Archive of Our Own ^beta

“My brother’s getting married real soon. Wanna come to the wedding? He said they had a couple last minute cancellations.”

Today, Atsumu and Kiyoomi are currently getting dinner. They are on their fifth date, they are at a Thai restaurant, and Atsumu doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Atsumu has already been on exactly four dates with this doctor named Kiyoomi, whose last name the dating app didn’t tell him. Atsumu is pretending he didn’t already find out by searching ‘Kiyoomi’ plus the name of the famous alma mater he mentioned once. Atsumu and Kiyoomi have, in no particular order: gotten boba at a store called Don’t Yell At Me, gone for a short hike in Discovery Park after a late lunch in Chinatown, made dinner and watched TV in Kiyoomi’s apartment, and visited the aquarium. They are running out of stereotypical date ideas, and Atsumu still doesn’t understand what makes Kiyoomi Sakusa, MD, tick. 

Who is Kiyoomi Sakusa? The rundown—Kiyoomi Sakusa currently works at Seattle Children’s Hospital. His resume, consisting of elite prep schools and universities famous enough to be known by single word names worldwide, has passed muster with Rintarou, Atsumu’s longtime friend and his twin brother Osamu’s fiancé, who texted this bitch is a super elite level 100 Asian son, a shame for his parents he’s into guys in their very active A GROUP OF FOXES IS A SKULK NOT A PACK (FYI TEEN WOLF STEREK STAN ATSUMU) friend group chat when Atsumu shared a screenshot of Kiyoomi’s profile taken from the hospital website. The reactions from the group were unanimous, a flurry of laughter emoji.

Kiyoomi is tall, pale, and handsome in an old-fashioned way, with striking features that resemble the star of a silent monochrome film. Kiyoomi has a large extended family and two older siblings who both have kids. A sister also in Seattle, a brother in Tokyo, eight and eleven years older than him, respectively. The implication was that his existence is probably an accident. Atsumu understands, as a fellow accident, with Papa and Mama Miya getting a two-for-one deal.

Who was Kiyoomi Sakusa? Part 2, How the Sakusas Ended Up This Side of the Pacific. Atsumu didn’t find out until date three. Kiyoomi hadn’t spoken about his background much on their previous dates, but Atsumu noticed the upside down 福 on the outside of his apartment’s front door that his niece and nephew put up, which sparked the questions while they were making dinner in Kiyoomi’s spare apartment, sparse except for bookshelves. The only decoration was a poster for the Alice Wu movie Saving Face. Then Atsumu remembered a red feng shui talisman hanging from Kiyoomi’s car’s rearview mirror and the jade charm on a red thread bracelet that Kiyoomi had worn to their first date. These were not Japanese customs.

“So you noticed,” Kiyoomi simply said, matter-of-fact. “I was wondering when you would ask or whether my cousin already told you.”

Kiyoomi’s origin story was “complicated.” His father was half British, half Japanese, raised mostly in Tokyo. His mother was actually originally from Taiwan, but her family had been in Japan for a decade by the time his parents met in college, where they bonded over feeling like outsiders. Their mutual friend Motoya was from Kiyoomi’s father’s side of the family, he was one-fourth British and three-fourths Japanese, though this wasn’t a public fact in the volleyball world since he didn’t want pesky interview questions. Kiyoomi’s Taiwanese extended family was actually all in Japan. His cousins in Tokyo naturalized as Japanese citizens a while back, changing their last names from a single-character Chinese name to a Japanese double-character surname. They had become fully Japanese on paper, for better or worse. 

Kiyoomi could speak Mandarin “just well enough to talk to patients’ families about medical issues” and claims to be “practically illiterate except for food, drugs, diseases, and body parts.” Turned out this was a humblebrag in disguise. Japanese was the primary language in the Sakusa household, Japanese and occasionally Taiwanese Hokkien. His Taiwanese grandmother only spoke Hokkien to him. Kiyoomi’s Hokkien was “mediocre” and his Japanese was “just okay.” He admitted to using subtitles to watch fantasy anime because people didn’t say things like “my super special magic power with a weird name has this complicated, hyperspecific effect on your qi/nen/chakras” in real life. Atsumu laughed at Kiyoomi’s anime dialogue imitation until his cheeks hurt. Kiyoomi then offered him water.

When Atsumu asked what Kiyoomi considered himself culturally, ethnically, whatever, Kiyoomi shrugged and said he was over thirty so was long done overthinking it. He considered himself barely Taiwanese, just whatever traditions were still being passed down a few generations after his family left, small things like a half-open jar of hoisin sauce in the fridge, eight being a lucky number, going for the chicken feet at dim sum. Every summer, Kiyoomi’s parents would take their kids and their Komori cousins to Japan. Kiyoomi knew the train system in Tokyo as well as the one in Boston, but he was still an outsider looking in at the end of the day, just like he was in Taiwan. 

