center without keeling over somewhere. Ma was impressed with him, and Osamu did not respond.

It wasn’t long before they were given a warning that they would gather in the gym in fifteen minutes. Atsumu scrambled to find a pair of athletic shorts in his bag. Somehow, he had misplaced every single pair that he had brought without even taking them out of his bag. He breathed a sigh of relief once he found a pair and pulled them on. He picked his water bottle up and left the room, following the signs that pointed him to the gym.

When he got there, it appeared that most of the athletes were already in the gym. Atsumu found Aran bravely talking to Ushijima in the corner of the room closed to the door and joined the two. While they spoke, Atsumu looked around the gym, admiring the fancy blue court that Aran had told him all about last year. A screen on the wall showed people coming into the gym several seconds after they entered. On the other side of the gym, a flash of yellow blinded him, and he instantly recognized the colors as Itachiyama’s.

Disgustin’.

Komori’s personality was the only thing saving him from being on Atsumu’s shit list. The color alone made him want to bury Komori alive.

It wasn't long before they were called to gather. Standing in the middle of a crowd of volleyball players, made it hard for Atsumu to see anything but the back of whoever was in front of him. He felt pretty tall typically, considering his height was above average, but volleyball players were like a completely different species compared to ordinary people. Many were much taller than Atsumu.

He could barely see Hibarida Fuki, the Japanese National Team's very own coach. It didn't matter much to him. With so many volleyball players famous in the high school circuit around him, it was hard to pay attention to Coach Hibarida's words. There wasn't much to his motivational speech anyway, so Atsumu got the gist of it anyway.

Still, Aran didn’t seem to be happy with the amount of focus he was giving the national team coach and squeezed his shoulder hard enough to bruise. As if that would stop Atsumu from having a little look around.

Eventually, they were assigned teams so that they could split off into a few games to get to know each other.

It was when he was walking over to meet his team that he saw another flash of that annoying, eye-scorching yellow. It hurt his eyes most when he was unprepared for it. It wasn't Komori though because he was in sight ahead of Atsumu talking to a little white-haired kid that he recognized as Hoshiumi Kourai. They were both on his team.

He winced and swiveled his head away, refusing to look in that direction again. Atsumu really hoped that both the boys would soon take off their jackets. That, at least, would make his retinas a little bit safer.

“Miya-kun!” Komori said, suddenly appearing on Atsumu’s right side. Hoshiumi popped into existence on his left side. “Take off your jacket and stretch so that we can start playing.”

He agreed easily because Komori was taking off his own jacket, and he’d do just about anything for that jacket to be gone. He also really wanted to start playing.

It didn’t take long for him to forget all about the second Itachiyama player.

Dinner was when he was reminded of the second lemon-lookalike.

Coach Hibarida had run them into the ground with volleyball. Atsumu believed that he had never been more tired in all his life, but there was an underlying happiness to his droopy eyes and sweaty nape. He was much too tired to form even one coherent thought about anything other than food, sleep, a shower, and calling Osamu later.

He collected a tray piled high with food and glanced around the cafeteria in search of Aran. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Aran was nowhere to be found and was probably piddling around elsewhere. Sighing, he resigned himself to eating alone until his friend showed up. He’d complain once Aran was around to listen.

“Hey, Miya-kun!” Oh my goodness, no one ever could’ve guessed—it was Komori. “Wanna eat with us?”

Atsumu whipped his head around, startled by the abrupt, but not unexpected, greeting. His eyebrows rose when he noticed the second Itachiyama player standing behind Komori. Although, all Atsumu could see of him was curly, black hair and two moles set above eyes that could kill. But that was more than enough to identify him as Sakusa Kiyoomi, an incredibly promising wing spiker even as a first-year. There were rumors that he’d be Itachiyama’s ace next year, and Atsumu was more than willing to believe them.

The murderous gaze set on Atsumu told him that he should probably tell Komori “no”, but if you asked any one of Atsumu’s teachers, coaches, friends, or family members if he was good at following directions, they would say no.

Sakusa Kiyoomi clearly did not take this into account.

“Sure! Sounds like fun!” he exclaimed, a brilliant grin settling easily on his face.

Sakusa’s scowl got darker—somehow—but Komori either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it. They sat down at the table closest to where they were, but Sakusa made them lift their trays back up so that he could wipe the whole table down. Atsumu didn’t entirely understand the point when workers had likely cleaned the tables not too long ago, but he didn't particularly care one way or the other so he ignored it. Once Sakusa was satisfied, he nodded at them and sat down beside Komori. 

Atsumu put his tray down and said, “Hope ya don’ mind, but Aran-kun’ll prolly join us soon.”

“We don’t mind!” Komori replied for both of them.

He glanced at the brooding Sakusa to gauge his reaction. He didn’t look nearly as upset as when he learned he would be eating with Atsumu. Atsumu wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

He picked up a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. With food half-chewed in his mouth, he asked, “Aren’tcha gonna take off that mask an’ eat?”

Sakusa sighed, but retorted, “Maybe I would if you could keep your mouth shut while eating. Don’t you have any idea of how disgusting that shit is?”

“Eh.” Atsumu shrugged. “Well, ya ain’t missin’ much either way. My ma’s cookin’ is ten times better than this shit. Actually, I think my brother could prolly make somethin’ better than this.”

A tray hit the table beside Atsumu. “Is it that bad?” Aran wondered, joining them at last.

“It’s certainly not as good as anythin' back home.”

“I didn’t expect someone from Hyogo to have such a refined palate,” Sakusa commented. His mask had finally been removed, carefully folded, and tucked into his pocket.

“Don’tcha city-dwellers just feast on smog?” Atsumu countered, putting a piece of broccoli in his mouth. You couldn’t mess up uncooked broccoli.

“As much as I love a little… playful banter, I think this is getting a little too serious, guys,” Komori laughed nervously and raised his hands up placatingly. “How was everyone’s day?”

“Better before Miya showed up,” Sakusa answered.

“Aww… it means so much to know that I made that much of an impact on ya, Sakusa-kun.”

“My day’s been great, Komori,” Aran said, completely ignoring the tension building right in front of him. “‘Tsumu fell asleep on the train, so he was quiet, n’ I learned that Ushiwaka isn’t nearly as scary as I had heard.”

“So you’ve gotten to know him a little bit?”

Now, Atsumu wasn’t so rude as to interrupt two people having a genuine conversation so that he could antagonize someone, but he had just thought of another thing to say to Sakusa.

“Yeah, I’m actually kinda glad he’s my roomie. He keeps his shit clean, I gotta admit.”

“Wakatoshi-kun?” Sakusa suddenly butted in. Atsumu couldn’t believe the familiar way he called Ushijima. “You’re rooming with him?”

“Yeah..?”

Komori nudged Sakusa’s arm with his elbow. “This guy’s pretty obsessed with him.”

“I am not obsessed with him, Komori!” he immediately refuted. Blush creeped onto his face, high on his cheekbones. “I simply admire his dedication and skill.”

He was now standing with his hands planted on the table. Atsumu was worried (only for a mere second though) that he would leave without finishing his food, but Komori convinced him to stay a little bit longer. It wasn’t good to not eat enough as an athlete, and Atsumu wanted him in top condition for when he would finally spike one of his tosses.

Somehow, the rest of dinner was civil. Jabs were still constantly being tossed from one side of the table to the other, but they were a touch more light-hearted. Sakusa left early, saying that he wanted to get in the baths before anyone else got their germs in it, but the other three stayed at the table to continue chatting.

Atsumu found himself bored now. With nothing to entertain himself with, he excused himself and put up his tray. He wished he knew where Sakusa’s room was so that he could go over there and bother him again. After some deliberation and wandering the halls—he forgot how to get back to his room—he decided that—once he found his room—he would get some clothes to change into and find the baths. When he was done, he’d go back to his room and call Osamu.

Eventually, he stumbled into the hallway that housed his room. Atsumu collected some clothing to change into and went to shower.

After showering, he returned to his room to find that Komori still had yet to come back. He decided to call Osamu and finish getting ready for bed.

They spoke for an hour or so before Osamu hung up on him after telling him he needed to get to sleep. He also said that he loved Atsumu, but it wasn’t like Atsumu cared or anything.

Komori came into their room just as Atsumu was crawling under the covers of his bed, but Atsumu couldn’t remember anything past that.

He fell asleep.

The next day, Atsumu woke up to Komori poking and prodding his side and staring at him with those eyes that seemed to see his soul.

“Oh,” Komori said. “You’re up.”

“Yeah..?” Atsumu stammered out. “Can ya… not stare at me like that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Komori blinked, but the staring persisted.

“I’m just gonna… get up.” Awkwardly, he shuffled out from underneath the blankets and scooted to the end of the bed to avoid Komori. “Ain’t it almost time fer breakfast?”

“Yep, I was going to wake you up, but you woke up before I could.”

Atsumu wasn’t going to question it. He had a feeling that he would find out things he did not want to know if he asked even one more question.

In a matter of minutes, he found himself in the cafeteria once more. Today, he had arrived later than Aran, so after Atsumu was out of the breakfast line, he made his way over to where his friend was sitting. It was the same table as last night, and Ushijima sat across from Aran. The two continued to chat amicably after he arrived, and he wasn’t going to complain about not being included; Atsumu was pretty sure he spent all of his morning words on Komori already.

To say the least, he was not a morning person. Oftentimes, Osamu would have to pull him out of bed five minutes before they needed to be out of the house and help him button the shirt of his school uniform when his fingers were refusing to listen to his sleepy, muddled commands.

All of this, Aran was aware of.

His brain only turned on once Aran started nudging him towards the gym, and Atsumu stretched his arms up with a loud groan.

“With us in the land o’ the livin’ now?” Aran teased. He slapped his back, and Atsumu grunted, falling forward at the unexpected whack.

“Not ‘nough fer that!” he exclaimed.

Aran laughed at him.

Once everyone was in the gym, they were told to stretch out better than they ever had before. Today was certainly going to hell.

Atsumu couldn’t wait.

He and Aran paired up for stretches, and they stuck together for the rest of the exercises Coach Hibarida put them through. Throughout all of the exercises, he found Sakusa just within his vision.

At last, it was time to play volleyball.

Once again, they were separated into teams, but this time, Sakusa ended up on his team. They were also given a different position from what they normally played. He ended up as a wing spiker, and Sakusa was their team’s setter.

While this was an interesting coincidence, Atsumu just about cursed Coach Hibarida; that meant he wouldn’t be able to set for Sakusa yet.

The opposing team consisted of lots of faces that Atsumu had yet to memorize and Ushijima. He was a middle blocker for the game. One of Atsumu’s teammates served to start the game, and a rally instantly began. The second time it was spiked into his team’s court, one of his teammates was quick to pick up. Unthinkingly, he moved toward where it was headed next, but remembered that he couldn’t set it.

He stepped out of the ball’s trajectory just as Sakusa entered it and set it up for another wing spiker. The ball landed soundly in the other team’s court without being picked back up.

While there were cheers all around their side of the court, Sakusa sneered at Atsumu.

“Can’t you remember anything, Miya?” Sakusa hissed. “You were told less than five minutes ago that you were going to be a wing spiker for the game.” The ball was collected from the other side of the net and rolled over to them, Atsumu nudged it toward the server with his foot.

“We still got the point, didn’t we?” Atsumu countered, glaring back. “Jeez… sorry I’m used to playin’ as a setter.”

Sakusa scoffed and turned back to the net as their server bounced the ball against the floor before serving. Atsumu sighed and turned his gaze forward, too. They lose the ball on the serve because even though they’re all top-ranked players, they’re still a little stupid sometimes and forget how to serve a volleyball. (Not Atsumu though.)

The game continued, and eventually, Atsumu had to spike Sakusa’s set, and all things considered, it wasn’t that bad. Not that he expected it to be bad… but it was better than expected. It was obvious that Sakusa was more than just a dumb wing spiker with shit for brains. It was obvious that he had done more than just practice spiking and serving all day long. He had technique; not anywhere near Atsumu's level, of course, but it wasn't that bad.

Atsumu’s spike cleared through Ushijima’s one-man block and slammed into the floor. As soon as both of his feet were touching the floor, he ran over to Sakusa to celebrate the point. He held his hand up for a high-five but was left unfulfilled. Again, Sakusa was staring in disgust at him.

This time, he didn’t even bother saying anything to him before turning back to the net.

“You and Miya-kun make a good combination, Kiyoomi-kun,” Ushijima said from the other side of the net just as Atsumu had turned away.

He paused. He was curious as to how Sakusa would respond, considering their familiarity.

“Sure, Wakatoshi-kun. I’ll believe you, but he is certainly a nuisance,” Sakusa replied.

Atsumu didn’t hear Ushijima’s response as the next rally had begun, but Sakusa was quick to use him again. Ushijima managed to block the ball, but one of their other teammates picked it back up and Sakusa set it up for another teammate. Atsumu was pretty sure this one was named Mochida.

The back and forth continued for a while before Ushijima was able to slam a spike down into their court.

One of Coach Hibarida's assistant’s stopped the game after that point so that they could switch to a new activity.

Time passed quickly as they switched from one thing to another before going back to a past activity. It seemed Coach Hibarida wanted to keep them on their toes. They had an hour for lunch, but Atsumu felt like it was only fifteen minutes before he was back in the gym. After lunch, they took it easy until their stomachs settled, but the intensity soon increased.

By the time dinner rolled around, Atsumu’s shirt was more than soaked in sweat. Beads of it dripped down his neck, his legs, his arms. He felt utterly disgusting. Lots of other players looked to be in similar states, but Atsumu knew that he tended to sweat more than most people.

As people left the gym, Atsumu found Aran talking to Ushijima and Hoshiumi. He came up from behind Aran and stood beside him as they continued to talk about some new drama on TV.

Atsumu couldn’t imagine Ushijima watching a TV drama, but what did he know? Sakusa probably knew what Ushijima watched on TV.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” Aran greeted at a break in the conversation. He pulled Atsumu into his sweaty side. “Tired?”

“Sweaty…” Atsumu grumbled, trying to pull away from his friend’s body heat. Ordinarily, he’d welcome the closeness, but this was too much. “Do ya think I’d be ‘llowed to shower before eatin’?”

“Aren’tcha hungry? Yer always hungry.”

“I am…” Atsumu’s stomach grumbled as proof. “But I feel so gross…”

Aran’s fingertips brushed against the nape of his neck, and he immediately pulled back. His arm dropped from around Atsumu’s shoulders, and he wiped his hand off on his shorts.

“Ya are gross.” He turned to Ushijima. “Do ya think they’d let ‘im shower ‘fore dinner?”

“I’m unsure. I don’t see why there would be a problem,” Ushijima answered.

“Well, I’m showerin’ an’ nobody’s stoppin' me. If they ask where I am, tell ‘em I fell asleep.”

