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The locker room was alive with the familiar bustle that came after a match. Echoes of laughter, shuffling gear bags, and the occasional shout created a symphony of camaraderie that Atsumu usually found comforting. Black Jackals had just finished a friendly match against a Division Two team, and Atsumu was riding the high of their win. His serves had been sharp, his sets crisp—he felt good.
Or he did, at least, until he heard it.
He had just stepped out of the shower, towel slung over his shoulders, hair still damp. His body hummed with post-match exhaustion, but it wasn’t unpleasant—it was the kind that reminded him he was alive, thriving. He started making his way to his locker, but paused when he heard his name.
“…Atsumu’s secretly high-maintenance, don’t you think?” someone from the Division Two team said, their voice teasing but clear in the otherwise fading din.
Atsumu froze.
The conversation continued, muffled slightly by the door leading to the corridor. It was the kind of talk that people only engaged in when they assumed no one else was listening. Curiosity, tinged with unease, rooted Atsumu to the spot.
“Totally,” another voice chimed in. “He’s got that perfectionist vibe. And wasn’t he, like, super high-strung back in high school? Always dramatic or throwing fits?”
“Oh, yeah,” the first voice said with a laugh. “The guy’s got a reputation. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s talented, but I bet being around him day-to-day is… exhausting.”
There was a chorus of chuckles, and then Atsumu heard it—clear as day.
Kiyoomi’s laugh.
Not forced. Not a polite chuckle. A genuine laugh, the kind Atsumu had grown accustomed to hearing during their quiet moments together. Except now, it wasn’t shared with him—it was at his expense.
The towel slipped from Atsumu’s fingers, landing on the tiled floor with a soft thud. His heart stuttered, and he felt a cold weight settle in his chest, drowning out the warmth from the shower.
It wasn’t like Atsumu hadn’t heard stuff like this before. His high school days had been littered with accusations of being “too much.” Too loud. Too demanding. Too self-absorbed. He had worked so hard to shed that image, to grow up, to be someone people admired both on and off the court. And for a while, he thought he’d succeeded.
But here he was, standing in the aftermath of overheard words, feeling like that same insecure teenager who had once thought he’d never be enough.
The laughter outside faded, and the footsteps began to scatter. Atsumu swallowed hard, staring at his reflection in the mirrored surface of his locker. Water droplets clung to his skin, but the flush in his cheeks wasn’t from the heat of the shower.
"High-maintenance, huh?"
The words replayed in his mind, louder each time. He could feel his pulse quicken, his breaths growing shallow. A familiar ache clawed its way up his throat—the one that told him he’d worked so hard, and it still wasn’t enough.
He clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the bench in front of him so tightly his knuckles turned white. He hated this feeling. Hated that it still had such a grip on him after all these years.
And Kiyoomi… Omi.
The thought of him laughing hurt the most. Atsumu had come to trust him in a way he didn’t trust many people. He thought Kiyoomi understood him—his quirks, his insecurities, the things he didn’t say out loud. But maybe he didn’t.
Maybe no one did.
The door swung open, and Bokuto’s voice boomed into the room, jolting Atsumu from his spiraling thoughts.
“‘Tsumu! You ready to head out?” Bokuto’s cheerful grin faltered when he saw Atsumu’s face. “Hey… you good?”
Atsumu forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the weight of everything he was holding back.
“Yeah, Bo. Just tired, y’know? Long match.” His voice was too even, too practiced. Bokuto didn’t seem convinced but didn’t push.
“Alright. Don’t take too long! Dinner’s on Sakusa tonight!”
Atsumu flinched at the name, but quickly bent down to pick up his towel, hiding his expression.
“Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than to Bokuto. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
As the door closed behind Bokuto, Atsumu exhaled shakily. He pressed his palms against his face, trying to gather the scattered pieces of himself before anyone else could see them.
He had to pull himself together.
He had to.
The warmth of the post-match shower had long since faded, replaced by a heavy, gnawing chill that Atsumu couldn’t shake. As he stood in the locker room, the lively chatter of his teammates just beyond the door only deepened the ache in his chest. The thought of joining them for dinner, forcing smiles, pretending he was okay, felt unbearable.
His stomach churned, and the thought of food—a comfort he normally craved after a match—turned his stomach. He stared at his half-packed bag, trying to muster the will to finish getting dressed, but every movement felt exhausting.
"What’s the point?"
He shoved his towel into the bag and zipped it shut with shaky hands. The noise outside grew fainter as he made his decision. He didn’t even bother to tell anyone he was leaving. If they noticed he wasn’t there, they’d assume he was late or tired. They wouldn’t ask.
His legs carried him toward the exit, faster than his mind could catch up. The cold air hit him like a slap, cutting through his damp hair and still-warm skin, but it did nothing to clear the storm in his head. All he wanted was to get to his apartment, crawl under his blankets, and sleep until he didn’t feel like this anymore.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
When Atsumu reached his apartment, he closed the door behind him with a quiet click. The familiar silence of his space welcomed him, but it didn’t bring the relief he hoped for. His bag fell to the floor with a dull thud, and he stood there for a moment, staring blankly at nothing.
Then, the memories started.
His first boyfriend’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and cruel, as though the words had been spoken just yesterday.