Atsumu’s own origin story was much easier to summarize: born in Japan, brought over to California at the age of six because his father wanted a big raise. The members of A GROUP OF FOXES IS A SKULK are mostly his and Osamu’s childhood friends from the Japanese weekend school in their hometown of Torrance, a suburb thirty minutes south of Los Angeles, home to an impressive array of Japanese supermarkets and an Inari shrine their mother made them visit every New Year’s. Rin and Akagi were both college additions absorbed into the crew. They’re his best friends even though he’s been overseas the better part of the past decade. They all turned out different flavors of queer, so they go as a group to Los Angeles Pride every year during the volleyball off-season, but this year their annual meetup is at Osamu and Rin’s wedding.

Nighttime after the third date. It was around midnight, and the window in Kiyoomi’s bedroom was open. Atsumu’s clothes were somewhere on the floor, and Kiyoomi had already agreed to let him stay over. They were lying in Kiyoomi’s bed, already having cleaned up. The only sound other than their voices was the tick-tick of the analog clock Kiyoomi kept on the wall because he was oddly old-fashioned like that.

“Why did your parents pick the name Kiyoomi for you?” Atsumu asked. This was the last question he had for Kiyoomi, one that came back to him after all the distractions of the evening. ‘Kiyoomi’ was oddly fitting, but given Kiyoomi’s background, unusual.

“It’s stupid,” Kiyoomi said. Moonlight spilled across his features through the windows, moonlight and streetlights speckling a few light, barely visible freckles on Kiyoomi’s face.

“Spill it, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude when we were just—never mind. My brother has an English name, my sister has a Chinese name. I needed a Japanese name to complete the set.”

“Actually, that’s cute but kind of dumb. No offense.”

“I told you so. They thought about giving me a middle name but couldn’t agree on whether it’d be an English name or my mom’s maiden name like my brother and sister both have, so I don’t have a middle name.”

“At least you weren’t a Kevin. Can you imagine?” 

“Let’s not,” Kiyoomi said. “Kevin. God. Kevin.” Atsumu shook with laughter imagining Kiyoomi as a Kevin. “If you don’t stop laughing, I will kick you out.”

“You’d kick me out of your apartment like this?” Atsumu stared Kiyoomi down as his laughter subsided, daring him to do something. 

Kiyoomi was looking back, nose wrinkled in distaste, gaze sleep-heavy but still scrutinizing him. Atsumu wasn’t used to being so seen. He hadn’t been for a long time.

*

Kiyoomi Sakusa has strong opinions. Atsumu has been recording these strong opinions in a note on his phone. He does not tell the group chat about the note, or else the peanut gallery will never let him live it down. These opinions include: Insurance for vacuum cleaners, electronics, and airplane tickets is a scam. Noah Kahan’s songs are an accurate representation of New England and its people, down to the lyrics “I’m mean because I grew up in New England.” There are strategies that will let you win at crane machines in arcades regularly enough that mean he never buys plushies because he can get them cheaper at a crane machine. The last, Atsumu doesn’t believe until Kiyoomi demonstrates and wins him a stuffed fox within three tries at one machine. 

Kiyoomi has many takes on food, the logical end result of being a product of multiple cultures that value food to the extent “Have you eaten yet?” and “Are you hungry?” are what you’ll hear parents say to their children instead of “I love you” and people like Osamu shoving food at Rin and Atsumu and Aran as often as he can. Kiyoomi thinks the food is just adequate overall in Seattle, adequate but ever-so-slightly worse than what you find in other major cities, though there are exceptions like Onigiri Miya. Atsumu is grateful that his brother has passed muster. Kiyoomi’s take is that sashimi in Japan will always be cheaper and higher quality for the price, so he usually doesn’t go to sushi restaurants outside Japan. He thinks Din Tai Fung in the States is overhyped and on a lower tier compared to the ones in Taiwan he’s been to with his family, an opinion that rankles. Atsumu texts Osamu HELP OMI OMI THINKS DIN TAI FUNG SUCKS??? SAMU WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO FOR OUR NEXT DATE I’M /OUT/ OF IDEAS. Osamu’s response: Lol take him to Onigiri Miya. Wait. Don’t. I don’t want to see you make out on the security camera footage.

Kiyoomi’s favorite local spot in Seattle is a cash-only hole-in-the-wall in a vandalized alleyway that looks entirely abandoned at first glance, but he swears he’s never been mugged there and it has the best Taiwanese breakfast unless you make the trek out to Bellevue, where there’s another hole-in-the-wall deli he likes. Atsumu extracts a promise that they’ll go out for breakfast together at some indefinite point in the future. He extracts another promise that Kiyoomi will take him to Taiwan and Japan someday, and they’ll eat at a legit Din Tai Fung and Kiyoomi’s favorite sushi spot in Tokyo, a hole in the wall near his brother and his family’s neighborhood. As for other types of food, Kiyoomi thinks Seattle’s fine, serviceable even, but what does he know, he’s not going to eat sandwiches and steak every day, no? And he’s lactose intolerant enough that East and Southeast Asian food is usually a safe bet.

*

“By the way,” Kiyoomi said, as he was dropping off Atsumu back at his place the morning after date number two, “I know you looked me up online.” Atsumu tried to come up with a denial or comeback but came up short. “Motoya told me. It’s okay. I asked him about you, too, and he had opinions.”