Aran nodded, but Ushijima said, “That would be lying.”

“No shit, Ushiwaka. That’s the point! I won’t take long, no worries.”

“It’s fine, ‘Tsumu. Go shower. I’ll eat slow fer ya,” Aran replied, pushing Atsumu away from the cafeteria and towards their rooms.

He turned away from the two older boys and began making his way to the showers. Thankfully, there was no one in the hallways to witness his agressive sweating. Everybody was probably in the dining room eating dinner.

The showers were just as empty as the hallways had been, and he sighed in happiness as the cool water dropped down onto him. Atsumu got cold within a minute and switched on the hot water, humming a J-pop song all the while. As he relaxed, he took stock of himself.

His right thigh burned under the water stream, and he recalled sliding across the gym floor to save a ball. Rolling his ankles around, he knew that he’d need to stretch them out better tonight. Without needing to look, Atsumu knew that he’d need to take care of his hands and nails tonight.

The minutes passed like honey drips, and he moved just as languidly. He reminded himself that Aran was waiting for him and switched off the hot water. He sang the same refrain of a song over and over again under his breath. Atsumu didn’t remember any other words. He stepped out of his shower stall with a towel wrapped around his waist and another thrown over his shoulders.

He stepped into the locker room attached to the showers and walked over to where his clothing sat on a nearby bench. Once he was finished drying off, he dropped his towel to the floor and picked up his boxers. Glancing at himself in the mirror on the wall across from him revealed that he was not as alone in the locker room as he had previously thought. His singing stopped.

Atsumu screamed.

And then he blustered, “Wha- What’re ya doin’ in ‘ere!?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi stood on the opposite side of the locker room with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked just as shocked as Atsumu felt, but his face quickly returned to its usual deadpan.

“What do you think I’m doing here? Knitting?” Sakusa sighed.

“Well… I jus’ thought that I was the only one in ‘ere considerin’ that it’s dinnertime.” He yanked his pants up, feeling overly exposed. With the towel still draped over his shoulders, he began to squeeze some of the water out of his hair.

Again, Sakusa sighed. “That’s what I thought too.”

And then he dropped his towel.

Atsumu immediately averted his eyes to the lovely, cream-colored ceiling that was looking positively inviting at the moment. Did this boy have no sense of decorum?

Sakusa cleared his throat about a minute later, and it brought Atsumu’s eyes back down. Sakusa was, thankfully, clothed. He also had put on a mask.

“Are you… going to dinner after this?” Sakusa wondered.

He pulled on his t-shirt. “Yeah. Aran-kun’s waitin’ fer me.”

“I’ll come with.”

He would?

“Ya will?” Atsumu said. Sakusa glared and didn’t say anything else. Sighing, Atsumu collected his things in his arms and stepped over to the door. He was met there by Sakusa, and they walked out together. “I gotta stop by my room first to put my things up n’ get my phone.”

“Me too. My room’s on the floor above yours, so I’ll meet you at your door.”

There was no room to argue with Sakusa. Partly because he was so certain when he spoke, and partly because he walked away as soon as he was finished talking. Atsumu continued walking to his room, but he was bewildered by the wing spiker.

When he reached his room, he dropped his clothes on the floor beside his bed and unplugged his phone.

He flipped it open and found that he had a few unread messages. He clicked on the first one, from Aran, as he opened his door again.

ARAN-KUN 😻😻

Hey, you took too long so I gave up on waiting for you
Cya later lol

the better twin

wtf
aran-kun wtf

Sakusa was waiting for him just outside the door just as he said he would be.

Atsumu exclaimed, “He ditched me!”

Sakusa said, “I can see why.”—and then—“Who?”

“Aran-kun, obviously.” They started walking down the hallway towards the dining hall. Now, the hallways were more crowded with teenage boys returning from dinner and looking for some rest and a shower. Atsumu was glad that he had already finished with his.

“Like I’m supposed to memorize all of your friends’ names.”

“Ya’ve literally seen ‘im a whole bunch!”

“Whatever. You can eat with me if you want; I was planning on eating by myself anyway since I knew Komori wouldn’t wait for me, and I couldn’t let Wakatoshi-kun wait on me,” Sakusa offered.

“Seriously?”

“Why do you act like I’m so untrustworthy? Yes. You look like you’d cry if you had to eat by yourself, and I don’t want to deal with that."

“Yer bein’ super nice today, Sakusa-kun! I jus’ can’t believe it.”

Sakusa side-eyed him. “You don’t have to eat with me.”

“No, no, no! Sakusa-kun, I wanna!”

He was ignored, and they stepped into the dining hall where practically every seat was empty. They didn’t have to wait in a line to get their food, and the servers only seemed a little miffed at them for not coming with the rest of the crowd. Wins all around.

They sat at the cleanest-looking table Sakusa could find. He had been muttering under his breath about how the tables should’ve been cleaned as soon as people started finishing their food as they wandered around searching for the perfect table. Even after he decided on the table, Sakusa still wiped down the half they were sitting on with a wet wipe.

Atsumu waited patiently for him to finish before sitting down across from him. They ate quietly. Ordinarily, Atsumu would have been chatting up a storm, but he seriously worked up an appetite today. There was little else he could think about besides the food in front of him. His complaints about the food from yesterday felt utterly meaningless now. Not only that, but he was tired. Even when he did speak, the words were muddled in his mouth and came out stunted and awkward.

Sakusa didn’t seem to care whether he was quiet or not. A little surprising to Atsumu, honestly. He was expecting to be glared at anytime he opened his big, fat mouth.

He finished his food first, but he waited patiently for Sakusa to finish. Pushing his tray out of the way, Atsumu laid his head on his arms and let his eyelids flutter shut.

A touch brushed over his shoulder and he grumbled.

“Let’s go,” Sakusa told him as he blinked up at him. The boy stood waiting for him beside the table.

He continued to wait as Atsumu slowly got up and slowed his pace to match Atsumu’s amble. It felt distinctly un-Sakusa, but maybe he had been seriously grumpy yesterday.

As they left the cafeteria, Atsumu asked, “How long was I nappin’?”

“Not long. Maybe five minutes?”

“Oh.” Atsumu yawned again.

Sakusa glanced at him and tilted his head. “Are you going to bed right away?”

“Dunno… why?”

He sighed and looked forward again. Noise from the upper levels of the building drifted down the staircase.

“Komori said that a lot of the boys were going to play games or something tonight. He made it sound like if I wasn’t going to go myself, he’d drag me there.”

“Guess I’ll go. Don’t got nothin’ better to do, an’ it’s prolly a good thing to get to know these guys, y’know? Someday, we’ll be on the national team with ‘em.”

“High expectations, huh?” Sakusa snorted, raising an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure you’ll make it that far?”

“Why else would I be ‘ere?” Atsumu countered. “Omi-kun… if that’s not what yer expectin’ fer yerself, why don’tcha just leave?” He narrowed his eyes. If Sakusa wasn’t serious about this, why was he here? Why was he here taking someone else’s place?

Sakusa stopped, and Atsumu stopped a few steps above him and turned around to look down at him.

“What’s with the new name?” he laughed. “And I was playing with you, why so ominous? Of course I believe I’ll be on the national team.” He stepped up to Atsumu and stopped beside him.

“Oh!” Atsumu exclaimed. “Well, that changes things!”

On Atsumu's floor, boys littered the hallway chatting with each other and playing games on the floor. Sakusa scrunched up his nose at those boys and pulled his mask up higher on his face.

“I’m going to my room,” he said. “See you later.”

“Bye-bye!” Atsumu replied with a smile.

He decided to go to Aran’s room, and Ushijima answered the door. When he was let in, he found Aran sitting on his bed playing on his DSi.

“Whatcha playin’?” he wondered, hopping up onto the bed beside Aran.

“Cookin’ Mama,” he said, as expected.

It was Aran’s favorite DS game, and for some reason, he was good at it.

“How ‘bout… ya play in the hall where everyone’s hangin’ out? I’m gonna fix up my nails out there.”

With a shrug and without looking up from his lime green DSi, Aran stood and followed Atsumu out the door. He followed him all the way to his room and waited just inside the door as Atsumu collected his nail care items. After collecting everything he needed, he went back into the hallway and found a place to sit. Aran followed obediently behind him, still staring down at his game.

He didn’t start fixing up his nails right away, and instead brought out his phone to text Suna, Ginjima, and Osamu about how his day had been. When he was finally ready to start on his nails, he looked up to find that a few others had gathered around him and Aran, and they were chatting quietly.

Atsumu smiled and waved silently. He knew none of their names. He almost felt bad.

“When did y’all show up?” he wondered, picking up his nail clippers. His nails hadn’t miraculously grown a centimeter while playing volleyball today, but he did have two hangnails that he knew would inevitably bother him until he ripped them off if he didn’t take care of them now.

“Not that long ago. We were just amazed to see you and Ojiro-kun so quiet and focused together. Usually you’re quite loud!” one of the ones he didn’t recognize informed him.

He laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah… I’ve heard that before…” He clipped off each hangnail carefully.

“Okay, anyway… Atsumu, now that you’re not off in la la land, you’ve got to hear about this…” one of the people Atsumu couldn’t remember the name of said.

“Shut up, Kondo!” another one exclaimed, pushing the other boy. “No one wants to hear about how your team captain accidentally cheated on his girlfriend with your libero for the third time!”

“Actually…” Atsumu butted in, “that does sound pretty interestin’.”

“See! He wants to hear!” Kondo cried.

Atsumu picked up his nail file, prepared for the story of a lifetime.

“...and that’s why Asano-sensei needs to be more careful about what she tells her students.”

By the time Kondo finished his story, Atsumu had finished filing his nails and was listening to what other gossip the boy had to share. It proved to be a lot.

A shadow loomed over Atsumu’s head, and he craned his head up to look at whoever was above him.

“Kondo-kun, do you have even more gossip?” It was almost impossible to guess who it was.

Komori Motoya plunked down right beside Atsumu, his round eyebrows raised halfway up his forehead.

However, that wasn’t who was standing above him. Sakusa still stared down at him in disdain.

“You’re sitting on the floor ?” he muttered, only loud enough for Atsumu to hear. Komori could’ve heard, but he was already chatting it up with the others in the group, and Aran could’ve as well, but he was still immersed in Cooking Mama.

“There aren’t any chairs,” Atsumu replied helplessly, shrugging.

Sakusa sighed and walked away.

Thinking that was the end of it, Atsumu turned his attention back to the gossip. Now, Kondo was telling a story about how one of the nation’s top aces acted at a Tokyo-school training camp.

“I mean… he’s sweet and all, but I don’t know how his setter and other teammates put up with it!” he exclaimed.

The same shadow fell over him once more—just as he was picking up his nail polish to touch up any places that chipped. This time, Sakusa had a chair.

“What are ya gonna do with that ?” he exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention away from the gossip and to the two boys. “Whack me over the head with it cuz’ I’m so disgustin’ fer sittin’ on the floor?”

Sakusa’s eyebrows crinkled together, and his forehead scrunched up. “No?” Sakusa scoffed. “I’m going to sit in it.”

He set the chair down right behind Atsumu and Komori. It was close enough that if he leaned back just a few centimeters, his head would be resting against one of Sakusa’s legs.

Atsumu continued to gawk at Sakusa even as the boy looked away from him and tuned in to the newest piece of gossip flowing from the volleyball players’ loose lips. Sakusa had taken a chair from the lobby of the athletic center. It had a deep red cushion and scratchy fabric. He had carried it up a whole flight of stairs so that he could sit with them.

Atsumu felt… special , which was ridiculous because Sakusa was a normal dude not some celebrity. And it wasn't like it was only him out here that Sakusa came to hang out with! Hell, he was sitting closer to his cousin than he was Atusmu.

He felt like an asshole after that because: why did he think that Sakusa was a loner-loser that never wanted to be around people? Everyone feels like that sometimes!

Sighing, he turned back to his nails and continued to touch them up.

As it got later and later, boys started to disperse from the group to retire to their rooms for the night. Aran had even put down his DSi; he cited eye strain. By then, the only remaining people were Aran, Sakusa, Komori, Hoshiumi, and him.

Hoshiumi had shown up not long after Sakusa and Komori and had taken a seat next to Aran. He had diligently watched him play Cooking Mama until he finally put it down. Now, those two were talking about Cooking Mama strategy. Atsumu didn’t know that there was Cooking Mama strategy.

Komori was texting his older sister and relaying everything she said to Sakusa, and by extension, Atsumu. Apparently, his sister was notoriously bad at going on dates with decent men, and she had just returned from one an hour ago.

When there was a lull in new information from her, Sakusa’s eyes settled on Atsumu, who now sat facing his chair.

“Doesn’t it feel weird?” he wondered.

Atsumu’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

“Doesn’t the nail polish make your hands feel heavier and make it harder to play volleyball?” he asked again.

“Oh…” Atsumu mumbled. “Nah, not really. The alternative is worse.” At that, Sakusa rose an eyebrow. “I paint my nails cuz’ if I don’ I’ll pick at ‘em.” He didn’t want to tell Sakusa he used to bite his nails because he’d definitely think Atsumu was gross.

“I guess that makes sense… If I had my nails painted, I think I’d just spend even more time washing my hands than I already do. I’d want to scrub it off.”

Atsumu leaned his head against his knees, gazing down at his hands. “Ma started paintin’ my nails when I was real little. She painted ‘Samu’s too, but he hated it,” he explained.

“She tried paintin’ mine too,” Aran added. Atsumu smiled.

“That she did.”

Komori chimed in, “Can you paint my nails?” He had completely set down his phone, so Atsumu assumed that his sister was done regaling them with how awful her date was.

“I can… but the only paint I’ve got with me is this.” He gestured to the almost-empty bottle of Stick to Your Burgundies in front of him. “I doubt ya want Inarizaki-colored nails.”

Komori pouted and let out a heavy breath. “You’re right…” His eyes brightened. “How about this! Next year, you can bring—or I can get some—nail polish and paint our nails!”

Sakusa immediately replied, “Not mine.”

Atsumu nodded sagely. “I can do that, an’ I know that, Omi-Omi.”

“Here, give me your phone, I’ll put my number in it,” Komori said, reaching his hand out.

He easily handed it over, and it returned to him within a minute. When he glanced at it, he found a new number saved under KOMORI ʕ •̀ o •́ ʔ. Right underneath it, he found another new number saved under omi-omi (･ω<)☆. Trying not to laugh or smile, he slowly dragged his eyes over to Komori. He had obviously been expecting Atsumu’s look because he was already grinning at him.

Abruptly, Komori stood up and obnoxiously groaned while stretching. “Boy, am I tired!” He looked down at Sakusa and Atsumu. “I’m going to bed now.” He walked the few steps to their room and went in.

For a minute, the four left were silent, and they basked in it. Soon, Atsumu sighed and stood up, too.

“I should prolly head to bed, too, then.”