“You’re too much, Atsumu. You’re exhausting. I can’t handle it anymore.”
It had been over something small—a bad day, a moment of vulnerability. All Atsumu had wanted was comfort, a hand to hold, someone to tell him he wasn’t alone. Instead, he’d been met with frustration. A breakup. A lingering sense of shame.
He’d thought he’d moved past it, but now, standing alone in his dim apartment, he could feel the sting of those words as fresh as the day they were said.
Then came the image of Kiyoomi, distant and aloof during their early days as teammates. Atsumu had tried—tried so hard to bridge the gap, to crack through Sakusa’s walls with humor and persistence. But for weeks, maybe months, all he got in return were curt nods and disinterest.
“Maybe I was too pushy,” Atsumu thought bitterly. “Maybe I deserved that, too.”
His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as another memory surfaced. This one was louder, more personal—his brother, Osamu, in the heat of an argument.
“Nobody likes ya, ‘Tsumu. You’re too much for everyone. You ever wonder why people don’t stick around? Think about it.”
He’d laughed it off at the time, brushing the words aside like he always did when Osamu got under his skin. But now, standing alone, the laughter felt hollow.
Atsumu sank onto the edge of his couch, his head in his hands. The weight of every hurtful word, every rejection, every moment he’d felt like a burden crushed down on him all at once. It didn’t matter how hard he’d worked to grow, to change, to become someone better—this darkness always found its way back in.
"Why does it still feel like this?"
His chest tightened, breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. He needed to pull himself together, to push these thoughts away before they consumed him entirely.
But tonight, he couldn’t.
All Atsumu could do was sit there, his apartment eerily quiet around him, and let the pain wash over him.
Atsumu sat frozen on the couch, the darkness of his apartment pressing in on him. The memories—the voices, the laughter, the biting words—swirled in his mind like a storm he couldn’t escape.
It started with a tear. Just one, slipping down his cheek before he even realized it was there. He wiped it away quickly, almost angrily, as though denying its existence could hold back the tide threatening to follow.
But it didn’t work.
The tears came faster, spilling freely down his face as he crumpled forward, his elbows digging into his thighs, his hands covering his eyes. Small, shuddering breaths broke into quiet sobs, and soon, the quiet wasn’t so quiet anymore. The raw sound of his crying filled the room, echoing off the walls, until it felt like it was all he could hear.
Atsumu clutched at his arms, wrapping them around himself in a desperate attempt to feel some kind of comfort, some kind of warmth. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close. The hurt in his chest burned too deeply, searing him from the inside out.
Through the tears, the memories kept coming, relentless and cruel.
“You’re exhausting.”
“Nobody likes ya.”
“Too much.”
“Exhausting.”
“Too much.”
He gasped for breath, his chest heaving as the pain spilled out of him in uncontrollable sobs. His vision blurred, and he felt like he was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into a place he didn’t know how to climb out of.
"Will I ever be enough?"
The question broke through the haze, raw and desperate. His voice cracked as he whispered it into the empty room, his lips trembling. "For anyone? For Omi?"
He pressed a hand to his chest, where the ache felt unbearable, like it might split him apart. His head shook violently, as if he could deny the thoughts clawing their way to the surface.
"Does he even like me?" Atsumu whispered, the words trembling in the air, barely audible over his sobs. "Or is he just pityin’ me? Am I just... some project to him? Somethin’ to fix?"
The idea twisted the knife already lodged in his chest. He pictured Kiyoomi’s stoic face, the way he’d laughed earlier. Was that laugh the same one he gave when Atsumu wasn’t around? When others joked about him?
Atsumu buried his face in his hands, his tears soaking his palms.
He’d spent years convincing himself he didn’t care what people thought of him. That he was strong enough, confident enough, to brush off their opinions. But it wasn’t true—not really. At the back of his mind, in the quiet moments when no one was looking, it always hurt.
"I’m only human," he thought bitterly. "I can’t help it."
And yet, knowing that didn’t make it easier.
The sobs eventually dulled into quiet sniffles, his body drained from the emotional onslaught. But the heaviness didn’t go away. It stayed there, settled deep in his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to lift.
He leaned back against the couch, his tear-streaked face turned toward the ceiling. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his mind still racing. He wanted to believe that he could be loved—that Kiyoomi loved him. But in this moment, with the doubts screaming louder than anything else, it felt impossible.
"Maybe this is just how it’s gonna be," he thought, the bitterness of the idea settling into him. "Maybe I’m always gonna be too much. Too high-maintenance. Too..."
He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have the strength.
All he could do was sit there, alone in the quiet, and hope that somehow, someday, the ache would fade.
As Atsumu sat there, the ache in his chest still raw, his thoughts shifted to Kiyoomi—not the distant, aloof Kiyoomi from earlier that day, but his Omi. The one who let him curl up against him on the couch after dinner, who tolerated his silly jokes with a quiet sigh and the faintest of smirks, who cooked meals with him even though he’d insist he preferred eating alone.
Atsumu’s hands tightened into fists in his lap. He loved Omi—God, he loved him so much it scared him sometimes. It wasn’t just a casual love or something fleeting. It was all-consuming, the kind of love that made him want to give Kiyoomi every part of himself, no matter how messy or imperfect.