Atsumu felt like he knew Motoya well though they never played for the same team. Motoya was Rin’s best childhood friend. The best friend of a friend who is practically family (and will legally be family soon) is also family. Motoya used to also play in Shizuoka, though he’s hopped around some and is currently playing for Milan’s SuperLega team.

“What did he say?” Atsumu needed to know.

“He said you’re a good person.”

“That’s it?”

“He said your heart is in the right place, but sometimes your brain-to-mouth filter isn’t there.” 

The morning light through the car window cast Kiyoomi’s face in a different light and made it so Atsumu could almost ignore what Kiyoomi was saying about his brain-to-mouth filter.

*

The Thai restaurant for date number five is one of Kiyoomi’s regular spots, and the owners’ daughter strikes up a conversation with him and now believes he and Atsumu are a serious couple because they were holding hands when they showed up. She is in high school, to her any couple holding hands must be serious. She is applying for college soon, and she wants to be a doctor someday, just like Kiyoomi. His advice? “Don’t,” he tells her. “But if you have to, pick a public medical school so you won’t be in as much debt.” She nods earnestly, before dashing off to get Atsumu his tea.

So Atsumu offers him a spot at Osamu’s wedding. Atsumu shows him a picture of the hotel in Hawaii they’re going to for the wedding, taken from the group chat. Kiyoomi makes a face. The story behind the name of the chat is tenth date hidden lore he will answer in due time, involving a frat party and a drunken monologue caught on video thanks to Rin, shit-stirrer and enabler extraordinaire, from back in college, a moment that his friends and brother have never, ever let him live that down even though he is over a solid decade older and hopefully wiser.

“Are you still a Sterek shipper?” Kiyoomi asks, dead serious.

“What?” Atsumu freezes. He’d forgotten the group chat’s full name after years of seeing it every day, and it takes him a second to figure out why Kiyoomi is asking him about Teen Wolf’s most infamous ship. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, that was all Rin bullshitting around. I swore my brother to secrecy about my Tumblr account from 2010 and bought his loyalty with ramen from Daikokuya. Nobody will ever know my account. I don’t even know what Sterek is, that was all Samu, he was the Sterek shipper and fanfic reader and the reason I started watching Teen Wolf in the first place. Oh, do you wanna come to the wedding or not?”

“What?” Kiyoomi asks. He pauses, as if processing and reading between the lines with his superior intellect and prep-school education and arriving at the conclusion that teenage Atsumu had subpar taste in television and ships and everything else. “No. I’m not going to your brother’s wedding with you.”

“It’s free food. You’d just have to pay to get to Hawaii, but I’m sure that doesn’t matter to you, as a rich doctor.” Atsumu bats his eyelashes in a way he hopes is flirtatious. 

Kiyoomi’s cheeks flush pink. Another fact Atsumu has learned: no, Kiyoomi’s hair isn’t permed, just naturally curly, falling across his face in a way that would make K-Drama actors envious. When Atsumu asked on an earlier date, Kiyoomi said he inherited father’s hair texture, though Kiyoomi’s hair is darker, black and not light brown. His father said he hated his hair growing up, as his middle school and high school forced him to dye it black to blend in with other students and only let him get away with not straightening it after his family produced baby photos that proved his hair was naturally curly. 

“I said with you,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m already going with my cousin as his plus-one. Motoya is going for Rintarou, right? I owe way too much in student loans, so Motoya offered to pay for my plane ticket in exchange for free medical consultation services for him and his entire family in perpetuity.” 

He stands up without warning, chair scraping against the wood floor, to get more napkins. Atsumu gives himself a deadline. Atsumu will decide by the wedding what to do with Kiyoomi. He can’t tell half the time whether Kiyoomi even likes him or not. Maybe that’s a problem he has, going after people who are unavailable. It’s bitten him in the ass before. In his twenties, the thrill of the chase was part of the game. In his thirties, he’s tired of always having to do the chasing. 

*

The morning after date number five, Atsumu makes the walk of shame back. More accurately, he takes the bus back. Spring is coming to Seattle, the many trees greening again. The cherry blossoms on the university campus are currently in full bloom, bringing visitors from all over the area, so traffic is atrocious. It takes him longer than usual.

Atsumu has been living in his twin brother’s home for almost a year and will be until a couple weeks before the wedding. Osamu and Rin’s townhouse has a kitchen with chrome appliances, a big kitchen island, a bedroom turned into a home gym, and a guest bedroom on the first floor. The guest bedroom has been Atsumu’s home base since retiring from Perugia.

Every apartment Atsumu has lived in by himself has been mostly bare. This townhouse is much more lived in. Fridge magnets with all the places Osamu and Rin have visited or lived, sloppily arranged. A line of rubber ducks in many colors on the counter in the guest bathroom. Cupboards filled to bursting with spices and herbs and sauces. A movie poster for Spirited Away hangs on the living room wall . Actual people with actual lives exist here, and Atsumu’s life has been just volleyball for so long that he feels like he just woke up from a dream.

Atsumu finds his brother and Rin on the living room couch, watching the latest K-Drama they’ve been hooked on. From the two of them, he has learned that the inner workings of other people’s relationships will always be unknowable, even if you know both parties involved well. 