“Bye,” Sakusa said.

“Bye-bye,” he mumbled back. Glancing down at the products in his arms, he smiled.

The training camp passed by in the blink of an eye. Soon, it was the day all of the volleyball players left for home, and they all had to be gone by noon.

Komori laid on his stomach on his bed, playing on Aran’s DSi. He also didn’t understand Cooking Mama, so he was playing Kirby Super Star Ultra while all of his things were still strewn across the room. Aran was scouring the whole building for his missing DSi, all the while.

Luckily, Aran had packed up all of his things last night, so he had more than enough time to waste looking for a missing-not-missing DSi. Atsumu, on the other hand, stood staring at the mess of clothes that laid unfolded spread across his bed. He hadn’t thought about packing up his things until this morning during breakfast when Aran had asked if he started packing yet. Atsumu had told him that he had. Komori tried not to laugh at him, but Komori had also told Sakusa that he started packing last night, too. If he exposed Atsumu, there was no way he wouldn’t expose Komori.

They had a mutual, unspoken agreement.

The thing was, it wasn’t like Atsumu wasn’t trying to pack up his things. He wanted to! He really did, but… he didn’t…

“Here’s the thing, Atsumu-kun,” Komori told him. “I have more than enough time to not pack and still be out of here before 12. I live in Tokyo. However, you live across the country and your train is at 11:45. It’s 10.”

“I know! Shut your dumb fuckin’ mouth. I know…” Atsumu muttered miserably. He added, “Just ya wait, Omi-kun’s gonna come checkin’ on ya and realize that ya haven’t even started packin’ yet.”

“And? He’ll see that you haven’t either.” He continued to tap away at the game.

“I’m tryin'!”

Atsumu turned towards Komori and crossed his arms huffily.

“Aww… Atsumu, are you pouting? Are you sad to be leaving?” Komori crowed.

“Literally leave me alone, freak. Ya were sobbin’ on Hoshiumi’s shoulder last night ‘bout how sad ya were gonna be once everyone was gone.”

“Don’t expose me!” Komori tossed the DS to the side and walked over to where Atsumu was beside his bed. “Here, I’ll help you out. Open one of your bags.”

Confused, Atsumu went along with what he was being told.

He picked up as many clothes as he could carry and dumped them into the bag Atsumu held open. “There,” he said, dusting off his hands. “Problem sovled. I can’t believe you hadn’t thought of this one yet. Also, remember to wash your clothes when you get home. They smell really fucking bad.”

“Komori!” Atsumu exclaimed! “I was tryin’ to be neat about it! An’ leave me alone, I know that yer clothes smell jus’ as bad as mine.”

“Why would you do that? Trying to impress someone?” Grinning, he nudged Atsumu’s arm.

His eyebrows pulled together. Why did Komori have to be loud, annoying, and confusing? “No? I’m actually kinda neat, Komori.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Suit yerself, but I have to agree that yer way definitely worked better than what I was tryin’ to accomplish.” With that, Atsumu lifted the clothes Komori hadn’t been able to get and dumped them into the bag too.

“Yay!” He held both of his hands up for a high-five, and Atsumu smiled as their hands smacked together.

From the hallway, a shout could be heard, and then, banging.

“KOMORI! I know ya’ve got my DS!” Aran’s voice shouted through the door. “Ya better open this door up right fuckin’ now.”

Komori shrugged at Atsumu. “Oops.”

Almost an hour later, Atsumu found himself outside the training center saying his last goodbyes to his friends.

“You’ll text right?” Komori asked, rubbing his right arm where a bruise would most definitely be forming. Aran did not pull his punches.

“Of course,” Atsumu replied with a crooked smile. “We’ll see ya at Nationals soon, though.”

“I forgot about that!”

“Literally how?” Sakusa deadpanned with a heavy sigh. He turned to Atsumu and Aran, and his eyes lifted the tiniest bit above his mask. “I expect you’ll be playing Itachiyama in the finals?”

Aran smirked and replied, “We wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“That’s right!” Atsumu bounced on his toes in excitement.

“Oi, Miya. What are you doing without a mask on in Tokyo?” Sakusa questioned with disgust.

“Oh- uh… I forgot cuz’ we don’ need ‘em in Hyogo. I got some in my bag; I just gotta get ‘em…” He slid his backpack off one of his shoulders, but a hand, mere centimeters away from his face stopped him.

“Here.” Sakusa waved a mask in front of Atsumu’s face. It had no doubt come from the stash he kept in the inner pocket of his Itachiyama jacket.

Atsumu blinked owlishly at it and slowly slid his backpack back onto his shoulders. Silently, he took the mask from Sakusa and secured it to his face.

“C’mon, ‘Tsumu,” Aran said after a beat of silence. “We can’t miss our train.”

He barely nodded before trailing after Aran. His head immediately swiveled back to the two boys they were leaving.

“Bye, Atsumu-kun!” Komori called from behind him. His mask was pulled down and his hands cupped his mouth.

Sakusa offered a small wave, and Atsumu couldn’t help but return the sentiment.

Chapter Text

Atsumu’s leg bounced uncontrollably as he and the other first-years ate lunch. It was the third day of nationals, and Inarizaki had already won their first three matches. They had made it into the quarterfinals with little fanfare, but Atsumu was still inconsolably nervous.

As he stared down at his half-eaten sandwich, he felt Suna's eyes land on him for what must have been the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. His gaze was full of disdain, just as it had been every other time. Osamu hadn't looked at him since they started eating. It made for quite an awkward lunch. Gin was trying his best, but he couldn't talk quite enough to fill the awkward silence. It appeared that his friends were thoroughly fed up with dealing with him.

They sat in a random corner of the building munching on convenience store food. Technically, they were supposed to be eating with an upperclassman, too—to ensure that they didn’t get into any trouble—but Aran ran off as soon as he saw them approaching, saying that he was done keeping their asses in check. None of them felt like asking a different upperclassman, so they wandered away by themselves to eat.

Eventually, Osamu finished eating and finally glanced over at his twin brother.

“Why are ya so stinkin’ nervous, ‘Tsumu? We’ve won our first three games by a decent amount.”

“I dunno!” Atsumu cried, shoving his face into his hands. “I’m tryin’ to figure that out myself!”

“So he’s stupid,” Suna said to Osamu, refusing to look at Atsumu.

Osamu nodded in agreement but turned back to Atsumu to sigh. “Why don’tcha go on a walk or somethin’? Watch a game, maybe. Now go on, shoo, ya scrub.” He waved his brother away with the flick of his hand.

Begrudgingly, Atsumu stood and trudged away because Osamu was right. A walk would probably do him some good, and he could catch the game of their next opponents (which he wanted to do while they were eating, but they couldn’t bring food into the gym).

He nodded to himself. Yeah! That was a brilliant idea!

Thank ya, me, fer comin’ up with that one.

With the gym as his destination and determination fueling him, Atsumu marched onward.

Just as he was about to enter the gym, a loud voice caught his attention.

“Atsumu-kun!” It was Komori.

He turned around to find him and his cousin, just behind Komori, making their way over to him.

“Fancy seein’ y’all here!” Atsumu greeted them when they finally stopped in front of him. “Hi Omi-Omi!

“We watched Inarizaki’s first match,” Komori said. “You guys looked pretty good!”

“We are,” Atsumu deadpanned, grinning. “Didja think we weren’t?”

“I mean…” Sakusa began. “You are on the team, so it’s kind of debatable whether the team is good or not.”

Atsumu huffed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “So mean, Omi-kun!”

“You’ll just have to prove yourself when we face you in the finals.”

“'Course.”

“The game going on right now determines who you play next, right?” Komori asked, gesturing to the doors of the gym.

“Yeah, I was ‘bout to go in an’ watch since I got kicked outta our lunch spot.”

“We’ll watch with you.”

“Really? Alright!”

They quickly went into the gymnasium and navigated through the crowded bleachers high above the courts. Eventually, they found a few empty seats that they could sit in that had a good view of the game and were far enough from other spectators that they could hear each other over any cheering.

“It’s crazy how quickly this tournament is going,” Komori said offhandedly as the two teams below them entered into the 2nd set.

“Soon we’ll be facing Inarizaki in the finals,” Sakusa added.

“Don’t jinx it!” Atsumu cried. “Ya’re gonna cause Aran-kun to break ‘is ankle or somethin’ next match!”

“I think you guys would be able to manage without him.”

“I don’t know, Komori… Atsumu might be so inconsolable that he misses every serve.”

“Coach wouldn’t hesitate to pull me out an’ slap some sense into me.” He did not deny that he’d be inconsolable if Aran broke his ankle. “Our backup setter is a piece o’ trash, though.”

Sakusa smirked. “Good to know, I’ll be sure to aim all of my serves at your face. Maybe you’ll get a bloody nose and get taken out.”

“Unlikely! I’ll receive all yer serves with a grace ya ain’t ever seen before!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, Atsumu-kun! I almost forgot!” Komori exclaimed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and dug around for something or another. He glanced up at his cousin with his eyebrows knitted together. “Kiyoomi, where did I put it?”

Sakusa pulled a nail polish bottle full of neon green paint out of his pocket. “You told me to hang onto it,” he deadpanned.

“Oh! I don’t remember that!” He snatched it from his cousin’s hands and smiled cheerfully at Atsumu.

Atsumu furiously shook his head. “Oh, no. I am not paintin’ yer nails that awful color!” he yelled. “That’s disgustin’! Do ya have any taste?”

Komori frowned at him. His lip quivered and his eyes looked a touch more watery. “But… the- they’re our school colors! Atsumu-kun… you promised you’d paint my nails! I’m sorry our school colors are so ugly! I’m sorry!”

Nervously, Atsumu glanced around. People nearby were beginning to get annoyed by Komori’s obnoxious pleading. He held his hands up in front of him and waved them around, unsure of what to do. Laughing nervously, he patted Komori’s head stiltedly.

“Aheheh… Why don’tcha quiet down a bit?” Atsumu gritted out. “I’ll uh- paint yer nails, ‘kay? Everybody’s happy then…” Internally, he grimaced. He was not happy, but he was willing to do anything to get Komori to stop yapping and drawing attention to their little group.

“You should’ve said yes the first time,” Sakusa told him solemnly.

“I didn’t know he was gonna do that , Omi-kun. Ya coulda warned me that he was gonna be overly dramatic 'bout it.”

“He’s Motoya , what else would he have done?”

Sadly, Sakusa was right, and Atsumu should have expected that.

“Alright, whatever. Hand over the nail polish,” Atsumu sighed. Komori grinned and set the bottle in Atsumu’s hand. He twisted the bottle open and set it beside him on the bleachers; he had a feeling that it wasn’t very safe there. “Hey, Omi-kun? Can ya hang onto this? I don’ want it ta spill.”

He held Komori’s right hand so that he could easily apply the nail polish.

“Ooh!” Komori exclaimed. “This is going to be so cute!”

“Whatever ya say, Komori-kun…”

By the time the game was over, Komori’s nails had dried, and he was admiring Atsumu’s handiwork.

“Thanks, Atsumu-kun! You did a super good job,” Komori told Atsumu. He lifted his hands up for Sakusa to look at. “Didn’t he do a good job?”

Turning to him, Sakusa said, “I’m shocked that this somehow doesn’t look like absolute trash, but I’m going to say that most of that is because of Miya.”

“Aw! Thanks, Omi-omi. You’re so sweet…”

Komori jumped to his feet. “Alright, now I need to show these off to the rest of the team. C’mon, Kiyoomi.”

It appeared that it was time for Atsumu to leave too. He was sure his own team would be looking for him shortly if he didn’t turn up soon.

Komori had already begun to make his way out of the gym, but Sakusa waited for Atsumu before following after his cousin. As Atsumu started to walk away, Sakusa tugged on the back of his Inarizaki jacket, pulling him to a stop. He turned around, confused.

“Wassup?” Atsumu asked. He figured Sakusa hadn’t followed after Komori because he didn’t care enough to keep track of that fool, or maybe, he wanted to watch another one of the games. Instead, Sakusa kept Atsumu from leaving, and he now stood silently with his eyes glued to the floor.

“I… I just wanted to tell you good luck in the quarterfinals. I’m sure you guys will win either way, but… I just thought that it might be nice to hear it from me anyway…” he answered quietly. He lifted his eyes up. “And Motoya didn’t tell you thank you for painting his nails. He is thankful, don’t get that wrong. So I’m saying thanks—for him.”

Atsumu offered Sakusa a lopsided smile. “Well, thanks for that, then. Tell ‘im he owes he somethin’ or another… I’ll think of somethin’...”

“But, of course.” The corners of Sakusa’s eyes lifted, and Atsumu knew he was smiling. “I should probably go find him now… I’ll see you at our game.”

“Good luck!” Atsumu called as Sakusa left to go find his cousin.

Suddenly, he was standing alone on the bleachers, and he had already begun to miss the two’s company. It was time he found the rest of his team, though. By now, Coach Kurosu was bound to be furious with him for wandering off right before their next game.

Oh well. He had spent that time having fun with friends, and that was well worth the verbal beating he would be receiving shortly.

omi-omi (･ω<)☆

I can’t imagine a better way to end nationals

the better twin

no shit you can’t imagine a better ending
you guys won

That’s not what I meant. Our game.
It was super fun. You guys played well
Tell Ojiro-san that I’m not going to miss not receiving
those serves

oh
thx
it means a lot
be glad you don’t have to receive those as punishment
for losing >:(

You and your brother make a real good team too

wow omi!
you’re dishing out these compliments like crazy
it better not be pity.

It’s not that
Btw, Komori showed off his nails to ALL of the
teams we played after you painted them
Pretty sure he was too embarrassed to do it
during our game though

that’s good?

I think he’s trying to get you customers

I guess that means I should start charging
him

You should. He gets way too much from his
allowance

you both are rich assholes
going to a private school
like
cmon
give us poor people some of that too ( ; ω ; )

Isn’t Inarizaki a private school?

shhhh

Chapter Text

The following year, Atsumu returned to All-Japan. Only this time, Aran couldn’t go with, so Atsumu got on the train by himself and pouted all the way to Tokyo. He didn’t nap at all on the train and could barely remember the way to the training center.

Maybe he should have hung onto the paper with directions Coach Kurosu had given him instead of believing he could make it all the way there unassisted.

When the Ajinomoto Training Center finally appeared in front of him, he sighed in relief. Upon entering the building, Atsumu yanked down his mask and immediately recognized the lady at the desk as the same as last year. He scoured his brain for her name and quickly recalled Komori calling out to her the previous year.

It only took a few minutes for Atsumu to get to the front of the line, and in that time, he let Ma and the team group chat know that he had arrived safely.

“Hi, Ozumi-san!” he greeted her cheerfully. He felt his smile was lackluster, but he couldn’t bother to put more effort into it. Atsumu couldn’t wait to get to his room and take a nap.