And he had given him everything, hadn’t he?
He’d opened himself up in ways that made him vulnerable, ways that terrified him. He’d let Kiyoomi see sides of him no one else did. His excitement, his insecurities, the soft edges of him that weren’t all bravado and confidence. And for the longest time, he’d thought Kiyoomi accepted all of it.
But now…
The laughter from earlier echoed in his mind, sharp and unrelenting. Atsumu wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, fresh tears threatening to spill over.
"What if I’m too much for him too?"
The thought struck him like a blow, leaving him breathless. His chest tightened, and he could feel the panic creeping in again. Kiyoomi was everything to him, his safe place, the one person he didn’t have to pretend around. The idea of losing him—of driving him away—felt unbearable.
Atsumu let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself.
"I’ll stop botherin’ him so much," he thought, his voice trembling in his own mind. "Maybe I’m just oversteppin’. He’s gotta need space, right? I’ll give him that. I’ll… I’ll back off."
His heart ached at the thought, but he forced himself to make the decision. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden, to make Omi feel like he was suffocating. If stepping back meant Kiyoomi would stay, then Atsumu would do it—no matter how much it hurt.
He thought of how much time he spent at Kiyoomi’s apartment—cooking dinner together, lounging on the couch, sometimes staying the night when he couldn’t bear to leave. Those were his favorite moments, the times he felt most at peace. But now, they felt selfish, like he’d been intruding on Kiyoomi’s space without realizing it.
The apartment around him felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. He’d been spending so much time with Kiyoomi that his own home felt like a stranger’s. The realization hit him hard, and he made another mental note, his chest tightening.
"I’ll spend less time at Omi’s. Let him have his space. I don’t wanna drive him away."
He loved Kiyoomi too much to risk losing him. If it meant holding back, being less of himself, then so be it. Atsumu would do anything to keep him close.
The tears came again, but they were quieter this time. Atsumu curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket around himself, trying to mimic the warmth he usually found in Kiyoomi’s arms. But it wasn’t the same.
It wasn’t even close.
And yet, as he closed his eyes, exhausted from the emotional spiral, he clung to one small hope—that maybe, just maybe, Kiyoomi loved him too. Enough to see past all his flaws, enough to stay.
"Please," Atsumu whispered into the empty room. "Please don’t let me mess this up."
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The morning light streamed through the blinds, cutting through the haze of exhaustion clinging to Atsumu. His stomach let out an angry growl, a sharp reminder of how he’d gone to bed last night without eating. He hadn’t had the energy to even think about food, but now his body wasn’t giving him a choice.
Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face to shake off the lingering grogginess. His eyes were puffy, and there was a heaviness behind them that he couldn’t entirely scrub away. The events of the previous night hung in the back of his mind, but he pushed them down, focusing on the immediate need for food.
In the kitchen, Atsumu threw together a quick breakfast—scrambled eggs and toast, nothing fancy, but enough to quiet the gnawing in his stomach. He ate mechanically, the taste barely registering, his thoughts drifting to practice and how he’d keep himself together in front of the team.
As he packed up his gear and grabbed his keys, he glanced at his phone. It was sitting on the counter, dark and lifeless.
“Ah, crap,” he muttered, picking it up. He pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Dead. Completely dead.
Atsumu groaned, his shoulders slumping. “Of course.”
He didn’t have time to charge it now—practice wasn’t going to wait for him. Shoving the useless phone into his bag, he slipped on his shoes and headed for the door.
But as he locked up and stepped into the cool morning air, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He’d left his friends hanging last night, hadn’t even sent a message to let them know he wasn’t coming. And Omi…
Atsumu grimaced at the thought of how Omi might react. Kiyoomi wasn’t the type to blow up over something like this, but his silence could be just as cutting. Would he even care that Atsumu had bailed without a word? Or would he just brush it off, another confirmation that Atsumu was too much to bother with?
The idea made Atsumu’s chest ache.
“What am I even gonna say to him?” he muttered under his breath, kicking at a stray pebble as he walked toward the station. “Sorry, Omi, my brain decided to short-circuit last night? Hope ya didn’t miss me too much?”
He sighed, the weight of everything settling on his shoulders again. He’d figure it out eventually—he always did. But for now, he just had to make it through practice without falling apart.
The bustling energy of the gym hit Atsumu the moment he stepped through the door, but it did little to ease the tension gripping his chest. His mind was still racing, and he was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice someone standing in his path until he nearly collided with them.
“Watch it—” he started, then froze when he looked up and saw Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi stood there, his usual stoic expression in place, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of confusion and… worry? Atsumu wasn’t sure, and he didn’t trust himself to linger long enough to figure it out.
“Where were you yesterday after practice?” Kiyoomi asked, his voice calm but edged with something Atsumu couldn’t place.
Atsumu tensed, the question hitting him harder than it should have. He scrambled for an answer, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. “Ah, I… had to run an errand.”
Kiyoomi’s brows furrowed slightly, a rare crack in his usual composure. “And you didn’t have time to even let me know before you left? This has never happened before, Atsu.”
The pet name—a soft, intimate word Kiyoomi only ever used when they were alone—made Atsumu’s chest ache. Normally, it would have sent a rush of warmth through him, leaving him grinning like an idiot for hours. But today, he couldn’t.