Osamu is more businessman than chef these days, managing three Onigiri Miya locations around Seattle. He still tries to work at least a shift in the kitchen every week, but most of his job now is managing people and supply chains and designing new recipes for the menu. Osamu has been featured in all kinds of documentaries and videos and has a cookbook on Japanese home cooking that made the New York Times Bestseller list. In Seattle, Atsumu has been mistaken for Osamu often and not the other way around, a first in his life.

The week after Rin retired, he made a cameo in one of Osamu’s promotional videos for his cookbook, casually dropping that they were dating and causing everyone online to lose their minds. Ever since, Rin has appeared in Osamu’s YouTube videos, usually not even in person, instead just making comments offscreen and earning the nickname ‘Sunarin the Friendly Ghost’ in the comments section. Osamu’s fans have compiled these moments into videos, declaring them a cute couple, to Atsumu’s horror.

‘Cute’ is the polar opposite of Osamu and Rin. They are a deeply unromantic couple. They don’t celebrate anniversaries or Valentine’s Day, unless you count Rin’s annual meme Valentine shitpost where he photoshops Osamu’s head on top of Leonardo DiCaprio’s or The Rock’s body with a different cheesy caption each year for his private, friends-only Instagram account @definitely.not.sunarin whose usual programming consists of candid cat photos, candid Osamu-and-cat-together photos, and terrible photos of Atsumu or their other friends. Osamu proposed to Rin by hiding a ring inside a cupcake, at a gathering where Atsumu and the twins’ childhood friend Aran were also there to play Mario Kart together. The followers of @sunarin (his bio, silver medal in chaosbringing, his profile picture, a blurry, nearly unrecognizable picture of Atsumu’s face from karaoke in Osaka, vaguely demonic in appearance between the poor lighting and blonde hair and eyes glowing red from camera flash) would be appalled to know that their favorite middle blocker and proud owner of an Olympic silver medal almost swallowed a ring before spitting it back out. The two of them have already exceeded Atsumu’s expectations by having an actual wedding and not just a blurry photo with a meme caption in front of City Hall.

“Wait, who is that guy?” Osamu points at the TV. People are yelling at each other for inexplicable reasons in the show. The male lead is handsome but somewhat bland, not like Kiyoomi, who stands out much more. “Why are they yelling at each other? What’s going on?” 

Atsumu would also like to know the answer to his brother’s question in general. What’s going on? Why does dating Kiyoomi feel like a Jane Austen novel of going through the song and dance in the hope of getting his attention before he gets swooped up by someone else? 

Osamu and Rin’s precious baby girl, their gray cat with huge eyes named Menma, crawls up to Atsumu. She is named for the bamboo shoots you put on top of ramen, since Osamu’s single brain cell is dedicated to food, forever and always. Like father, like daughter, Menma stares, though with her oversized eyes the stare is nowhere near as unnerving than Rin’s blank stare boring into spikers’ souls from the other side of the volleyball net before he kills their spikes. Atsumu gives Menma a scritch under her chin. She meows before disappearing into her favorite cardboard box by the shoe rack. The first few months Atsumu moved in, Menma would not leave him alone, always coming over to cuddle him whenever he was home. Osamu said it was because she knew Atsumu was sad. Atsumu denied being sad. Osamu called him a godawful liar but fed him more onigiri anyway. That was Osamu for you.

“That girl is pissed at the guy in the suit. He slept with her friend when he promised not to last season. I think,” Rin says, sounding bored like always, knees pulled up to his chest like an lanky, overgrown shrimp while touching up eyeliner with practiced ease, phone in his other hand to presumably use a mirror. He lazily waves his eyeliner pencil at Atsumu. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

Rin also once lived volleyball but retired three years before Atsumu. He and Atsumu were on the same Division I college team in Southern California. After graduating, like Atsumu, Rin also moved to go pro somewhere far away, in his case Shizuoka back in the motherland. He now coaches college women’s volleyball, even though he could have stayed the assistant coach of the U-20 Japanese women’s national team, which he did for a season and is arguably much more prestigious. 

Osamu hits the pause button. The TV screen is frozen on a shot of a shocked man in a suit. The man’s face is shiny with sweat, which is gross.

“Samu,” Atsumu whines. “I still don’t know if Omi Omi likes me at all.”

“Can you stop bein’ a drama king for a hot second? You literally just got back from his place. And no, I don’t want to hear any specifics.”

“I bet he at least thinks of you as a friend in the Biblical sense,” Rin says, totally unhelpful as always. “That shirt you’re wearing? Definitely not yours.”

“Omi’s going to be at the wedding,” Atsumu wails, ignoring Rin. “He said he’s his cousin’s plus-one. He’s gonna be there and I’m gonna have to introduce him to Mama. What am I gonna tell her? I don’t know how to explain a situationship or the concept of DTR in Japanese without her thinking I’m a slut, how am I supposed to tell her we’re dating but only kinda and make it sound okay?”

“I’m sure she already assumes the worst. She’s seen your Instagram full of thirst traps.” Osamu laughs. Since Atsumu is in his thirties, he doesn’t resort to punching his brother to solve his problems anymore, though moments like this make him want to reconsider his commitment to pacifism.