“I’m glad you remember me,” she replied with a soft smile, “but I can’t say I can recall your name; so many people to remember over a year! Could you remind me of it?”

“Tha’s alright. I only remember ya cuz’ of Komori’s shoutin’. Miya Atsumu.”

She chuckled and passed him a keycard. “I do remember him. Room 307, Hoshiumi Kourai.”

“How could ya forget a guy like ‘im? Thank you, Ozumi-san.” He offered her a sideways grin and set off for the stairs.

It wasn’t hard to find the room, and when he entered, he was happy to find that Hoshiumi had yet to show up. There was no way he would have been able to get any napping done if Hoshiumi had already arrived. The boy likely wouldn’t have shut up.

Atsumu set down his two bags and stretched with a loud groan, kicking off his shoes at the same time. His back ached from the uncomfortable train seats, and he allowed himself to finally relax his shoulders. He opened the smallest pocket of his backpack and took out his sleeping eye mask. Unzipping his Inarizaki jacket, he tossed it on top of his bags and hopped onto the bed, sliding underneath the covers.

A second before he slid his sleeping mask over his eyes, he remembered that Komori had asked him and Hoshiumi to let them know when they got to the training camp. Quickly, Atsumu pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed out a message to send to their group chat. A second later, his mask was covering his eyes and Atsumu was asleep.

the better twin

here dont @ me
sleoejgn

KOMORI ʕ •̀ o •́ ʔ

atsumu???
is he okay
anyway can you paint my nails before we’re called
to the gym?
thxxxx

omi-omi (･ω<)☆

Alright
I should be there soon

annoying white bitch

you and komori came seprately?

omi-omi (･ω<)☆

Yeah? It’s not like our houses are right next to
each other
Also our family drivers don’t get along

KOMORI ʕ •̀ o •́ ʔ

OMG it’s so fucking funny when Nakatani-san
and Tsuchiya-san start fighting

annoying white bitch

I hate rich people

Atsumu woke up screaming.

And not for no reason.

His roommate had shown up.

“Hiya, Miya!” Hoshiumi yelled. There was a loud bang. “Oh, shit. I forgot you said you were sleeping…”

He peeled his sleeping mask off, gasping for breath.

When he could finally see, he found Hoshiumi about a meter from his bed with his phone pointing at Atsumu.

“Wha’ the hell, Hoshiumi-kun!?”

“I said I forgot!”

He batted Hoshiumi’s phone down. “That’s not what I was talkin’ about,” he grumbled.

“Oh! I just thought you looked so cute with your eye mask on that I had to take a picture! I sent it in the group chat if you want to see it.”

Atsumu gritted his teeth. “Have I ever told ya how much I hate ya? You’re squealin’ like a pig.”

“Ooh… Isn’t that what you call your fans? That’s not too kind.”

Glaring at him, Atsumu lifted the covers away from his legs and slid off the bed. He reached down to his bag and yanked a blue sweater out of it, pulling it over his head. Hoshiumi watched as he stuffed his feet into his sneakers and stomped to the door.

“I’m leavin’,” Atsumu huffed, thoroughly pissed off. He opened the door.

“Okay, okay!” Hoshiumi said, raising his hands in defense. “I’m sorry, jeez… By the way, Komori and Sakusa are in the room next door.”

He mumbled out his thanks and pulled the door shut behind him with a loud thud. Not a second later, he was at the door of the room next to theirs knocking. His room was at the very end of the hallway, so they only had one neighbor.

“Just a minute!” a voice called from within. It was easy to identify it as Komori’s. The door was opened. “Oh, hi, Atsumu-kun!”

“Hey, Komori-kun,” Atsumu mumbled. The second Komori stepped out of the way, Atsumu was pushing his way past into the room. He dropped down onto the bed that held Komori’s stuff—because there was no way he was getting yelled at for being on Sakusa’s bed.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” Sakusa commented, back turned to Atsumu as he re-folded his clothes that had most certainly been folded to perfection already.

“I bet Hoshiumi woke him up when he showed up,” Komori replied. He hopped onto the bed and sat beside Atsumu’s legs. With a baby voice, he continued, “Did Kourai-kun wake Atsumu-kun up?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu grumbled, turning his face into the pillow.

He heard them laugh at him, but soon their soft voices faded into the background, and Atsumu was asleep again.

“Is he actually asleep?” he heard a voice say not far from him.

“I hope he didn’t drool on my pillow. He definitely drools in his sleep,” another said.

“You could’ve kicked him off your bed.”

“Aw… Kiyoomi! I couldn’t have done that. He just looks so cute sleeping!” Atsumu grumbled and turned his head, mumbling something unintelligible. “Oh, you’re awake!”

He pushed himself up and sat so that his legs dangled off the side of Komori’s bed. “Yeah, ‘m up,” he replied tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry fer fallin’ asleep in yer bed, Komori-kun.”

“In return, you can paint my nails.”

“Alright…”

“Don’t you dare spill any nail polish,” Sakusa hissed. “I’ll kill you both.”

“Yessir…” Atsumu mumbled. He slid off of Komori’s bed and onto the floor, ignoring the look of disdain Sakusa was giving him. “C’mon down, Komori-kun. I’m not takin’ any chances of it spillin’.”

Komori sat in front of him and passed him a bottle of green nail polish. Surprisingly, it wasn’t neon; it was, honestly, a gorgeous forest green.

“Huh. I’m impressed, Komori-kun. This color isn’t blindin’ me.”

He scratched the back of his head and laughed hesitantly. “Oh… that’s because I realized that the neon nails distracted me when playing sometimes,” Komori admitted. Atsumu balked. “I stole this from my sister.”

Sakusa sighed loudly, shaking his head. “I wish I could say I was surprised when he first told me this.”

“Only you, Komori-kun…” Atsumu sighed, picking up Komori’s left hand. He delicately began to paint his thumb.

“Enough about me!” Komori exclaimed. “Kiyoomi, tell him about the kid you ran into while walking in. Kageyama, was it?”

This pulled an even heavier sigh from Sakusa. He seemed to age ten years. “Yes, Kageyama Tobio.” Another sigh. “His team beat Wakatoshi-kun—they beat Shiratorizawa.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened, and he momentarily paused in painting Komori’s nails. Quietly he said, “I heard ‘bout that…”

Everyone who kept up with the Japanese high school volleyball league had to have heard about it. It was a huge deal. A national powerhouse was defeated by the disgraced former powerhouse of Miyagi that hadn’t had a decent team since 2006? It was simply unheard of! Karasuno had even been dubbed “The Fallen Champions”, and yet, they beat Shiratorizawa. Atsumu had heard about Kageyama Tobio, too. Some kind of “Genius Setter”. Well, Atsumu would have to be the judge of that.

“Well, anyway… I haven’t gotten around to watching the game tape, but I’m definitely going to figure out why Wakatoshi-kun was beaten.” Under his breath, Sakusa muttered, “That should’ve been impossible for that team…”

“What he means is that he’s going to confront Kageyama during dinner today,” Komori explained with a laugh. “I’ll keep him in check, of course!”

Atsumu barked out a laugh. “I can’t wait ta watch that!”

Groaning, Sakusa flipped open his phone. “You guys don’t understand…”

“What?” Atsumu questioned. He had finished the first coat of paint on Komori’s left hand and set it down to dry. “Yer weird fixation on Ushiwaka?” He picked up his right hand.

“Literally shut up.”

The two on the floor laughed while Sakusa grumpily turned away from them and tapped away on his phone.

“These look really nice, Atsumu-kun!” Komori exclaimed, holding his hand out in front of his face.

“Great, now put it down ‘fore ya mess ‘em up.”

“You know me so well…”

The room was quiet as Atsumu finished painting his nails. Komori was too busy admiring them to talk, which gave Atsumu’s ears a pleasant break. He sat peacefully as Atsumu painted his nails up until they were dry and he could move around without fear of damaging the paint.

“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Atsumu-kun, you did a really good job!” he exclaimed after Atsumu tapped his nails with his finger and declared them dry. “I have to take a picture and update my LINE.” Komori picked his phone up and opened the camera while holding one of his hands out in front of him. He paused for a moment, however, and slowly set his phone back down. “Your nails are super cute, too…” he murmured.

Atsumu lifted up his hand and glanced at his own nails before holding it out for Komori to look closer at them. They were purple, but on his pointer fingers, he had swirled black into the purple nail polish. He had been trying to learn some simple nail designs recently and only sort of failing.

Even Sakusa was curious enough about his nails to put his phone down and lean over the edge of his bed to have a look at them.

“Huh,” Sakusa huffed. “They look better than I expected. You did them, right?”

“I’ve been paintin’ my nails since like 5th grade, Omi-Omi,” Atsumu deadpanned, looking up at him underneath his eyelashes. “I would hope they look good.”

“They just look a lot better than the ones you sent a picture of a few weeks ago when you tried to make flames.”

“These are like… super good, Atsumu-kun…” Komori butted in, still staring down at his hands. “And your hands are super nice, too.”

“Thank ya, Komori-kun! ‘M glad someone realizes ma genius. And, Omi-kun, these were originally s’posed to be flames, I just ‘appened ta fail so I swirled it in hopes of savin’ it.”

“Still… they turned out good.”

“Ya bein’ this nice is startin’ to freak me out, Omi-Omi.”

“Oh, sorry, Miya. I fucking hate you, you suck, and should die.” Sakusa paused and continued. “Is that better?”

Atsumu shrugged.

“Can I take a picture of both of our nails and post them to LINE?” Komori wondered, picking his phone back up and finally looking away from their hands.

“I don’ mind.”

Atsumu scooted over to Komori’s side to make taking the picture easier and let him maneuver his hand around until he decided that it looked good enough.

When Komori was finally done with him, Atsumu stood up and stretched, groaning loudly.

“What time is it?” he wondered. “Shouldn’t we be headin’ to the gym soon?”

Sakusa answered, “We should probably be down there in the next ten minutes.” He also stood, unzipping the jacket he had been wearing since Atsumu had come into their room.

“Why didn’t ya tell us, Omi-kun!? I coulda hurried a bit…”

“It’s whatever now, Miya. Go back to your room and change. I’m sure Hoshiumi has gotten bored by now and left to bother someone.”

Sulking, Atsumu left their room and entered his. Once the door was pushed shut behind him, Atsumu tugged his sneakers off with his sweatpants. He put on his red Inarizaki shorts and shoved his shoes back onto his feet. Next, he took off his blue sweater and pulled on a black t-shirt and tossed his jacket over his shoulder.

Just before he left his room, he remembered to smear some more deodorant on.

Now ready, Atsumu made his way down to the gym.

The routine was strikingly familiar. He was pretty sure Coach Hibarida’s speech was 80% the same words from last year, and it wasn’t long before they were playing volleyball to get to know each other. Atsumu kept his eyes open for the Karasuno setter, but he never played him in any of the prerequisite matches.

In the last match before dinner, he was on the same team as Sakusa.

The other team served first as Atsumu had lost janken (which Sakusa had glared at him for), but the ball quickly returned to their side.

A first-year libero set it up, quite frankly, beautifully for Atsumu, and it didn’t take much to decide who to set it up for.

“Miya!” a sharp voice called for him. Atsumu already knew where Sakusa was jumping without having to glance away from the ball. Once the ball had left his fingertips, it was on course for Sakusa’s awaiting hand.

A resounding slam echoed through the gym ending the rally in mere seconds, and a cheer rose on their side of the net. Atsumu’s eyes swiveled to find Sakusa’s, who he found, was already looking at him. A proud smirk sat sideways on his face, and he raised a fist in celebration. Atsumu returned the gesture and turned back to the net with a bright grin of his own on his face.

Much later, one of the assistant coaches paused the match, and they were dismissed for dinner. He and Sakusa met Komori at the door before heading to the cafeteria.

“Hoshiumi went ahead,” Komori told them. “He said he’d find us a table.”

Sakusa nodded, but Atsumu couldn’t do anything more than make a hum in the back of his throat. Suddenly, he wished that he had eaten one of his snacks Osamu had “secretly” packed in his bag instead of taking a nap. He was starving.

Okay, well, that wasn’t necessarily true, but he was feeling a little woozy from low blood sugar. His hands hadn’t started shaking yet, so he considered that a win, but it was a very close race.

They went quickly from the gym to the cafeteria; all of them were hungry from practice.

The three of them stepped into the lunch line and went through it quickly considering they were among the first to arrive in the cafeteria. Hoshiumi had only barely gotten there before them. They joined him at one of the tables on the far side of the room. They all knew well enough that Sakusa would wipe the table down before any of them ate and all had remained standing, trays still in hand.

Sakusa’s face barely changed, but Atsumu knew that he was happy with how well the three of them knew him. He wiped the table down quickly and sat down first. Komori sat beside him, and Atsumu and Hoshiumi sat across from them.

It wasn’t long until herds of volleyball players began to stream into the cafeteria, and the room gradually got louder and louder. Sakusa and Komori were sitting on the side of the table facing the rest of the room, so when Kageyama finally entered, Sakusa spotted him quickly.

He began to get up, but Komori pressed him back into his seat by the shoulder.

“Ah, ah,” Komori chided. “You aren’t scaring that boy until you’ve eaten most of your dinner. Give the boy some time to eat before he loses his appetite!”

Atsumu didn’t understand why Sakusa was so dead set on intimidating Kageyama. It was all well and good, but they were in the middle of a meal for goodness’ sake! Food was much more important than questioning some first year.

Then again, Atsumu thought this while his cheeks were stuffed full of rice, and he was still trying to stuff a piece of pork into his mouth.

There were few things that a Miya would willingly interrupt a meal for.

As such, he watched from afar as Sakusa glared at Kageyama and tried to drag some sort of reason out of him until Komori pulled him away from the first year. Atsumu was busy eating a second portion.

The two returned shortly after with Sakusa not looking even a little bit chastised.

“Didja find out anythin’?” Atsumu wondered with a sleazy grin.

Sakusa glared at him, and Atsumu immediately dropped his grin and sat up straighter. He forgot how scary the wing spiker could be sometimes. It seemed that he had gotten too used to him.

“Somebody stuffed Wakatoshi-kun,” Sakusa grumbled. “That’s all I learned.”

“And then Kageyama-kun said that Kiyoomi hadn’t gotten serious yet!” Komori added.

The glare was turned onto his cousin. “I’m taking a bath.”

Sakusa left, hands stuffed into his pockets and shoulders hunched.

“What’s got him so bent out of shape?” Hoshiumi sighed, stretching.

“Kageyama-kun’s pretty good at getting under people’s skin, it seems. Although… I don’t think it’s entirely intentional…” Komori mused, plopping onto his seat. “Also Kiyoomi thinks something might be up with his shoulder. He’s probably hoping a bath will solve most of his problems, and in his case, it might.”