He just couldn’t.
“It was urgent,” Atsumu replied quickly, his voice tighter than he meant it to be. He forced a small, strained smile, though it felt hollow even to him. “I promise it won’t happen again, ‘kay?”
Before Kiyoomi could respond, Atsumu stepped around him, his movements brisk and deliberate. He didn’t trust himself to stay—didn’t trust that he wouldn’t crack under the weight of Kiyoomi’s gaze.
As he headed further into the gym, Atsumu could feel Kiyoomi’s eyes on him, the weight of his confusion lingering like an unanswered question.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Kiyoomi stood there, watching Atsumu retreating back with a rare sense of unease. Something was off—very off.
Atsumu was always the one to light up a room, to greet him with a grin and a hug so tight it felt like his ribs might crack. He’d press a kiss to Kiyoomi’s temple or cheek, uncaring of who was watching, and call him “Omi, my favorite person in the world!”
But today?
No hug. No kiss. No obnoxious, affectionate greeting. Just a rushed excuse and a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Kiyoomi’s fingers twitched at his sides, a subtle sign of the irritation—and concern—building within him. Atsumu didn’t lie to him, not like this. And he didn’t brush Kiyoomi off without reason.
Something was wrong.
Kiyoomi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he turned toward the court, his mind racing. He didn’t know what it was, but he was going to find out. Atsumu might think he was good at hiding things, but Kiyoomi knew him too well to be fooled.
Kiyoomi’s sharp eyes tracked Atsumu all day, observing every movement, every interaction—or lack thereof. Atsumu was playing just fine, his sets precise and his decision-making flawless, but something was missing. The spark, the energy, the overwhelming Atsumu-ness that usually dominated the court.
There were no excited high-fives, no hearty claps on Bokuto’s back after a spike, no teasing Hinata for his endless energy. Atsumu didn’t even call out his teammates when they made mistakes—a silence that unsettled Kiyoomi more than anything else. He simply played his role, distant and efficient, as if he were going through the motions without letting himself feel anything.
Kiyoomi didn’t like it. Not one bit.
At lunch, Atsumu sat quietly, eating the meal prepared by the team nutritionist while Bokuto and Hinata chattered loudly about some absurd movie they’d watched the night before. Normally, Atsumu would have been right there with them, adding his exaggerated commentary or mockingly siding with Hinata just to rile Bokuto up.
But today, he sat there, staring at his plate, his fork moving mechanically. He didn’t even glance at Kiyoomi, who was seated beside him, until Kiyoomi broke the silence.
“So, what errand was it yesterday?” Kiyoomi asked, his tone casual but his eyes fixed intently on Atsumu’s face.
Atsumu blinked, clearly startled, as though he’d been somewhere far away. He recovered quickly, though, his expression smoothing into something neutral. “Ma’s been askin’ me to get her a few things,” he said, his voice steady but lacking its usual warmth. “So, I bought ‘em and couriered ‘em back home.”
Kiyoomi nodded slowly, though the explanation did little to ease the knot in his chest. He knew Atsumu’s mother asked him for errands from time to time, but the excuse felt too rehearsed, too convenient. Kiyoomi couldn’t shake the feeling that Atsumu was deflecting.
The silence stretched on, filled only by the chatter of their teammates. Kiyoomi watched Atsumu, trying to piece together what was wrong, but every time he thought he had a clue, it slipped through his fingers.
Finally, he tried a different approach. “Do you wanna get ice cream after practice?” he asked, his voice soft but deliberate.
Kiyoomi knew how much Atsumu loved ice cream, especially when it came from him. Atsumu liked to play it off as no big deal, but Kiyoomi knew the truth—Atsumu adored being spoiled, even though he could easily buy himself whatever he wanted. And, if Kiyoomi was being honest, he loved spoiling Atsumu too.
But today, Atsumu’s response caught him off guard.
“It’s winter, Omi,” he said, his tone light but distant. “I don’t wanna risk catchin’ a cold.”
Atsumu gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was polite, practiced, but not real.
Kiyoomi felt his chest tighten, a growing sense of frustration and concern gnawing at him. This wasn’t like Atsumu. Atsumu didn’t hold back like this—not with him. Something was wrong, and Kiyoomi was certain of it now.
As Atsumu returned to quietly finishing his meal, Kiyoomi’s mind churned. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was determined to find out. Whatever it was that had taken away Atsumu’s usual spark, Kiyoomi wasn’t going to let it linger.
Not if he could help it.
The next few days passed in a haze of uncertainty, and Kiyoomi found himself more attuned to Atsumu’s every move than ever before. The pattern was unmistakable: Atsumu was distant, quieter, his usual energy all but snuffed out. He wasn’t cracking jokes or throwing playful jabs. He wasn’t seeking out anyone’s attention—not Kiyoomi’s, not Bokuto’s, not even Hinata’s.
And it wasn’t just Kiyoomi who noticed.
“Hey, Omi, what’s goin’ on with ‘Tsum-Tsum?” Bokuto asked one afternoon during a water break, his voice tinged with concern. Hinata stood beside him, nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, he’s not even teasing me about spiking into the net! He usually doesn’t let me live that stuff down,” Hinata added, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
Kiyoomi didn’t have an answer for them. He shook his head, avoiding their questioning gazes. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.