“You should ask your doctor boyfriend if he can help you move,” Rin says, sounding bored. He snaps a photo of Atsumu in his moment of intense emotional turmoil like a good future brother-in-law. “It’d be a good date idea.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu says, before realizing that Kiyoomi’s car could be helpful for the move and that it could be a good bonding idea.

Atsumu and Osamu’s father would not be attending the wedding, the result of years of prolonged awkwardness after both his sons had come out and not knowing how to address the elephant in the room. In other words, a chronic inability to communicate was apparently Atsumu’s inheritance.

“We’re going to Uwajimaya for groceries and hot pot in the food court. Want to come with?” Rin asks, turning the TV off as the credits roll. Atsumu still has no idea what the plot was.

“No. I’m gonna stay home and play video games with Menma. Have fun on your date! Don’t get caught making out in the soy sauce aisle.”

“Osaamuuuu,” Rin calls out, monotone voice inflected with affection, as Osamu is busy looking through a closet for weather-appropriate jackets. “How do you feel about making out in the soy sauce aisle?” 

“I’d prefer to not be on the local news tomorrow, thanks.” Osamu comes back with two jackets, offering Rin a hand to pull him off the couch, before draping Rin’s jacket around his shoulders. 

Rin and Osamu thankfully are not into PDA, but how relaxed they are around each other is a dead giveaway. The week after Atsumu moved into the guest bedroom, he walked in on them practicing dance steps in the living room for a beginners’ swing dancing class. They sucked, almost falling over multiple times, but the way they’d laugh and then try again made Atsumu feel distressingly single.

“Noted,” Rin says. “My vote is for the ice cream aisle. Nothing sets the mood like those mango Melona popsicles.”

“I hate both of you,” Atsumu says. 

Menma wanders around his legs, and he picks her up. She buries herself against his jacket and purrs. At least someone’s happy. She is the only ally in this household, with Rin making him get up early for the gym, banging on the door of his bedroom at eight AM sharp most weekdays, and Osamu being Osamu.

*

Atsumu and Kiyoomi figured out they had mutual friends the first time they met in person, after the algorithm gods presented Atsumu’s profile to Kiyoomi, who liked the picture of Atsumu on a beach setting a volleyball. 

It was more surprising they hadn’t crossed paths before, given the volleyball world was tiny. Kiyoomi’s cousin Motoya hailed from the same town in Hawaii as Rin, and they went to the same elementary school and played in the same volleyball club, keeping in touch even though the Suna clan kept moving back and forth between Hawaii and Japan. Motoya, meanwhile, moved far away for high school, to go to the same prep school as Kiyoomi. 

Motoya was an easygoing, extroverted guy who Rin described many years ago as basically Aloha Spirit given human form, which made Atsumu laugh since he had no idea what that meant. Motoya visited Rin a few times, way back when during their school days, and he was fun to party with. They were also each other’s emergency contact in Italy, as they needed someone in the same time zone. Back in college, Motoya was a libero for a prestigious university in Northern California with an equally prestigious sports program, with students and alums having won over three hundred Olympic medals. They weren’t looking to recruit a setter when Atsumu was a high school senior, not that his standardized test scores would have been good enough anyway. The campus was famous for Spanish Revival architecture and sweeping, sun-bathed campus with hiking trails, art museums, and palm trees galore that Rin would text them pictures of when he visited once with captions like wtf is this a national park or a school asking for a friend.  

Motoya also finished a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Comparative Literature in four years, along with a minor in Classics. According to Rin, Motoya has mostly used his fancy degrees since to write “Grade-A tragic yaoi and toxic yuri, Motoya is single-handedly carrying his current fandom on his back” (with Rin’s usual lack of intonation, it was impossible to tell whether this was sarcasm or not) that former English major Rin would beta. TL;DR: The greater Sakusa clan was terrifyingly intelligent, and if Atsumu fucked things up with Kiyoomi, he would probably end up killed off in a fanfic somewhere.

Rin had sent Motoya a screenshot about the group chat’s discussion of Kiyoomi. He responded to Rin with a rolling on the floor laughing emoji to Rin’s comment about Kiyoomi being the perfect son except for the queer part. And then added, Kiyoomi and Atsumu? Really? I’m gonna have to ask Kiyoomi about this.

“Motoya hated our high school. We were both on the volleyball team, that was the only good part for both of us,” Kiyoomi admitted, when Atsumu related an anecdote about Motoya hating the East Coast. They were at the boba store near the college campus that made Atsumu feel old, because he looked at all the students and they looked like children who hadn’t had the world try to break them in increasingly creative ways yet. 

Kiyoomi’s nails were bitten down. Atsumu wondered if that was a habit. Kiyoomi had not smiled yet. Atsumu wondered if his first impression was that terrible, since he usually had a good track record with first dates. 

“My cousin applied to our high school instead of staying in Hawaii because of me,” Kiyoomi said. “We were both scholarship students there. He hated the cold and the fact the sun sets at three in the afternoon in the winter, but he hated the social aspects more.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Basically, you were either a charity case or rich. And if you were rich, there are different tiers even for rich white people. Old money families on the East Coast keep track of who’s family is in and who’s out on some social registry. If you weren’t part of that world, you were excluded from the start.”