“He’s got the right idea,” Atsumu commented. “I think I’m gonna do the same.” He stood up and picked up his tray. “Hang in one o’ our rooms after y’all shower?”

The two agreed and got up to leave with him. Hoshiumi had promised to call his parents after dinner, and Komori usually helped Sakusa stretch after he bathed and wanted to make sure Sakusa didn’t have to wait for him. They split up at their rooms, and Atsumu went to the showers after he snagged some pajamas from his room.

He washed quickly but thoroughly. One of his fingers had a hangnail that he desperately needed to take care of before he started messing with it, but there was no way he was going to skimp on his shower to do so. Being stinky was one of his worst nightmares; it reminded him of junior high.

Half-dressed, someone tapped him on his shoulder and waited silently for him to turn around before speaking.

“Why do you paint your nails?” Kageyama Tobio wondered when he finished pulling his shirt on and turned around.

Startled, Atsumu jumped. He hadn’t expected this kid to be the one who wanted to speak to him. He was quick to regain his composure and put a demeaning look on his face.

“Huh?” he sneered. It was entirely possible that the first year wasn’t trying to be malicious by asking this question, but his voice instantly made Atsumu react. It was easy to understand why Sakusa was in such a pissy mood after talking to him.

“Your nails,” Kageyama repeated. “Why paint them?”

“I heard ya the first time. Is it really any o’ yer business?” He began to gather up his things.

“But why do it? Is there any point?” Kageyama insisted. “Do you avoid taking care of your hands and want to distract people from that fact?”

“What?” Atsumu asked, astonished. Instantly, his annoyed facade disappeared and was replaced with blatant confusion. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Uh, no… Ma hands are quite well-takin’ care of, thank ya very much. If ya have a problem with my nails, ya can go fuck yerself ‘cuz I don’t fuckin’ care whatcha think. They’re pretty, alright?”

Kageyama did not back down. “They’re pointless though. What do they do for you?”

Atsumu laughed, his head thrown back. “Wow! You’re quite the boy.” He deadpanned, “I don’t think ya’ve got any right or need to be askin’ me, though. What I do doesn’t affect ya, now does it?
“If ya understand me, then scoot, ‘kay?”

Silently, he gathered his things into his arms and left the locker room. The door swung shut behind him, and he shuddered. There was something desperately wrong with that first year. Atsumu did not like the way Kageyama’s eyes seemed to see straight through him.

He quickly made his way back to his and Hoshiumi’s room and dumped his dirty clothes on the floor beside his bags. Sakusa couldn’t judge him because he wasn’t in the room with him, and neither could Hoshiumi because, first of all, his clothes were just as messy (if not messier) on his side of the room, and second of all, he wasn’t in the room either.

It was easy to guess where he was, though, and Atsumu pulled one of Osamu’s sweaters over his head and pocketed his keycard before going next door to Sakusa and Komori’s room.

The door was propped open with one of Komori’s shoes, so he let himself in and pulled the shoe into the room.

Hoshiumi greeted him. “Hey, Miya!”

“What took you so long?” Sakusa wondered as he stretched out his shoulder.

He was kneeling on a yoga mat with his face pressed to the ground. One arm held up his upper body while his other was being pulled through the gap between his chest and the floor. It did not look particularly comfortable, but neither did any of the other ways Sakusa typically stretched—or sat.

Atsumu gritted his teeth and bristled. “Ran into Kageyama Tobio in the showers,” he answered.

Komori grimaced. “Yikes…”

“There is something wrong with that kid!” Atsumu exclaimed, slumping onto Komori’s bed beside Hoshiumi. There wasn’t much room for the three of them up there, but there weren’t many other places to sit. “He’s so… creepy… or somethin’. I dunno… he jus’ freaked me out.”

“He gets it!” Sakusa cried, having switched arms.

“I wonder if he has friends,” Hoshiumi mumbled.

Atsumu snorted. “I certainly wouldn’t be friends with ‘im!”

“What did he even say?”

“Started talkin’ ‘bout my nails…”

“He better have told you that he thinks they’re cute,” Komori warned.

He remained quiet. Kageyama certainly hadn’t complimented his nails, but Atsumu didn’t really know what he had been trying to get at in the first place. No one spoke for a while, long enough that Sakusa had finished stretching and was rolling up his yoga mat.

“It’s whatever,” Atsumu finally said, but still the other three remained silent. He shifted uncomfortably in his spot, but bumped into Hoshiumi’s shoulder. “Sorry…” he mumbled.

“Just come sit over here,” Sakusa suggested. He gestured to the other end of his bed.

Atsumu’s eyes were impossibly wide. Was Sakusa talking to him? Komori, just as shocked, pointed gracelessly at Atsumu.

“Him?” he wondered.

“These beds aren’t big enough for three high school athletes to be sitting on,” Sakusa explained. As if that explained anything. “There’s enough room over here for Miya.”

Hoshiumi was practically begging to say something beside Atsumu. Their shoulders bumped periodically from the boy’s vibrating. He was impressed with Hoshiumi’s restraint, however, because he knew exactly what he wanted to say because he was thinking the same thing.

Why me an’ not Hoshiumi-kun? Or Komori, fer that matter?

Atsumu wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was too good to be true. He hesitated another few moments before stumbling across the room to sit on Sakusa’s bed. He was careful to sit as far away from Sakusa as possible. There was no telling how far his kindness extended.

It wasn’t long before the moment was forgotten and the four began to discuss the new first year volleyball players in the circuit that had been making a splash lately. They all steered clear of Kageyama Tobio’s name, though. Enough had been said about that one.

Soon enough, the four of them began to get tired and decided to go their separate ways for the night. Atsumu and Hoshiumi said their goodbyes and went next door to their room.

The two of them were in bed in minutes. The only sound being Hoshiumi’s tossing and turning as he adjusted on the opposite side of the room.

Atsumu let himself decompress from the day for several minutes before tugging his eye mask over his face. It was difficult to remember that this was only the first day of training, and he had only arrived in Tokyo earlier that day. As he stared up at the blank ceiling, he recalled what Kageyama had said to him.

He had called his painted nails pointless. It reminded him of the first weeks of junior high. It reminded him of the constant trickle of blood that seemed to flow down his fingers. Hangnails that never went away and nails bitten down to the beds. Atsumu dug his nails into his palm. He would do everything in his power not to return to those days.

But before he had spoken to Kageyama, he had painted Komori’s nails. His excited cheers and laughter at the sight of their nails reminded Atsumu that he had grown past junior high. It wasn’t just him who didn’t want to see a return of those days. It was Osamu, Ma, and Aran who had bore witness to it all, and it was Sakusa and Komori who knew nothing of it, and probably never would, but still stood so resolutely beside Atsumu that it was impossible not to feel safe next to them.

Sighing, he allowed himself to relax. There was no returning to those days. He had grown past them.

Chapter Text

At the end of his third year of high school, Atsumu was scouted by the MSBY Black Jackals. He accepted immediately and moved to Osaka the next month.

Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by men who all loved volleyball just as much as he did. He missed Osamu, who stayed in Hyogo to work, but it was impossible to be sad when he was constantly surrounded by this ineffable love.

He got to know Osaka, too, in between the team meetings and practices that preceded the beginning of the season. The city was loud and bright and had delicious street food that Atsumu wasn’t supposed to be eating. Bokuto Koutarou still showed him the best places to get takoyaki. He found a kinship with the city and with the Black Jackals.

Atsumu stayed at the team dorms with several other of his teammates. Bokuto was his next door neighbor, a fact he would never forget because of the man’s raucous laughter that seemed to break through the wall whenever Atsumu was just about to fall asleep. While he was the closest in age, Atsumu also got along strikingly well with their older teammates.

It was a breath of fresh air to be around people who understood Atsumu’s relentless pursuit of more.

In the V.League, he was joined by several other people he had played with and against in high school. Aran had joined the Tachibana Red Falcons out of high school, and Komori had joined the EJP Raijins. Ushijima and Hoshiumi were on the Schweiden Adlers. Suna had joined a Division 2 team, but he swore he’d be in Division 1 in no time.

As the volleyball season grew nearer, Sakusa’s absence from the league grew even more noticeable. Instead of sending pictures from team outings like Komori and Hoshiumi did, he sent pictures of cats wandering around his college campus.

He hadn’t even known Sakusa wasn’t going straight into the V.League until a month after they had all graduated, and he finally bothered asking which team Sakusa had joined because he hadn’t mentioned anything yet. The answer he had received was not the one he wanted or expected.

Now, the night before the Jackals first game of the season, Atsumu had the jitters.

It was ridiculous that he had them in the first place because he wasn’t even the starting setter. Coach Foster had told him that he would only be put in as a pinch server for the first few games so that he could get used to the team. When Atsumu first heard this, he thought it was ridiculous. He had been getting used to everyone on the team for months now, what difference would a real game make? Apparently, Foster had made the right choice.

They didn’t have to travel considering it was a home game, but Atsumu thought that almost made it worse. If they had traveled, he could have been tired, but no. Instead, most of his teammates had turned in early in preparation for the game tomorrow. Yet, Atsumu was still awake at 11 PM, lying on the floor next to his bed.

He picked at his nails, a habit that never left him, but had never been this bad since junior high. It didn’t remind him of that period of his life, however; it reminded him of his childhood—the days when his hands were covered in dirt, dried blood, and peeling skin.

He wanted to play volleyball, he reminded himself. He had to stop ruining his livelihood. His hands were his most important body part, after all.

Standing up, Atsumu forced his hands away from each other and left his dorm room. As expected, the common room was devoid of his teammates. It felt odd being there so late at night without laughter trailing from some nook or cranny. The TV was off, too, but it almost always had a volleyball match on. He walked quickly through this area and on to the kitchenette on the opposite wall of the large room.

The light above the stove flickered on, and he filled the teapot with water, setting it on the stove to boil. From the cabinet above the stove, he picked out the tea he wanted—hojicha—and pulled a mug out of another cabinet, which contained their extensive collection of mugs. This one happened to have Sailor Mars on it, so Atsumu knew it was definitely one of Inunaki’s. Once the water was hot, he took it off the heat and poured it into the mug so the tea could steep. When his tea was finished steeping, Atsumu brought his mug to one of the worn couches in the living room. He turned on a dim lamp and sipped at his tea quietly.

A door squeaked open when he was about halfway done with his tea. He glanced to the hallway where all of the dorm rooms were located and saw Bokuto emerge. His teammate was scratching his bare stomach and looked like he had just risen from the dead with deep eyebags and hunched shoulders. Even his hair seemed lifeless. He hobbled over to the kitchen without noticing Atsumu.

Bokuto opened the fridge and took out the jug of milk and drank straight from it, setting it back in the fridge when he was finished. Atsumu made a face in disgust even he didn’t do that. The fridge was pushed shut, and Bokuto finally noticed Atsumu sitting in the living room.

He smiled weakly and trudged his way over, sitting down heavily beside him.

“Whatcha doing up, Tsum-tsum?” he wondered quietly with a gravely voice. He tilted his head. “We’ve got a game tomorrow. You need to be in top form!”

“I could say the same fer ya, Bokkun. Ya’ll be startin’, yeah?” he replied, evading the question. He set his tea on the coffee table and scratched at his palms.

“Ah.” Bokuto paused. “I have a small bladder! So I’m used to waking up in the middle of the night to piss. Why are you up? Did you have to piss, too? Because I don't think tea is going to help that.”

There was no stopping Bokuto Koutarou when he was always so mindlessly stubborn. “I’m jus'… a li'l nervous fer the game.”

“Oh, Tsum-tsum! Don’t let your nerves get the best of you! You’ll do great.”

“I’m glad you’re confident in me, Bokkun,” Atsumu deadpanned. He sighed and lifted his mug up for another drink.

“Well… what do you usually do to relax?”

He turned to Bokuto once more and was met with his teammate’s relentless stare. It was almost creepier than usual due to the darkness of the room, and Atsumu wasn't used to Bokuto's floppy hair. His eyes seemed to look straight into Atsumu’s soul and pull the truth out of him.

“Takin’ care of ma nails, I guess? I’ve tried, like, literally, everythin’ though.”

“Your nails always look really nice,” he admitted, looking down at Atsumu’s hands. “Could you do mine?”

“Ya mean… like, do my nail care routine on ‘em?”

“If you want, but I just wanted them painted.”

“Oh.” He drained the last of his tea from the mug.

Wow, that might actually help calm my nerves, Bokkun. Good job.

“Yeah, I can do that. Let’s go to ma room, though—so the other guys don’ wake up.”

Bokuto nodded with a smile and stood up. Atsumu followed him, but he stopped in the kitchen on the way to his room and washed the mug.

In his room, Atsumu opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand and pulled out the small bin he kept his nail care supplies in. He handed it to Bokuto and told him to pick out a color. Atsumu took a seat across from him, laying out some paper towels on the floor around them. As Bokuto continued to look for the color he wanted, Atsumu began to cut and file the nails of the hand he wasn't using to dig with.

At long last, he decided on a color and held it up for Atsumu to look at. Bokuto grinned broadly, and Atsumu raised an eyebrow at his teammate.

“It reminds me of Akaashi’s eyes!” he exclaimed.

Something seized Atsumu that almost brought him to tears, but he gritted his teeth, and replied, “I see…” He set the nail polish to the side and picked up Bokuto’s other hand.

When he finished cutting and filing Bokuto’s nails, he gently rubbed some oil into his fingertips and began to paint his nails. The problem was, Bokuto refused to stay still.

“It tickles!” Bokuto explained incorrectly—because how could it tickle? It wasn’t even touching his skin. He jerked his hand, but luckily, Atsumu had already pulled the nail polish wand away from his hand. He pulled the other’s hand back towards him.

“If ya want this done, ya need to stay put, Bokkun,” Atsumu responded, much more gently than he would have had it been just about anyone else. It was possible Atsumu had a soft spot for this dunce. “Next time ya jerk. I’m done.”

Bokuto pouted. “Alright…” He reluctantly relaxed and uncurled his hand.

“Thank ya.” And for the next several minutes Atsumu’s room was quiet. The AC thrummed in the background, and he focused on painting Bokuto’s nails. He hummed quietly to himself a song he was pretty sure was on the radio the last time he rode in Osamu’s truck, but he wasn’t quite sure. He hadn’t been in Osamu’s truck in a while.

He finished one hand and Bokuto pulled it up to his face to admire it. He moved to touch the paint, but Atsumu quickly wrenched his hands away from each other.

“No,” Atsumu barked.

Slowly, Bokuto lowered his hand with painted nails onto his knee and let it rest there. Atsumu took the other one and let it rest in his own hand. Calm took over Atsumu’s mind as he spread polish over Bokuto’s fingernails, and as the calm settled into his bones, it turned into sleepiness. He yawned silently and lifted the wand away from Bokuto’s hand.