That answer didn’t sit well with him, though. He needed to know.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
They’d finally managed to hang out one evening, something that should have felt natural but was now laced with awkwardness. Atsumu had agreed to meet for pastries at a small café near the gym. Kiyoomi had chosen it because it was one of Atsumu’s favorites, the kind of place that usually made his eyes light up.
But tonight, Atsumu was subdued.
They picked out their pastries, Kiyoomi grabbing a lemon tart while Atsumu opted for a slice of strawberry shortcake. When it came time to pay, Kiyoomi pulled out his wallet as usual, but Atsumu stepped forward, cutting him off.
“Let me get it this time,” Atsumu said quickly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Kiyoomi frowned. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Atsumu interrupted, pulling out his card and handing it to the cashier before Kiyoomi could react.
Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, his tone turning cautious. “Since when do you insist on paying for desserts?”
Atsumu gave a small laugh, but it was strained, lacking his usual charm. “Since now, I guess,” he said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Yer always payin’, Omi. Figured I should pull my weight once in a while.”
The words struck Kiyoomi harder than they should have. Atsumu had never cared about that before—they’d fallen into an easy rhythm where Kiyoomi paid for small things, and Atsumu repaid him in other ways: his warmth, his energy, the effortless way he made Kiyoomi feel like the most important person in the room.
This insistence, this sudden shift, felt off.
“It’s not about pulling weight,” Kiyoomi said carefully as they sat down at a table. “You know I don’t mind, right?”
Atsumu waved him off, digging his fork into the cake. “Yeah, I know. But it’s nice to switch things up every now and then, don’t ya think?”
Kiyoomi watched him closely, the words not quite matching the hollow smile on his face. He wanted to push, to pry the truth out of him, but Atsumu had already taken a bite of his cake, signaling the end of the conversation.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Kiyoomi hated this.
He hated the distance—the way Atsumu seemed to be deliberately keeping space between them, even when they were in the same room. He hated the silence, the absence of Atsumu’s usual chatter, and the way their conversations felt forced now, like Atsumu was holding back. Most of all, he hated the feeling that Atsumu was slipping through his fingers, and no matter how tightly Kiyoomi tried to hold on, he couldn’t reach him.
But more than anything, Kiyoomi hated not knowing why.
Atsumu had always been an open book—loud, expressive, and completely unapologetic about the way he lived his life. Kiyoomi could read him as easily as he could a volleyball trajectory. When something was wrong, Atsumu usually wore his heart on his sleeve, and Kiyoomi always knew how to handle it. He’d tease him, reassure him, or just let him cling to him until the storm in Atsumu’s head passed.
But this? This was different.
Atsumu wasn’t coming to him. He wasn’t giving Kiyoomi a chance to pull him out of whatever hole he’d fallen into. Instead, he was retreating—hiding behind excuses, avoiding eye contact, and shutting Kiyoomi out in ways that felt foreign and wrong.
Every time Kiyoomi asked him to come over, Atsumu brushed him off with an excuse that sounded hollow.
“Ah, I’m dead tired today, Omi. Gonna crash at my place.”
“Got some stuff to do at home, can’t leave it lyin’ around.”
“Next time, promise.”
It was always “next time,” but the next time never came.
Kiyoomi lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling of his apartment that suddenly felt too big, too quiet. He missed the sound of Atsumu’s laughter echoing through the rooms, the way he’d fling himself onto the couch with a dramatic sigh and demand Kiyoomi’s attention. He missed the warmth of Atsumu curling up next to him after dinner, resting his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now, it was just empty.
The void left behind by Atsumu’s absence gnawed at Kiyoomi, growing louder with each passing day. He replayed their recent interactions in his head, searching for clues, but all he could find were more questions.
What had changed? What had happened to make Atsumu pull away like this?
Kiyoomi clenched his fists at the thought, frustration and helplessness simmering under his calm exterior. He wasn’t the kind of person to pry—he respected boundaries, valued honesty—but this was different. This was Atsumu.
And Kiyoomi didn’t just care about Atsumu—he loved him.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and his chest tightened. If something was hurting Atsumu, if something was making him feel like he couldn’t lean on Kiyoomi, then Kiyoomi needed to fix it.
But how could he, when Atsumu wouldn’t let him in?
Kiyoomi sighed, the sound heavy in the stillness of his apartment. His mind churned, restless and unresolved. He didn’t have a plan yet, but one thing was certain:
He wasn’t going to let Atsumu keep slipping away. Not without a fight.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Atsumu didn’t feel like himself anymore.
These days, he found himself caught in an endless loop of self-doubt, constantly second-guessing his every action. He missed Kiyoomi terribly—missed the casual brushes of their hands, the warmth of being held, the easy smiles that only Kiyoomi could draw out of him. But every time he thought about reaching out, about wrapping himself around Kiyoomi like he used to, a voice in his head stopped him.
Don’t pester him. Don’t be exhausting. Don’t drive him away.
He convinced himself he was doing the right thing, giving Kiyoomi the space he needed. Surely, this was what being a good partner meant—not being overbearing, not clinging too much. Atsumu just hoped it was enough. That he was enough.