“So you weren’t invited to their secret parties,” Atsumu said. “Darn. I would’ve liked to know what those were like.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

That was all Kiyoomi shared about himself, before he started interrogating Atsumu about playing professional volleyball as if it were a job interview as they walked one of the trails in a park. Atsumu talked about missing the music of the Italian language and the warm weather, of how being a stranger in a strange land was easier than being a stranger in the not-so-strange land of Japan, since it was assumed in Italy he knew nothing about the culture. In Japan, he got into a few awkward social situations after messing up which level of politeness to use a few times. He felt like he was too loud and too big of a personality for Japan, which would have been okay had he grown up there and had friends, but he was coming in as an adult. His only friends while playing were other loud volleyball players. If he ever wanted to coach at the college level or in the SV League, the renamed version of the V. League, Rin knew people who could hook him up with a job, but Atsumu himself wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet.

Retirement was hard. He coached kids and taught adult classes for a local club. Did he actually want to keep coaching? He didn’t know. But he needed to do something. Atsumu didn’t mention how it was strange, knowing less about what he actually wanted to do than some of the kids he taught and yelling at Osamu that he didn’t get how hard it was to be yanked away from doing the thing you love most in this world because you have already peaked and how the bag of flesh you carry on your bones isn’t immune to time. 

“Hey, Omi, let’s do something else soon?” Atsumu asked, at the end. The first date was usually the filter to make sure the other person wasn’t a creep, and Kiyoomi passed that test with flying colors.

“I’m babysitting my niece and nephew next weekend. My sister and brother-in-law are going on a short trip,” Kiyoomi said. He showed Atsumu a picture of two kids in middle school, with big grins and both having the same dark, wavy hair as Kiyoomi. “How about two Sundays from today?”

*

Two Sundays later, Atsumu and Kiyoomi saw penguins and octopi and sharks at the aquarium. After visiting the aquarium together, they kissed on the pier overlooking the ocean outside after Atsumu made a stupid comment about being able to see all the way to Japan. It was cloudy and drizzling, like it was most days in Seattle when it wasn’t summer. They then made out in Kiyoomi’s car in the parking garage that Atsumu was sure Kiyoomi would not go along with until it happened.

Do you even like me, Atsumu wanted to ask. Instead, he asked, “Wanna head over to your place?” 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Kiyoomi replied, car keys in hand. “Unless you have anywhere else to be today?”

“No.” Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too much. “I’m free. Lemme just text my brother so he knows I wasn’t kidnapped.”

*

A week after the second date with Kiyoomi, Atsumu and Osamu fought. If you asked him why he picked a fight with his brother, he would not have been able to give a real answer.

The scene of the crime: Osamu had made Atsumu breakfast, and they were chatting. Osamu mentioned he and Rin were thinking about kids and the logistics of kids. Not in a theoretical way, but in a real, practical way, budgeting and making physical space. Rin took his current job partly because his university had benefits to help cover adoption-related fees. The plan for kids was to move all the workout equipment out of the bedroom-turned-home-gym to convert it into a bedroom. If they were going to have kids, they would ideally have two kids, because Rin also was close with his little sister and neither of them could imagine existing without a sibling. They would regularly visit or move to Hawaii to be closer to Rin’s parents, who were excited to help out. 

Atsumu had no idea about any of this. All Atsumu heard was that he was going to be an uncle soon. He didn’t think parenthood was something Osamu cared about at all. Atsumu’s thought process went something like this: Osamu was getting married, thinking about kids when he had never mentioned maybe having kids before, and now he was talking about wanting to get the early childhood part of parenting out of the way before he and Rin were too old to chase after toddlers. The kids, the life plans, all of this was buying into the life script fed to them by heterosexual propaganda.

“Samu, you’re givin’ into the propaganda,” Atsumu said. He slammed a mug down on the perfect quartz countertop. Menma slunk away into Atsumu’s room, sensing all was not right. “All you need is a white picket fence, and then it’s like a 1950’s sitcom, gay version.”

“What the hell,” Osamu said. Rin was not home to break up the arguments with threats of blackmailing them, away for a few days for work. “Why does it matter to you, anyway? Let me have what makes me happy.”

Atsumu didn’t answer. His brother was becoming someone he didn’t recognize. Atsumu wasn’t ready to be an uncle. He could barely take care of himself, let alone be the backup babysitter for Osamu and Rin whenever they needed time away from kids.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Osamu said. “You haven’t been yourself since—since you stopped playing volleyball. I thought you were doing better after meeting that doctor, but you’ve turned into a saltier, angrier version of yourself. Where’s the annoying, obnoxious Tsumu we all know and hate?”

“Fuck you,” Atsumu said, and he knew the conversation was over. He knew he was picking a fight, but he was tired of everyone moving on without him.

Atsumu knew the answer Osamu’s question, what’s wrong with you? It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be twins. They were supposed to go at the same pace. Why was it that Osamu seemed so far ahead of him, at that moment, with his impending marriage and plans of permanency, when permanent was so far outside of Atsumu’s experience changing teams every few years? 