This hand took longer than the first. Atsumu’s mind had slowed down considerably since his keyed-up tea drinking. He couldn’t wait to go to bed now, and it seemed Bokuto was in a similar boat. Every time Atsumu glanced up, his eyes were either half-lidded or completely shut, only to flutter back open seconds later. But as things do, the painting came to an end.

He screwed the top back onto the bottle. “Ya like it?” he asked after another yawn.

Bokuto gazed down at them with a small smile that sent pangs to his heart. Atsumu set the bottle back into the bin and brought his hand to his chest.

Quit it.

“Yeah, I really like it,” Bokuto answered. "I hope Keiji likes it too."

Atsumu breathed in sharply before abruptly standing. He began cleaning up their small mess. “I’m glad ta hear it. Make sure they’re mostly dry ‘fore goin’ to bed, so ya don’t mess ‘em up or stain yer sheets.” He added, "I'm sure Keiji-kun will like your nails."

Nodding, Bokuto stood and made his way to the door. “Night-night, Tsum-tsum. See you tomorrow!” The door clicked shut behind him, and Atsumu sighed. His will to clean up seemed to leave with his breath.

He tossed the paper towels he held in the trash and kicked what was left on the floor closer to the wall. Atsumu turned the lights off and tripped on his way to bed. Cursing, he hopped the rest of the way to his bed and sat down heavily on it. Twisting around, he slid underneath the covers and pulled his sleeping mask over his eyes.

Before he fell asleep, Atsumu said a prayer to the volleyball gods. 

Please make sure I don't trip an' fall on ma face tomorrow. I have loved this game fer so long. Please don't let a mistake stain my V.League debut.

"Amen," Atsumu said aloud.

Chapter Text

JSPORTS -> Interviews
A Look into the Lives of the MSBY Black Jackals

SAKURAI KEIKO: Good evening, Japan! I’m Sakurai Keiko, and I’m here with Bokuto Koutarou, Inunaki Shion, and Miya Atsumu—the Black Jackals newest player—after their win against VC Kanagawa. Miya-sama, how do you feel after your first game with the Black Jackals?

MIYA ATSUMU: I feel amazin’! I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun playin’ volleyball. It’s been great learnin’ how to work with the team an’ expandin’ my own abilities so being able to show off all of our hard work tonight feels very rewardin’.

SAKURAI: You have great chemistry with your teammates. Your personality seems to mesh really well with everyone else. You all must spend a lot of time together.

INUNAKI SHION: The team already spends a lot of time together between practice, dinners, meetings, and time spent at the dorms, but I think Atsumu really brought us even closer.

MIYA: Seriously? Y’all are always the ones botherin’ me, not the other way ‘round.

BOKUTO KOUTAROU: It’s how we show our love.

MIYA: Is that right?

INUNAKI: I said that because you’re always making us practice even more than we already do. Like, I do not want to be staying after practice to receive your serves because you got upset that you missed one serve during practice. You’re so annoying.

MIYA: [glaring at Inunaki] There is so much dirt I have on ya, Wan-san, ya better shut yer mouth.

SAKURAI: Moving on! Do you have any favorite activities that you do with your teammates? This is a question for all of you.

BOKUTO: Team dinners! I think eating with someone really lets you know what they’re like.

INUNAKI: You only say that because you like eating so much.

BOKUTO: Where do you think all these muscles come from? [flexes arms] I think you need to start eating more protein! [pokes Inunaki]

INUNAKI: We have a diet plan! Anyway. Personally, I really like the time we spend at Meian-san’s house. Usually, we come over uninvited, and he gets really mad at us, but his wife doesn’t seem to mind and always gives us snacks.

MIYA: [quietly] You’re also talkin’ about eatin’. Fuckin’ pig.

BOKUTO: Tomas-san always puts on these weird English shows on the TV, and none of us want to tell him that they’re weird because he seems to really like them. Wait- can we cut this out of the interview? I forgot he might read this.

SAKURAI: Um… I’ll see what I can do. What about you, Miya-san?

MIYA: Me? I think I just like the time we spend together at the dorms. I know that not everyone is there, but I really enjoy hangin’ out on the couch wit’ everybody else around and doin’ different stuff. It feels really homey.

SAKURAI: To go with that, what do you guys do in your free time?

INUNAKI: A lot of us watch TV or read. I know a few of the guys are getting degrees online, so some of them are studying.

BOKUTO: Some of the guys do, like, craft stuff, too. I think Barnes-san knits in his free time…

SAKURAI: Oh! That’s so cute!

BOKUTO: I know right! He knitted me and- [coughs] Excuse me! He knitted me a scarf for Christmas last year!

MIYA: Do ya think he’d make me a hat?

INUNAKI: Oh, for sure.

SAKURAI: What about you, Bokuto-sama? I noticed your nails were painted earlier; are you learning how to paint nails?

BOKUTO: [looks down at nails and holds them up] Oh, these? Tsum-tsum painted them! There’s no way I could’ve done these myself!

SAKURAI: Miya-sama, you did these?

MIYA: Uh, yeah… [lifts hands up] I paint mine, too. [blushes]

INUNAKI: I knew you painted your nails, but I didn’t even notice that Bokuto had his nails painted. Is this some secret club? What the hell, I want in!

SAKURAI: Wow! They look really neat! How long have you been painting your nails?

MIYA: My ma started paintin’ ‘em when I was little, and I guess I just kept on doin’ it… I dunno, I like it.

SAKURAI: That’s sweet… It's a really cool thing to see in mens’ sports! I think other players need to take note.

MIYA: It really ain’t that big of a deal…

INUNAKI: You keep telling yourself that, Atsumu…

SAKURAI: [looks at watch] Oh no! I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve ran over time! I really need to get going. Thank you so much for speaking with me! Miya-sama, I really look forward to seeing what else you do in the V.League, so good luck! Any final words?

BOKUTO: Make sure you go watch our next game!

MIYA: Thank you for supporting us!

INUNAKI: Jackals out!

JUNKO BALLIN @jamboringg
WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME THAT MIYA ATSUMU WAS SUCH A SWEETHEART???
1🗨 • 1⟲ • 45♡

JACKALS 4EVER @jackalmeoff
the jackals are literally so close,,, miya just joined this season and the boys are literally already best friends. those three are so cute together!
11🗨 • 4⟲ • 193♡

miya atsumu’s newest biggest fan @blublo
this interview had so many good vibes 💖💖
1🗨 • ⟲ • 14♡

JACKALS 4EVER @jackalmeoff
i CANT WAIT to see even more interactions between them!!!
🗨 • ⟲ • 4♡

Wishing i was an owl @bokubeam
I liked Miya Atsumu the SECOND i heard he painted Bokuto’s nails.
8🗨 • 3⟲ • 45♡

💛 honey!! @volleygal_
miya atsumu is the biggest green flag i have ever seen.
a man??? in sports??? that paints his and his teammates nails?????? UGH I CANT
42🗨 •20⟲ • 301♡

JUNKO BALLIN @jamboringg
Sakurai-sama was literally so real in this interview!!! Other players NEED to take note!
4🗨 • 1⟲ • 37♡

chill out 🥶 @justagame
no one asked for radical mens volleyball.
2🗨 • 7⟲ • 49♡

Chapter Text

During the off-season, Atsumu never really knew what to do with himself for the first several years after joining the V.League. Volleyball was his life; why would he ever need to take a break? The off-season never was completely free, but volleyball events usually fell at the very start or very end of the break leaving the middle of it feeling extra empty.

At this time last year, Atsumu had moved into Kiyoomi’s apartment—a short drive from the Black Jackals’ gym. Spending the off-season with Kiyoomi was ten times better than spending it alone or on Osamu’s futon (or one of his other friends’ futons). After post-season banquets and meetings, they had taken a trip to an onsen town in Hyogo. They had visited Atsumu’s hometown while they were there, and he was able to show Kiyoomi around his stomping grounds. Even once they returned to Osaka, Atsumu found himself bored very infrequently.

Whenever he complained that he was bored, Kiyoomi thrusted cleaning supplies into his hands and made him clean some portion of the apartment.

The novelty of living with his best friend had since faded—just slightly—and everything felt just a little bit more like routine instead of like one long sleepover. So, when the events ended and Atsumu had returned to Osaka after visiting home that summer, he found that he was a little more bored than he was the previous year.

Kiyoomi had long since gotten tired of Atsumu’s mindless fidgeting and had retired to his bedroom to play Piano Tiles, probably.

Atsumu laid on the couch—sort of. His feet were propped on the backrest and his back lay against the seat so that his head dangled off of the couch. His hair had fallen away from his forehead, and he was sure that he looked incredibly ugly from any point of view. He blew air out of his mouth and thought about how bored he was.

Osaka was facing a heat wave, and he definitely didn’t want to leave the house for longer than ten minutes. The area had been under a heat wave warning for the past week, and Atsumu had long grown tired of staying inside. He was running out of things to do!

The apartment had undergone almost a full deep clean, and Atsumu’s room did not need to be rearranged again. He had spent the early afternoon rewatching My Neighbor Totoro with Kiyoomi and couldn’t stand to watch anything else on TV. The previous day, he had played Animal Crossing: New Horizons for six hours, but Kiyoomi stole his Switch to prevent him from doing that. Atsumu had given up on playing chess (or any other strategy games) with his roommate a while ago, so that was out of the question.

He groaned loudly. His brain wasn’t even working right anymore since all of his blood had drained to it. His arms had also gone numb at some point. Briefly, he shut his eyes and colors swam behind his eyelids. The floor against his head shifted, and he opened his eyes.

Kiyoomi stood above him.

“Get up,” he told Atsumu. “We’re going to do an Instagram Live.”

He began to get up, forgetting how he was laying, and fell to the floor. “Huh?” he wondered cluelessly, slowly standing up. He rubbed at his ass, and Kiyoomi dragged him the rest of the way to his feet.

“Aren’t you bored?”

“Well, yeah, but why? Ya hate doin’ lives.” Kiyoomi had yet to let go of Atsumu’s arm and pulled him to the table. He sat Atsumu down and walked a few steps to the fridge.

“We’re doing it on your account.”

“But aren’tcha gonna be in it?”

“Yes.” He put two melon sodas on the table.

“So why’re we doin’ it?”

Kiyoomi whipped his head around to glare at Atsumu. “Shut up.”

Eyes wide, he mimed zipping his mouth shut. Seconds later, his teeth threatened to show in his grin, but Kiyoomi had already turned away from him and left the kitchen.

Although he teased Kiyoomi, he was more than willing to comply with his demands. Obediently,  Atsumu took out his phone and opened Instagram. He started the Live before Kiyoomi had returned and greeted the viewers as they trickled in. There were more than there usually would be this early on an unplanned Instagram Live, and he chalked that up to everyone else being just as bored and stuck inside as he was.

He adjusted his phone so that it was propped up on one of the melon soda bottles before waving to the viewers.

“Hiya everyone! Omi-kun told me to start a Live without tellin’ me what we’re doin’ or anythin’, so I’ll letcha know what’s happenin’ when I know what’s happenin’. He wandered away and left his roomie to fend by ‘imself. Heartless, I know.”

Atsumu fiddled with his hands as he waited. He popped his right thumb, then his left thumb, going back and forth with every finger. He read the comments on his phone as they slowly filled his screen.

“My break’s been pretty good so far,” Atsumu said. “I visited back ‘ome a lil’ bit ago like I always do. Y’all prolly know that already though. I posted some pics. The heat in Osaka has been kickin’ my ass…”

He slumped onto the table, his head pillowed on his arms. “Movie recommendations? I’ve been watchin’ so much on TV lately. I actually never wanna look at a TV again. Um… I mean, I’m always partial to Studio Ghibli films an’ animated stuff like Wall-E . Personally, I liked Isle of Dogs , but I know not everyone does… When it comes to live-action stuff, I like ones with DILF main characters. Oh shit, I fuckin’ love the X-men movies! Well… most of ‘em—mostly just the Wolverine ones, actually… If ya like weird American movies like Omi does, ya’ll prolly like Sunset Boulevard . I don’t really like black an’ white films, but it was still good.”

Atsumu watched Kiyoomi walk back into the kitchen and make a face at him, out of view from his phone’s camera. He carried Atsumu’s bag of nail care items in one hand and took paper towels off of the kitchen counter with the other. He set these on the table close to Atsumu before coming behind him and leaning on his chair.

“He’s too much of a baby for black and white movies,” he told their viewers.

By then, hundreds more people had joined the Instagram Live, and Atsumu watched as the comments flew past as people greeted Kiyoomi.

“There’s no color!” Atsumu cried. “It’s less visually stimulatin’!”

“Ah, I know why I like it, then.” Kiyoomi paused for a moment and grabbed Atsumu by the hair, pulling his head back and forth. “It’s because your hair is all the visual stimulation one person needs.”

“Quit it!” He swatted at Kiyoomi’s hands. “Ya’re so mean to yer roomie…” His teammate let go but kept his hand in Atsumu’s hair to fix the mussed strands that had fallen over his forehead and into his eyes. “What’re we even doin’ today, anyway?”

He gestured to the things he had brought to the table. “Painting your nails, obviously.”

“Didja seriously tell me to start a Live just to make me paint ma nails?” Atsumu deadpanned. “Ya aren’t even gonna stick around, are ya?”

Kiyoomi sighed, crossed his arms, and said, “Well, I figured you could teach me how to paint nails.”

Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock. His mouth opened and closed without saying anything. He blinked.

“I thought… ya didn’t want yer nails painted.”

“You are so difficult, Atsumu. I’m going to paint your nails.”

“Oh.” He blinked again. “Well… huh. Yeah, I s’pose that would work.”

Atsumu picked up his melon soda and drank for a long moment. When he set it down, he saw his phone, recalled that he was currently doing an Instagram Live, and fumbled for something to say. He had forgotten that he needed to entertain the masses.

“Well, there ya have it, folks!” he exclaimed. “Omi-kun’s gonna paint ma nails fer me!”

Even coming out of his own mouth, the words felt inexplicably fabricated. Kiyoomi had never before expressed a desire to have any involvement in his nail painting. Oftentimes, his roommate would sit with him while he did it, but it was never about the nail painting; it was about watching TV together, or sitting together because they were friends.

This was an entirely new experience for Atsumu, and typically, he didn’t face radically new experiences in front of an audience of a couple thousand. Usually, he liked to internally (sometimes externally) freak out, contemplate his life up to that moment, and then, he could move on. He didn’t think that would be possible today.

Kiyoomi pulled out the chair beside Atsumu and took a seat, dragging it closer to Atsumu. He unzipped the bag and took out the nail polish remover and a couple cotton balls. The nail polish remover was uncapped and poured onto a cotton ball.

“Give me your hand,” Kiyoomi told him. 

Without a thought, Atsumu set his hand on top of his roommate’s outstretched hand. He began to wipe off Atsumu’s old nail polish with the cotton ball. Once the cold touch of the acetone touched his nails, Atsumu blinked, suddenly at a loss for words.