The practice next day was rough, right from the start.
The ball didn’t feel right in his hands, his sets were either too high or too low, and his teammates were clearly frustrated. Bokuto missed another spike and turned to Atsumu with a concerned frown.
“Tsumu, you good?” Bokuto asked, jogging up to him after the play.
Atsumu managed a shy smile, wiping his hands on his shorts. “Yeah, just a bit off today. My bad, Bo. Won’t happen again.”
But his apology didn’t carry the usual easy confidence—it sounded hollow, even to him.
The next rally wasn’t any better. His serve clipped the net, and when he tried to set Hinata for a quick attack, the ball sailed too high, forcing Hinata to miss entirely.
“Damn it,” Atsumu muttered under his breath, silently cursing himself as the play came to an abrupt stop.
Hinata, ever upbeat, ran up to him with an awkward smile. “It’s okay, Atsumu! Everyone has bad days, right?”
But Atsumu couldn’t bring himself to respond. He just nodded, his throat too tight to form words.
The coach finally called a timeout, his voice cutting through the gym like a whip. “Miya! Come here!”
Atsumu’s stomach twisted. He trudged toward the coach, his footsteps heavy and his heart pounding in his chest.
When he reached the coach, he mumbled a quiet, “Sorry, coach,” keeping his gaze fixed on the floor.
The coach crossed his arms, his tone sharp with frustration. “Miya, do you have any idea how much time you’re wasting for the team right now?”
Atsumu’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say. “I… I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.
The coach’s patience snapped. “I don’t care for your sorrys!” he barked. “Get your shit together. You’re the main setter, and you’re being too much to handle right now. This isn’t just about you—it’s going to exhaust the other players and mess up their consistency too.”
Too much to handle.
Exhaust the other players.
The words hit Atsumu like a punch to the gut, echoing in his mind and sinking deep into the cracks of his insecurities. His body went cold, his hands trembling slightly. It felt like someone had tied a rope around his throat and was pulling tighter and tighter.
He blinked rapidly, his vision blurring as his eyes filled with tears he couldn’t hold back. He bit the inside of his cheek hard, trying to keep himself from breaking down right there.
The coach had already turned and walked away, leaving Atsumu standing frozen in the middle of the court. He felt like the world was closing in on him, the gym suddenly too loud, too bright.
I’m exhausting everyone. I’m too much.
He stood there for a few more seconds, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run away and never look back. But instead, he took a deep breath, forcing his body to move, forcing himself to pretend he was fine.
He couldn’t let the others see how much it hurt. He couldn’t let them see how broken he felt.
He had to keep going. Somehow.
As soon as practice ended, Atsumu was the first to leave the court. He didn’t wait for anyone—not his teammates, not Bokuto or Hinata, and definitely not Kiyoomi. The knot of shame and frustration in his chest was too tight, too overwhelming. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at him with pity or frustration.
He headed straight to the showers, hoping the sound of running water would drown out the noise in his head. The water hit his skin, but instead of soothing him, it brought his emotions crashing down.
His tears came unbidden, hot and relentless, streaking down his face along with the water. He scrubbed at his eyes with trembling hands, trying to wipe them away, but it was no use. The tears kept falling, the weight of everything finally breaking through the cracks he’d been trying so hard to patch up.
Why am I like this? he thought bitterly, clenching his jaw to stop the sob that threatened to escape. Why can’t I just get it together?
Atsumu didn’t leave the shower until he was sure he could stop crying. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He couldn’t risk Kiyoomi seeing him like this.
But as he hurried out of the locker room, he wasn’t fast enough.
“Atsumu.”
The sound of Kiyoomi’s voice, steady and firm, stopped him in his tracks. A warm hand wrapped around his wrist, holding him in place.
“I’m not letting you go today,” Kiyoomi said, his voice low but resolute. His dark eyes bore into Atsumu’s, and there was no room for argument in his tone.
Atsumu opened his mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, but the words caught in his throat. He just nodded, looking down at the floor.
“Wait here,” Kiyoomi said. “I’ll be quick.”
Kiyoomi disappeared into the showers, leaving Atsumu standing there, nerves twisting in his stomach. He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts were relentless, bitter whispers gnawing at him.
What does he want to talk about? Did I screw up so badly he can’t ignore it anymore? Maybe he’s fed up with me... maybe he—
Kiyoomi emerged from the showers before Atsumu could spiral further. His hair was damp, his usual pristine appearance slightly disheveled.
“We’re going to my place,” Kiyoomi said simply as he picked up his bag. His tone was calm but left no room for protest. “We need to talk.”
Atsumu followed him silently, his heart pounding.
⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
The bus ride to Kiyoomi’s apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed down on Atsumu’s chest, suffocating him. Usually, he’d fill the silence with chatter—talking about practice, teasing Kiyoomi, or rambling about whatever crossed his mind. But now, the weight of his own thoughts left him mute.
Kiyoomi glanced at him occasionally but didn’t push.
When they reached the apartment, Kiyoomi unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Atsumu to follow. The moment the door clicked shut, Kiyoomi turned to him.