The next morning, Osamu had left him breakfast. Atsumu was forgiven. He was lucky that Osamu could never hold a grudge against him for long. Atsumu did more errands for him in return. When Rin returned home a few days later from the tournament, there were times Atsumu felt that old blank stare again, like he wanted to talk to Atsumu over the fight but didn’t know where to start. 

*

Atsumu, it turned out, liked coaching kids. Kids liked him. He liked kids, because they had the energy to match his energy. Osamu and him avoided talking about the future, though Atsumu was going to be his best man at the wedding and needed a new suit, since he had to sell or give away a lot of his clothes when he left Italy. Atsumu and Kiyoomi texted often. Kiyoomi was busy and didn’t have time to meet up for a few months between work and having to fly to Boston for family, a six flight each way. His sick grandmother needed him to translate medicalese and be a second opinion. She kept asking him when he would marry a nice girl, he texted Atsumu, and Kiyoomi never knew what to say.

Call? Atsumu texted. His phone rang almost immediately. He picked it up on the first ring, hoping it wasn’t loud enough to wake up his brother or Rin.

“It’s almost midnight where you are,” Kiyoomi said, “and tomorrow’s a weekday. Go to sleep.”

“You called, though.”

“So?”

“My dad hasn’t said more than a hundred words in total to either me or my brother since we came out,” Atsumu said. 

His friends in the group chat would know him better as an adult than his parents ever would, which hurt when he was twenty but was just fact now. Sometimes things were not going to be okay, ever, with family, and you just needed to accept the cold, hard truth. 

“That sucks.” 

Atsumu, it turned out, was more tired than he thought he was, after spending a lot of time hanging out with Aran at a sports bar earlier in the evening. Aran knew not to pry when Atsumu didn’t want to talk, the result of having known both the Miya twins since they were in elementary school and being all too familiar with their brand of explosive melodrama, and for that small mercy, Atsumu was grateful. He yawned.

“I think you’d like my dad, if you ever met,” Kiyoomi said. He sounded thoughtful. “But you should go to sleep.” And he hung up.

*

The third date was making dinner together at Kiyoomi’s apartment, when Atsumu found out Kiyoomi’s hidden lore. The fourth date was a gay bar with low lighting. The background music was Brittany Spears and Kylie Minogue and all the pop divas the gays love. Atsumu was somewhat ashamed to admit he was a complete stereotype in that his workout playlists all consist of said pop divas. Kiyoomi was tired but happy, if Atsumu had finally learned how to interpret his moods. He had a star sticker on his cheek. 

They talked about Atsumu, about how he had to go overseas because the United States has no professional volleyball league. He moved to Japan, Poland, and Italy, where the SuperLega was the best volleyball league in the world. He played some real fucking good volleyball over there. In Japan, there were a few years where he and Osamu overlapped, when Osamu had decided it was time to return to the motherland for a bit to learn Japanese home cooking from the source before opening his own restaurant. 

Kiyoomi asked where Atsumu liked the most, out of everywhere he had lived. Atsumu thought about this for a moment. He felt like he didn’t have a home anymore other than wherever Osamu was, between the constant moving and his parents leaving his childhood hometown forever. He then deflected, then made a joke about a photo Kiyoomi showed him on a previous date that was taken in front of an old house in Boston in winter, looking good in the long wool overcoats East Coast people wear and how they were mostly useless in Seattle. Atsumu asked about why Kiyoomi picked Seattle anyway. Kiyoomi admitted he wanted to live somewhere with more mild weather than Massachusetts and not feel like a freak. There only really were a handful of cities in the country where being both queer and Asian was common enough to be unexceptional. Seattle was on that list. Kiyoomi’s sister was in Seattle, too, so Seattle it was.

The playlist changed to the Lady Gaga classic “Poker Face,” and Atsumu could not think of a more appropriate song to use for Kiyoomi. Lady Gaga crooning, Can’t read my can’t read my poker faaaaceeeee, as they talked about East and West Coast stereotypes. Kiyoomi made fun of Atsumu for checking all the boxes for a very specific subtype of SoCal Asian. Atsumu denied this, he hadn’t lived in California for ages and had no plans to move back, though visiting Gin and Akagi’s gorgeous, sundrenched Burbank home was always fun. Then Kiyoomi listed Atsumu’s stereotypical qualities off: loud, bubbly, athletic, party animal, bleached hair, tattoos. Atsumu hadn’t known Kiyoomi had noticed his singular small tattoo, a strand of DNA above his ankle. A few weeks before he and Osamu were going their separate paths, Atsumu got it in secret, a reminder that he would always be a twin and that his twin always had his back, no matter how far they were physically from each other. And as for his hair, years of repeated bleaching had done enough weird things to it that he was planning on waiting until enough healthy hair grew out before doing anything with it again. 

“Enough about me. What’s this?” Atsumu tapped the red star sticker on Kiyoomi’s cheek, drawing his fingers slowly down Kiyoomi’s face. They were close enough that Astumu could see the beauty mark clearly, could see him inhale and exhale. “Is this from one of your patients?”

The lighting was too dark to tell if he was flushed. Normally he was pale enough that it was obvious. “A patient came in today for a checkup. She’s been in remission for a year and gave me this as thanks.”