He looked from their joined hands to Kiyoomi’s face to his phone, where thousands of people watched them from. Suddenly, he no longer wanted to be a nationally famous Japanese volleyball player. He fumbled his phone with the hand not resting in Kiyoomi’s and propped it up closer to their hands, so the viewers could see what Kiyoomi was doing. The position also put Atsumu’s face farther from the main focus. He could feel his cheeks burning up, and it wasn’t just from the heatwave.

Atsumu gained further consciousness and opened his mouth; there wasn’t much else he was good for.

“Ya seem ta know ‘xactly what you’re doin’,” Atsumu pointed out. His voice squeaked at the end. “Clearly, ya don’t need ma teachin’.”

Kiyoomi looked up at him through his lashes, setting the dirtied cotton ball on the table. He set Atsumu’s hand back into his lap and picked up his other one. Another acetone-soaked cotton ball wiped away Atsumu’s old nail polish, this time on his left hand. He couldn’t recall when Kiyoomi’s eyes returned to their hands.

As he finished the left hand, Kiyoomi asked, “What’s next?”

“I usually soak ma hands in warm water an’ trim my cuticles… but ya don’t need to worry ‘bout that!” Atsumu sputtered, laughing hesitantly. “Ya were just plannin’ on paintin’ my nails, after all.”

“No,” Kiyoomi objected, standing up abruptly. “I’m going to do this right. This is going to be the best fucking tutorial out there.”

Atsumu blinked at the camera, and his eyes blinked back at him. He turned around to watch Kiyoomi take a bowl from the cabinet and fill it with warm water.

“Ya’re awfully dedicated,” he mentioned. “Seems suspicious.”

“I told you,” Kiyoomi replied, setting the water on the table. “This is going to be the best fucking nail care tutorial out there.

“Also, you aren’t being a particularly good Live host.”

Atsumu set his hands in the bowl without needing to be told, but blurted, “Ya’re the one who insisted I start a Live! Yer fault!”

“Yeah sure.” He picked up his phone and opened it up, leaning back in his chair. “Here, I’ll read off some questions while we’re waiting. How long should you keep your hands soaking?”

“‘Til yer cuticles are soft. Normally, I do this afta I shower, it’s easier then.”

“You hear that, people? After you shower. First question: What team would you play for if you didn’t play for the Black Jackals?”

Atsumu’s eyebrows furrowed, and he hummed in thought. “That’s tough. If not the Jackals… prolly EJP Raijin or the Red Falcons. Then, I could play with Aran-kun or Sunarin. Scratch that, I don’ wanna play with Sunarin; he’s a bully. I’d play fer the Falcons. Omi? What about you?”

“The Adlers, easily.”

Atsumu squawked and kicked Kiyoomi’s shin. “Don’t joke ‘bout that, Omi-kun!”

Kiyoomi kicked back. “I’m not joking! You know as well as I do that they’re one of the best teams out there.”

He deadpanned, “All o’ the teams in Division 1 are the best out there.” He kicked back.

Kiyoomi caught his foot in between his legs and held it there. “Shut up. Maybe if you stay annoying, I’ll cancel my contract and join the Adlers anyway.”

“Ya wouldn’t..!”

“I could.”

He glared at Kiyoomi and turned to look at the camera. “Ain’t he annoyin’? Ain’t he?”

“I don’t think you’re going to find any sympathy with our viewers.”

Atsumu wrapped his foot around his shin and dug his toes into the muscle of Kiyoomi’s leg. “Ya suck, and ya’re mean, Omi-kun.”

“You’re only learning this now?” Kiyoomi wondered. He pulled one of Atsumu’s hands out of the warm water and wiped the water off with a paper towel before prodding at the base of his nails. “I think his cuticles are soft enough now.” He turned to the camera and pulled Atsumu’s hand forward to show the viewers.

“Now, you’re gonna push my cuticles back. I just use an eraser because I’m cheap, but they make actual cuticle pushers. Be super gentle when pushin’ back yer cuticles. Ya really don’t want to push ‘em back too far. It hurts like hell.”

Kiyoomi pulled an eraser out of the bag. He stared at it and the furrow between his eyebrows grew. “Atsumu, you’re a professional volleyball player. You can afford something nicer.”

He shrugged. “Havin’ a single mama sticks with ya.”

“You went to a private school,” Kiyoomi retorted.

“Scholarship, baby.”

Sighing, Kiyoomi slowly began to push back Atsumu’s cuticles. He moved carefully and held Atsumu’s hand gently.

His hands were larger and bonier than Atsumu’s, and they radiated heat and were clammy. Both of these traits were because of the heatwave. Atsumu knew Kiyoomi’s hands were cold (because he had a habit of setting them on Atsumu’s nape) and dry (from too much washing). The urge to wrap his fingers around Kiyoomi’s hand grew, but he shook the thought away. It was too hot.

“All done,” Kiyoomi murmured. He set the eraser to the side. “Now I file, right?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu smiled at him. “Wanna find another question to answer real quick? I don’t think we’re bein’ very good Live hosts.”

“It’s your Live,” Kiyoomi replied. “ You aren’t being a very good Live host.” But he still picks up his phone and scrolls through the chat to find a question. “Have you played any other sports besides volleyball? Or, are there any other sports you enjoy watching besides volleyball?”

He put his phone down and picked up the nail file again. Atsumu started to answer the question as Kiyoomi began to file his nails.

“‘Samu and I tried lots o’ sports when we were little. Before volleyball, Ma put us in soccer to ‘get rid of extra energy’ or somethin’ like that. I liked it, but ‘Samu hated runnin’ so much. I wasn’t very coordinated back then either, so I was trippin’ over grass like a fool.” He moved on from filing his thumb to Atsumu’s index finger.

“Not much has changed then.”

“Hey! Ya take that back, Omi-omi! I’m much more coordinated now.”

“Does your mom have any recordings of you playing soccer?” Kiyoomi wondered.

“I’m not tellin’! Ya’re only gonna use it to make fun!”

“Well, yeah. What else would I do with it?”

“Shuddup. Durin’ the sports festival, I’d run in the mid-distance races, an’ usually, I did pretty good. I don’t like basketball. Basketball’s awful. Oh! Durin’ P.E., ‘Samu and I did real well durin’ badminton… ‘Til we started fightin’ an’ weren’t allowed to play together anymore.”

“That sounds about right. Neither of us really watch any sports besides volleyball. When I was younger, my brother was always watching racing, so I ended up watching racing a lot in elementary school. In middle and high school, Komori would drag me to play baseball with our classmates during lunch, and I was decent at that.” He finished one hand and moved onto Atsumu’s other hand, but he glanced up at the camera before he began. “I don’t think any volleyball player likes basketball.”

“Everyone I knew in the basketball club were the worst people,” Atsumu added. “One time, their gym was bein’ fixed fer whatever reason, an’ they tried to commandeer our gym!”

“Do all basketball clubs just suck then? Because the basketball club at Itachiyama wanted to cut the volleyball club’s funding so they could have a larger budget. Except, they sucked and had no reason to have a larger budget. One of the boys on the team in my class put his dirty socks in my shoe locker for a whole week because he knew it’d bother me.”

“What a fuckin’ asshole!” Atsumu exclaimed. He turned to his phone. “Please share yer basketball club horror stories an’ make a hashtag fer ‘em. This must be a national problem.”

It wasn’t long before Kiyoomi finished filing the rest of Atsumu’s nails. He put the nail file on one of the paper towels laid out on the counter to be cleaned later. Kiyoomi reached for the bag and pulled out two bottles of nail polish.

“Oh, there’s still one more thing ya gotta do ‘fore ya can paint ma nails.” Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “Get another cotton ball out an’ pour some more nail polish remover on it,” Atsumu instructed.

He did as he was told and began to wipe Atsumu’s nails down again.

“Why are we doing this again?” Kiyoomi asked. “Isn’t this drying out your nails even more?”

“Well, yeah… but the nail polish remover makes sure that no nail dust is gettin’ in the polish. It’s jus’ a final clean. I’ll put on moisturizer when my nails’re dry, anyways.”

Kiyoomi nodded and continued. Once all of his nails had been wiped clean again, Kiyoomi tossed the cotton ball onto the table.

“Nail polish now, right?”

“Yep!”

He picked up the two colors he had chosen and set them in front of the camera so the viewers could see the vibrant colors.

Kiyoomi had chosen Big Apple Red and I’m Yacht Leaving—a bright red and a teal that was close to the color of the water in the Maldives. However, Atsumu only knew that because Kiyoomi once showed him some pictures from one of his family vacations, in which they had gone to the Maldives. Fucking rich people.

“Ooh, fancy!” Atsumu exclaimed. “Two colors.”

Sighing, his roommate ripped a paper towel off the roll and laid it across the table. He picked up the nail polish bottles, uncapped them, and set them on top of the paper towel. “I’m just going to paint every other nail red and then the ones in between teal. I thought the colors were… summery.”

And that about brought Atsumu to tears. “Aw… Omi-omi… ya didn’t need to be so cute! I love the colors you picked.” Atsumu barely ever used those colors, evident in the way the bottles were barely empty. He was starting to like the colors even more though. Surprisingly, they looked quite nice together, and… summery. Atsumu believed that he’d be using these colors much more frequently in the coming nail polish refreshes.

Kiyoomi groaned. “Shut up! You’re so fucking annoying…”

Atsumu’s eyes widened and he looked at his phone. Pretending to gasp, he said, “Uh-oh…” and raised a hand to his mouth.

His friend took hold of Atsumu’s hand and pulled it back over to him. “What next?” he gritted out.

“Paintin’! We want to start with thin coats ‘cuz they dry a lot faster. Don’t bring the polish all the way to my cuticles. It’s easier to clean up an’ chips less that way.”

He started with the red on his thumb, and the first touch of polish was the most delicate thing Atsumu had ever felt. It barely brushed his nail but left behind a hot red trail of color. In the hot air, Atsumu felt goosebumps prickle on his skin, and he tried not to shudder. It would disturb Kiyoomi, entirely focused on his hands and not getting any polish on his skin.

Atsumu’s breath caught when he looked down. He never wanted this attention to leave his skin. He wanted to be looked at and looked at and maybe even stared at forever and ever as long as it was Kiyoomi.

The brush lifted from his skin and was set back in the bottle. The nail was coated in red paint, not a drop had landed on his skin, and it was the perfect distance from his cuticle. Kiyoomi looked up at him.

“How’s that?” he asked, almost proud of himself. His hand still held Atsumu’s, and he lifted it up to show the Live viewers. “I think I’m a natural.”

“Yup,” Atsumu croaked, wishing he wasn’t being watched by thousands and Kiyoomi. “Perfect.”

Kiyoomi smirked at him, and Atsumu nearly cried. “I guess I’ll just have to paint your nails every time. You know, because I’m so much better at it than you.”

“I guess so…”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re so weird, Atsumu.” He lifted his hand up—the unoccupied one—and flicked Atsumu’s forehead. “Ah, I don’t think the rest of this Live is going to be very interesting, so I think we’re going to shut it down here,” Kiyoomi said, turning to the camera. “Atsumu will post the finished look when I’m done, won’t you? Any last words, Atsumu?”

He turned to the camera, ignoring the faint redness on his cheeks. “Yeah… I’ll post it later tonight.

“Um… I’ll probably have him do two or three coats, letting each coat dry for about ten minutes.” Kiyoomi picked up the wand from the teal polish and began to paint Atsumu’s next nail as he spoke. “Once ya’re done paintin’ both hands, ya can put on a top coat if ya’d like the polish to last longer. If not… it’s more likely to chip. Wait fifteen minutes fer yer last coat to dry and wash yer hands under warm water. This’ll clean up any excess nail polish. Then, I moisturize my hands lots ; this’ll also lift nail polish from yer skin. To clean up any more nail polish, put some remover on a Q-tip or a thin brush and wipe it away carefully usin’ that.”

“Is that everything?” Kiyoomi asked, looking up again.

“Yup!”

“Say goodbye to your viewers then.”

“Oh, right.” Atsumu turned back to his camera and waved goodbye with a smile. “Bye guys! Jackals out!” He reached forward and ended the Live.

Sighing, he let his phone fall forward onto the table and relaxed into his chair. He looked down at Kiyoomi again.

He had made it to his ring finger now and was gently painting it with the teal polish. On Atsumu’s middle finger, a large smear of red nail polish had gotten on his skin. He pointed at it with his opposite hand.

“What ‘appened to bein’ a natural?” Atsumu teased, a grin on his face as Kiyoomi glared at him.

“Natural talent means natural mistakes,” Kiyoomi replied easily.

“Is that what they’re callin’ it now?” A burst of pain flooded his nerves. Kiyoomi had pinched his thigh. “Ow! Jeez… ya didn’t have to do that…”

Silence returned to their apartment. Atsumu breathed out heavily, leaning his head back and letting his eyes fall shut. The heat was making him tired and droopy. His body felt so heavy, but the hand Kiyoomi held was light. Weightless.

“Other hand.”

Blinking his eyes open, Atsumu peered down to find his right hand fully painted. He raised it up to his face to admire.

“Lookin’ good.”

Blindly, he set his left hand in Kiyoomi’s awaiting hand. His roommate shifted his hand until the weight was balanced equally across his palm.

“All thanks to my teacher.”

“It’s students like ya who make our sufferin’ worth it.”

Atsumu closed his eyes again.

“Tired?” Kiyoomi asked quietly. He hummed something that must have sounded like agreement. “Want to order dinner or do you want me to make something?”

He didn’t answer for a while. “Ya don’t gotta make somethin’... I can cook,” Atsumu mumbled.

“You’re tired.”

“I haven’t done anythin’ today.”

“Neither have I. We’ll order in,” Kiyoomi decided.

Humming again, Atsumu couldn’t imagine being more content. He could feel Kiyoomi’s knobbly knee brushing against his inner thigh, and he knew his friend’s head was bent over his hand. His focus was entirely on him. With his free hand, he reached out and poked where he thought Kiyoomi’s leg was.

He hit flesh.

“Wanna have a sleepover t’night?”

“We’re roommates.”

“In the livin’ room.” He opened his eyes and looked at Kiyoomi to pout, who was already watching him. “Ya know it’s clean! I haven’t even eaten there since we cleaned it.”

Sighing, Kiyoomi agreed and returned to painting his nails. He continued to watch Kiyoomi, a gentle smile on his face as he finished painting his left pinkie. The wand of the red nail polish was put into its bottle and screwed shut, along with the teal polish.

Just as Atsumu was about to set his hands on the table to dry, Kiyoomi picked up his right hand and brought them both to the table for him and stood up. His eyes followed him, blinking once.

“What do you want to order? I was thinking cold soba.” Kiyoomi asked. He picked up the used cotton balls on the table and threw them out. Returning to the table, he finally picked up his melon soda and took a long drink from it.