Without a word, Kiyoomi wrapped his arms around Atsumu, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“I missed you so much, Atsu,” Kiyoomi murmured against his hair.
Before Atsumu could even process the hug, Kiyoomi tilted his head and placed a soft kiss on his lips.
Atsumu froze, his breath hitching. His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a moment, the storm of his thoughts quieted.
Atsumu blinked rapidly, his mind struggling to catch up with the moment. The warmth of Kiyoomi’s arms around him was grounding, yet it threatened to unravel the carefully constructed walls he’d built over the past week.
“I…” Atsumu started, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Omi…”
Kiyoomi didn’t pull away. If anything, he held on tighter, his forehead gently pressing against Atsumu’s. The touch wasn’t forceful, but it was resolute, as if Kiyoomi was silently saying I’m here. I’m not letting go until you let me in.
“Talk to me, Atsu,” Kiyoomi murmured, his voice soft yet firm. “Please.”
Atsumu’s chest tightened at the sound of his name, spoken with such care. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the words stuck in his throat like shards of glass. He wanted to say something—anything—but his emotions were tangled up in a knot that felt impossible to untie.
His breath hitched as Kiyoomi’s thumb gently brushed the back of his neck, the smallest gesture of comfort sending a shiver down his spine. It wasn’t the first time Kiyoomi had touched him like this, but tonight it felt different—like he was trying to hold Atsumu together when he was dangerously close to falling apart.
“I can’t… I don’t…” Atsumu’s voice cracked, and he bit his lip hard, willing himself to hold back the tears that were already burning at the corners of his eyes.
“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” Kiyoomi said quietly, his tone patient and unwavering. “Just tell me what’s going on. I’ve been worried about you.”
Atsumu’s chest ached at the raw sincerity in Kiyoomi’s words. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, terrified of what would happen if he let himself fall. But the steady look in Kiyoomi’s eyes—the quiet understanding, the unwavering presence—was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the brink.
For the first time in days, Atsumu felt the weight of his isolation cracking under the pressure of something else: the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry this alone.
“I’m…” Atsumu finally whispered, his voice trembling. He didn’t know how to finish the sentence, didn’t know how to explain the storm raging inside him.
Kiyoomi shifted slightly, his hand moving to cup Atsumu’s cheek. The gentle touch sent another wave of emotion crashing over Atsumu.
“Take your time,” Kiyoomi said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That broke something in Atsumu. The tears he’d been holding back spilled over, silently at first, then with a quiet, shuddering sob that he couldn’t suppress.
He buried his face in Kiyoomi’s shoulder, his body trembling as the floodgates opened. The shame, the frustration, the fear of being too much—it all poured out in a torrent of muffled cries.
Kiyoomi didn’t say anything. He just held him, his hands steady and reassuring, his presence grounding Atsumu in a way nothing else could.
And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Atsumu allowed himself to lean into that comfort, to let go of the crushing weight he’d been carrying alone.
Atsumu sobbed harder, his body trembling in Kiyoomi’s arms. The dam he’d been holding together for days had finally burst, and everything he’d tried to suppress came pouring out all at once. His chest ached, his throat felt raw, and his tears wouldn’t stop no matter how much he tried to wipe them away.
Kiyoomi tightened his hold, steady and grounding, as if silently telling Atsumu that he wasn’t going anywhere. Amid Atsumu’s uncontrollable cries, Kiyoomi leaned down and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his hair.
“It’s okay, Atsu,” Kiyoomi murmured gently, his voice low and comforting. “Let it all out. I’m right here.”
The tenderness in Kiyoomi’s tone only made Atsumu’s sobs deepen, his chest heaving with the weight of all the emotions he’d kept buried.
Suddenly, between shaky breaths, Atsumu spoke, his voice barely audible through his tears. “Am I… am I too much, Omi?”
The question hit the room like a thunderclap. Atsumu’s eyes, red and swollen from crying, searched Kiyoomi’s face, desperate and vulnerable. Self-doubt radiated from him, his expression raw and aching.
Kiyoomi froze, his heart twisting at the sight of Atsumu’s despair. “God, no,”
Kiyoomi said, his voice firm but filled with gentle urgency. He placed his hands on either side of Atsumu’s face, cradling him with care and making sure Atsumu was looking directly at him. “What are you talking about, Atsu? You’re not too much. Not even close.”
Atsumu tried to pull away, his tears spilling faster. “I… I heard you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Laughing with the other guys the other day.” His words were disjointed, choked out between sobs. “I… I heard what they said… about me. And you… you laughed, Omi…”
His voice trailed off as he buried his face in his palms, his shoulders shaking with the force of his crying. He couldn’t say more, couldn’t bring himself to repeat the words that had been haunting him. The shame and hurt clawed at his chest, and the sound of his muffled sobs filled the room.
Kiyoomi’s expression crumbled. He felt a sharp pang of guilt twist in his gut as realization dawned on him. “Oh, Atsu…” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.
He gently pulled Atsumu’s hands away from his face, holding them in his own as he knelt slightly to meet Atsumu’s gaze. Atsumu resisted at first, but Kiyoomi’s grip was steady, unyielding yet tender.
“Atsumu, listen to me,” Kiyoomi said, his tone soft but insistent. “I swear to you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I… I didn’t even think about what they were saying, and I definitely wasn’t laughing at you. I’d never laugh at you like that.”
Atsumu’s breath hitched as he tried to process Kiyoomi’s words, his tears still falling freely.
“They were joking, and I…” Kiyoomi paused, guilt heavy in his voice. “I shouldn’t have laughed. I should’ve shut it down. I’m so sorry, Atsu. I didn’t realize you’d hear, and I didn’t realize how much it would hurt you. But please, believe me when I say it was never about you being ‘too much.’”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Atsumu’s. “You’re not too much. Not for me. Not ever.”
Atsumu blinked through his tears, his heart aching at the sincerity in Kiyoomi’s voice. “But… but I feel like I’m always…” He trailed off, his voice cracking.
Kiyoomi shook his head gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears on Atsumu’s cheeks. “You’re everything to me, Atsumu. And I love all of you. You’re not too much—you’re exactly right. I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to hold yourself back from me.”
Atsumu let out a shuddering breath, his chest tight with emotion. The raw vulnerability in Kiyoomi’s words wrapped around him, soothing the ache in his heart.
He wasn’t sure he fully believed it yet—not after everything he’d been feeling—but the way Kiyoomi looked at him, so steady and unwavering, made a small part of him want to try.
Atsumu’s sobs began to subside into quieter, trembling breaths, but his heart was still heavy, weighed down by the emotions he had carried for far too long. He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into Kiyoomi’s touch, but his hands remained fidgeting in his lap, as if unsure what to do with themselves.
“I’ve always felt… like I’m too much,” Atsumu whispered, his voice trembling. His words came slowly, hesitantly, as if each one took effort to speak aloud.
Kiyoomi’s brows furrowed, his hands still cradling Atsumu’s face, silently urging him to continue.
“Too exhausting, too intrusive… too loud.” Atsumu let out a shaky laugh, but there was no humor in it. “People don’t say it directly, but I’ve seen it—the way they get tired of me. Even Samu… my own brother… he’s said things.”
Kiyoomi’s grip on Atsumu’s face tightened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching as anger flickered across his usually composed expression. “Atsu…” he started, but Atsumu cut him off, shaking his head.
“I love ya so much, Omi,” Atsumu continued, his voice breaking. “More than I know how to say. But I keep thinkin’... if I love ya too much, if I’m too needy or too clingy, you’ll…” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t finish the sentence.
Kiyoomi’s chest constricted as he listened, every word stabbing at him like a dagger. He didn’t interrupt, letting Atsumu finally say the things he’d been holding back for who knew how long.
“I don’t wanna lose you, Omi,” Atsumu confessed, tears streaming down his cheeks again. His hands gripped his knees tightly, knuckles white with tension. “I couldn’t handle it if you left me. So I thought… maybe if I pulled back a little, if I stopped bein’ so much, you wouldn’t get tired of me.”
A sharp, quiet gasp escaped Kiyoomi’s lips. He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. “Atsumu,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion. “How could you ever think that?”
“I just… I dunno,” Atsumu muttered, wiping at his tears uselessly. “I keep thinkin’ about what they said the other day. About me bein’ high maintenance. And you laughed, Omi. Ya laughed.”
Kiyoomi’s heart broke at the sheer hurt in Atsumu’s voice. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against Atsumu’s again, and he closed his eyes, forcing his own emotions to stay in check.
“I’m sorry, Atsumu,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think. I didn’t realize what it would sound like to you or how much it would hurt you. But I promise, Atsu, I wasn’t laughing at you. I love you, and I would never think of you like that.”
Atsumu let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the fabric of his pants tightly. “I just…” He looked down, unable to meet Kiyoomi’s gaze. “I don’t wanna be a burden to ya. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me or do things for me just ‘cause ya feel obligated.”
Kiyoomi’s hands shifted, moving to hold Atsumu’s smaller hands in his. “Atsu,” he said, his voice steady but brimming with emotion. “You’re not a burden. You’re not too much. I love doing things for you because I want to, not because I have to. I love spoiling you, seeing your face light up when I get you something you like, or just knowing I’ve made you happy.”
Atsumu looked up then, his teary eyes meeting Kiyoomi’s earnest gaze.
“I love you, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi continued, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on the backs of Atsumu’s hands. “And I don’t want you to hold yourself back from me. I don’t want you to think you have to be anything other than who you are, because who you are is exactly who I love. All of you. Your loudness, your energy, your ridiculous teasing, the way you always steal the warm side of the bed… I love it all, Atsu.”
Atsumu stared at him, his breath catching. His lips trembled as more tears slid down his cheeks, but this time they weren’t solely from sadness.
“Do ya… do ya really mean that?” Atsumu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Every word,” Kiyoomi said firmly, his dark eyes softening. “You’re not too much for me, Atsumu. You never will be. And I’ll tell you that as many times as you need me to.”
Kiyoomi leaned forward and pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to Atsumu’s forehead, as if sealing his words with a promise. Atsumu closed his eyes, his body relaxing slightly for the first time in days.
For a moment, they sat there in silence, Kiyoomi’s hands still holding Atsumu’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Atsumu felt like he could finally let himself believe Kiyoomi’s words. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t too much after all.