“Okay. What time is it anyway?”

“Still early. I won’t order now—unless you’re hungry.”

He shook his head. Kiyoomi reached over him and picked up the nail file.

“I can wash that!” Atsumu protested.

“Your nails are drying.”

Huffing, Atsumu replied, “Well, I’d do it later, obviously.”

“Then I’ll do it. I’m waiting for your nails to dry anyway for the next coat.”

And so Kiyoomi washed the nail file and they waited.

Atsumu watched his roommate quietly while they waited for the first coat to dry and then the second and then the third. By the time his nails were completely dry, Kiyoomi had completely picked up the mess they had made.

He tapped them gently to make sure they were dry before getting up. Wandering over to Kiyoomi, who was washing two bowls for dinner, Atsumu draped his arms over his shoulders and held his hands in front of his face.

“They look good,” he told Kiyoomi.

His arms were shrugged off of Kiyoomi’s shoulders, but the tap was quickly shut off and he turned around to face Atsumu as he dried his hands. Setting the towel to the side, Kiyoomi lifted up one of his hands to admire for himself.

“I’m a natural.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, let me wash my hands. Yer natural skills got on ma skin.”

Kiyoomi scooted out of the way. “It’s still pretty early, but do you want me to order?”

“Go ahead.”

Atsumu finished off his melon soda and threw the bottle away. He stretched and rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling the tackiness of his skin from dried and new sweat. It was gross, and he wondered if Kiyoomi’s nape felt the same.

He glanced over to find his roommate already on the phone. His back was towards Atsumu, and he was half-tempted to reach out and touch it. Kiyoomi turned around with an eyebrow already raised.

Positive he was already making a ridiculous face, Atsumu grinned crookedly and made over-exaggerated motions towards the bathroom.

“ Shower ,” he mouthed to Kiyoomi and proceeded to do some more absurd charades.

He could tell that Kiyoomi had almost cracked by the half-tilted shape to his lips, drawn up in an attempt not to laugh. Atsumu’s chest felt full, and Kiyoomi whipped around. His back was to him once again, and he lifted hand and waved him away in the direction of the bathroom.

Then, he stuck up his middle finger, still pointing down the hall.

Atsumu hurried away. It was an easy thing to tease Kiyoomi, and it was an even easier thing to be tugged along on strings attached to Kiyoomi’s fingers.

He stopped in his room to pick up some clothes to change into before going into the bathroom and pulling the door shut behind him. Stripping, Atsumu instantly felt cooler and sitting under the cold spray settled his skin to a comfortable temperature. It wasn’t long before he turned off the cold water; he never liked cold showers very much. Under the warmish water, he carefully scraped away the nail polish that had gotten on his skin. He showered quickly—just long enough that Kiyoomi couldn’t complain that he hadn’t washed himself thoroughly.

It didn’t take long for him to finish his after-shower routine, and after dumping his clothes into the washing machine to be washed later, he left the bathroom. He returned to his room for his hand moisturizer and rubbed it into his skin liberally.

When he wandered into the kitchen, he found Kiyoomi sitting at the table drinking a glass of honkaku umeshu. He looked tired sitting there, staring off into space.

Atsumu slid into the chair beside him. “Drinkin’ without me? An’ before dinner?” he teased. “What ‘appened to ya, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Being around you makes me inclined to drink.”

“Lemme have a sip.”

He pulled his glass closer to himself. “You don’t even like umeshu.”

“Tastes can change!”

“You complained about it last week.”

Ignoring Kiyoomi, Atsumu asked, “When is our food s’posed ta get ‘ere?”

Glancing at his phone, he replied, “Not long. If you’re so desperate for it, you should’ve taken a longer shower.” He finished the rest of his drink and got up to wash the glass. “I’m going to shower too. I’ve already paid for dinner, so just bring it in when it arrives. Wait for me before eating, okay?”

“I was plannin’ on it…”

As he breezed by, Kiyoomi ruffled a hand through Atsumu’s damp hair. “Good.” And: “Dry your hair next time.”

“It’s hot!” he cried as his roommate walked farther away from him. He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back into the chair.

He stood up, having decided that he, too, deserved a drink. For what? Well, he’d figure that out later.

In the fridge, Atsumu found that there was very little alcohol. Not surprising considering they were professional athletes with jobs that often kept them from drinking, but somehow, there was still more alcohol in the fridge than there was during the volleyball season. He pushed past a single beer bottle (neither of them liked beer much, but Osamu did) and a few cans of whiskey highball before finding what he was looking for, a lychee chuhai.

The tab cracking open was a pleasant sound in his ears, and he took a long drink, letting the sweet taste of the lychee along with the tang of the carbonation and alcohol settle on his tongue. He tapped his fingernails against the side of the can, another pleasant sound, and admired the red and teal.

Nearly halfway done with the drink, the intercom buzzed. Their food had arrived. It wasn’t much longer before the delivery made its way to their apartment door. He thanked the woman who had delivered it before shutting the door and bringing it to the table. Atsumu could smell it through the packaging, and his stomach grumbled unhappily.

Minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Kiyoomi returned to the kitchen. He, unlike Atsumu, had dried his hair. He noticed the can on the table.

“Drinking without me?” Kiyoomi mocked Atsumu. Without a word, he brought their food over to the counter to be dished out into the bowls he had washed earlier.

“Jus’ makin’ it even,” Atsumu replied. He had finished the can and got up to get another one.

“Pour me another glass of umeshu while you’re at it?” Kiyoomi set the glass he had washed earlier closer to Atsumu.

It wasn’t long before they had gathered up their alcohol, bowls of soba, and chopsticks and brought it all to the living room to eat together. Kiyoomi curled up in one corner of the couch after setting his dinner on the end table that had been moved in front of the couch. Atsumu sat beside him, their thighs a centimeter apart.

They ate quietly without turning the TV on. The AC of their apartment hummed in the background, and the bright light of the sun nearing the horizon beamed into their apartment. They savored their dinners, but it still wasn’t long until they both finished. Bringing their dirty dishes back into the kitchen, Kiyoomi washed and Atsumu dried.

While he was there, Atsumu topped off Kiyoomi’s umeshu and got himself another can of Chuhai. This time, it was kiwi-flavored.

Back in the living room, the end table was moved back to where it belonged, and the two returned to their positions on the couch. Only, closer this time. Kiyoomi was still tucked into the corner of the couch, closest to the end table for easy access to their drinks. Atsumu sat sideways on the couch, his feet pulled up onto the cushion beside him and his back resting against Kiyoomi’s side. Again, they were quiet.

“Hold out your hands,” Kiyoomi said quietly.

“Why?” Atsumu mumbled, but his hands were already in front of Kiyoomi.

He held up his phone. “We haven’t taken a picture of your nails yet. Better to do it now than forget. Here, just set them on my lap.”

And he did, without a thought.

However, his palms now rested against Kiyoomi’s warm thighs, only partially covered by his shorts. His friend was certainly taking his time getting his phone. Atsumu could feel his leg hair tickling the inside of his wrists, and it took all of his willpower to not twitch.

Kiyoomi held his phone up and took the picture. “All done.” He remained on his phone, probably to post the picture.

A while ago, Atsumu had logged into Instagram on Kiyoomi’s phone and had forgotten to log out. Somehow, Kiyoomi hadn’t done anything awful on his account yet, and so Atsumu didn’t regret it. He had a feeling that if he logged out now, it would only serve to bite him in the butt.

He fiddled with his hands, now back in his own lap, and admired the nail polish once again. Every time he looked at his fingers, he fell more and more in love- with the colors Kiyoomi had chosen.

“Ya did a good job,” Atsumu admitted.

Kiyoomi hooked his chin over his right shoulder. “I’ll do a good job next time, too.”

“I’m sure.” And he was serious.

Atsumu pushed himself closer to Kiyoomi.

“Hey, hold it,” Kiyoomi ordered. “This isn’t comfortable for me.”

He pushed Atsumu away and stood up. Atsumu looked up at him, wondering if Kiyoomi finally got tired of him. He left the living room and went into his bedroom.

Sighing, he figured that this really was the end. It wasn’t another second before Kiyoomi was returning with a pillow from his bed.

“My back is going to bother me if we keep sitting like that,” he explained. “Scoot over some more?”

It was an easy command to follow when Kiyoomi had come back to him. With his head turned nearly 180 degrees, he watched Kiyoomi.

His roommate set the pillow against the side of the couch and put his back against it. His legs were drawn up, and his feet were planted on the couch—like how Atsumu had been sitting. He extended his legs and his socked-feet brushed Atsumu’s sides.

“You can lean back.”

He faced forward once more and let blush flood his cheeks.

Lean back? Lean back? Like, so in between his legs?

Still, it wasn’t long before Atsumu had scooted back, and Kiyoomi’s legs rested on either side of his. He delicately leaned back and felt more and more of his back meet Kiyoomi’s chest.

“This…” he began. “Is this… ‘kay?” He stumbled over his words.

Arms entered Atsumu’s vision, and one wrapped around his stomach. The other held Kiyoomi’s phone and stayed suspended in front of them. His elbow rested in the crook of Atsumu’s arm.

“Isn’t this more comfortable?” Kiyoomi asked. “Here, I’ll show you the picture I posted.”

And show him, Kiyoomi did. They continued to scroll through Instagram, looking through the tag the people in the Instagram Live had made for basketball team horror stories. Kiyoomi commented on a few, Atsumu telling him what to type.

Soon, his phone had dropped into the crease of the couch, and the sun had dipped below the horizon line and had become just a glimmer of orange light through the living room windows. They still sat together. Atsumu’s head had found a spot just the right size against Kiyoomi’s neck, resting on his clavicle. At some point, one of Kiyoomi’s hands had found Atsumu’s, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb over each and every newly painted nail. Once again, admiring his work.

Atsumu decided, “Ya’re paintin’ ma nails next time, too.”

“I was already planning on it,” Kiyoomi confessed.

His lips curved up in delight, but it didn’t last long.

Sleep had found him just as his hand was lifted to Kiyoomi’s mouth.

It was kissed gently, but Atsumu wouldn’t know that.

Kiyoomi laid a thin blanket over the two of them, shifted down the arm of the couch until his head met the pillow, and kept Atsumu held carefully on top of him. The man in his arms wouldn’t know any of it.

Chapter Text

Underneath his sink, there is a cream-colored bag filled with nail polish. It had once resided in a little house in Hyogo. It’s battered, covered in stains of varying shades. Each stain, a memory.

Atsumu doesn’t know how long Ma had it before handing it off to him, but he’s 30 now. Ma started painting his nails when he was 9 with nail polish from that very bag.

Life has never felt more circular.

On Sundays, he goes to the youth center with Kiyoomi. They play volleyball with the kids there, and after, Kiyoomi helps the older ones with their homework.

Somehow, Atsumu amasses a following of little girls. They trail behind him until he finally sits down in a chair too small for his build at a too tiny table. They complain and whine at him until he sighs and opens up his duffel and sets a cream-colored bag on the table.

Then, they cheer and form a line without pushing or shoving.

He feels a little bit like a fairy (a nail polish fairy). He twirls his magic wand, throws some sparkles, and their tiny nails are coated in pinks, yellows, purples, blues, and greens. Sometimes, to spice things up, he painstakingly paints swirls and hearts on their nails. He believes this is what caused him to need glasses.

When he finishes painting their nails, they climb all over him. One girl has a particular fascination with his glasses and enjoys pulling them off of his face to set on her dainty, too tiny nose. They fall off without fail, but she always giggles and shoves them back onto Atsumu’s face—always stabbing him in the eye. It hurts, but he laughs it off and corrects her aim, trying not to cry.

One day, Atsumu and Kiyoomi finish playing volleyball and instead of a herd of tiny dresses running to him, Atsumu is faced with three teenagers glaring menacingly at him. Kiyoomi glances at him, realizes that this is an Atsumu problem that he doesn’t want to deal with, and walks over to the table he normally takes over.

He greets them slowly, wondering if they ate his normal, cute, adorable posse. 

“You paint Shi-chan’s nails,” one of them states. She’s the tallest one, and he’s pretty sure they’ve played volleyball together, but all the kids he plays with are nice and not scary.

“I do…” Shi-chan is the one who pulls on his hair and always asks for bunnies.

“We want to paint your nails,” the one with short pigtails informs him. They are in luck. Currently, his nails are naked.

But now he’s confused, because weren’t they going to beat him up?

They begin to walk away—towards the table he usually sits at with the younger girls, he registers—and he trails after them without thinking too hard about it. Once the four of them are seated there, he realizes just how ridiculous the situation is.

None of them fit at the too tiny table with too tiny chairs. It’s all just too tiny! Their feet knock together beneath the table and their knees are brought uncomfortably close to their chests. He can tell that none of them had thought this far ahead.

The third girl reminds them to introduce themselves, and now, he has officially met Yuriko-chan, Amaya-chan, and Yamanaka-chan. Yuriko insists he calls her by her first name.

Amaya sets a green and pink polka-dotted bag on the table and dumps its contents out. Many bottles of nail polish roll out.

He asks why they want to paint his nails, and he’s told by Yamanaka: “You seemed nice. My mom told me I should do nice things for nice adults.”

Yuriko adds, “Amaya’s mom painted our nails when we were little.”

The bag was Amaya’s mother’s, then. Atsumu wondered if every family had an inheritable nail polish bag.

None of the girls were particularly talkative besides Yamanaka, so Yuriko and Amaya painted one hand each while Yamanaka chattered endlessly. It was easy to tell that she didn’t need a conversation partner, so Atsumu was more than willing to let her take the lead, and only replied on occasion.

When his nails finish drying, the girls get up, thank him for his time, and walk away.

He sits there quietly as he waits for Kiyoomi to come get him, so that they can go home. It was an odd interaction, he knows this, but a welcome one. His right hand nails are now his least favorite color, orange, and his left isn’t much better; magenta. He can’t say he cares too much.

It isn’t much longer before Kiyoomi is ready to go home.

Outside the youth center, Kiyoomi looks from his hands to face and raises an eyebrow at the nail polish.

Atsumu shrugs. “Teenage girls are demandin’,” he answers the wordless question.

“Oh, yeah?” He takes a hold of Atsumu’s orange hand, pecks his cheek, and they begin to walk home.

Kiyoomi’s in the kitchen making their dinner while Atsumu sits on the couch, bent over the coffee table with a pen in hand.

He’s never sent a letter to Ma before.

Beside his stationary sits the cream-colored bag—maybe what kickstarted the past 21 years of his life. He presses his pen to paper and turns his thoughts into words into sentences. He thanks her and loves her and can’t imagine a world without her.

And he’s never thought about it before, but wasn’t Ma the one who set his life into motion, made him more than just who he was, but who he was going to be?

And something about that felt so circular.