“Omi Omi! Wait, you never told me what kind of doctor you are. You’re a cancer doctor?” He recalled seeing Cancer and Blood Disorders Department on Kiyoomi's profile online, but Kiyoomi had never brought it up in conversation before.

“I’m a pediatric oncologist,” Kiyoomi clarified. “Kids only. Seattle Children’s Hospital, remember?”

“Why children?”

“Have you ever met adults? I fucking hate adults.”

Atsumu laughed and laughed. This was the most Kiyoomi-like thing he had said all evening. But then, a question. “Cancer, huh. How’re ya not sad all the time?”

“Children have better odds of survival than adults,” Kiyoomi said dispassionately, like he was quoting out of a textbook, but Atsumu knew better, no matter how much Kiyoomi pretended not to care about people or his job. “The hardest part is deciding when it’s time to stop, to not pursue treatment options anymore. Knowing when to let go. They tried to prepare us for it in school. It’s different when there’s a family in front of you asking you what’s the best choice for their child and you have to break it to them.”

“That blows,” Atsumu says, though there is nothing he can say in response to the experience of telling parents their children are going to die soon and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

Nothing in Atsumu’s life and volleyball career has stakes anywhere near as high. Not for the first time, he wonders what Kiyoomi is doing with a person like him, someone who doesn’t have a fancy degree or a fancy job.

*

Once in a while Atsumu is up before Rin bangs on his door and watches the sun rise. When he first moved back from Italy, he was jetlagged enough that this happened every day for a week. Atsumu would go outside for a morning job and see the sky cotton-candy itself pink. Sometimes there would be someone walking a dog who was also out in Osamu and Rin’s neighborhood, or a few bleary grad students heading out to campus to get to work. This was the rising sun as his parents, who had decided to sell their house in Torrance a few years ago and take advantage of the strong dollar to weak yen to retire early in Japan, saw the setting sun at around the same time in Hyogo, sixteen time zones ahead. If not for Osamu, Atsumu wouldn’t have any ties to Seattle. 

Osamu had been appalled yesterday at how few belongings Atsumu had accumulated over the course of a year. He was moving into a building a couple blocks away from Aran, who had moved up from SoCal to Seattle years ago, after he had injured himself too badly to continue down the pro tennis path.

The day of the move, Atsumu goes for a jog as the sun is rising. When Atsumu jogs back, Kiyoomi’s car is there, his silver Toyota. He actually agreed to help out, in exchange for a free meal. They’ve seen each other frequently since the Thai restaurant, a few times a week, in fact. Atsumu has lost track of the dates after number eight, and last weekend they did go to Bellevue for the Taiwanese breakfast Kiyoomi was talking about. Atsumu had to admit that Kiyoomi has good taste in food. They went to a planetarium together. They went hiking again. Atsumu has the photos to prove it, and the group chat nodded approvingly through the Internet with their oho would you look at that, Atsumu’s maybe got game comments.

When they first met, Kiyoomi laid down some ground rules because Atsumu was a public figure—no photos online for the time being, he didn’t want thousands of Atsumu’s female fans around the world going after him for stealing their man. So Atsumu has kept a lot of photos of Kiyoomi in a folder on his phone, some of just Kiyoomi, some of both of them. 

Atsumu was never officially out when he played because the ramifications would have been a pain. Still, enough people figured it out from the thirst traps for the male gaze and the photos from Pride, him and his friends at a bar pregaming, all with rainbows painted on their cheeks. The gay thing wasn’t something he actively hid, still isn’t. The group chat discovered the people who didn’t jump to the correct conclusion argued that he was just a ‘supportive ally of his queer friends’ in heated online debates on social media. Cue more rainbow flag, nail painting, and rolling on the floor laughing emojis. People are clearly too dumb to see the truth staring them right in the face. Kiyoomi snorts at this story, says people are dumb because his gaydar is only okay but he could tell right away.

Kiyoomi backs out of Osamu’s driveway and honks his horn at a bad driver. A driver cuts past them. Kiyoomi says something under his breath in a language Atsumu doesn’t recognize but does recognize the intent of fuck you clear in every language. Kiyoomi avoids taking the highway, instead winding on small roads until he gets to Atsumu’s new building. Instead of settling into clouds like Seattle did for nine months out of the year, it is sunny and Kiyoomi has to put on sunglasses to drive. It is late May, when the sun starts to show up regularly.

Onigiri Miya is why Atsumu wasn’t urgently in need of money for the short term, Atsumu confesses to Kiyoomi. Volleyball wasn’t a particularly profitable sport at the professional level compared to other sports, if not for endorsement opportunities. Atsumu has a large financial stake in Onigiri Miya. Osamu needed money to open up in Seattle, an expensive city, and he was young and a big investment risk for outside investors, who only would put money on people who have been in the business for decades. Osamu had worked at least part-time in food service since he was eighteen in a number of different roles, and Osamu was Osamu, so Atsumu was sure he wouldn’t be one of the eighty percent of new restaurants that fail within the first year. Atsumu called up his agent and made a few endorsement deals with clothing brands to raise the funds. Rin had offered to do the same without wanting a stake in the restaurant in return, but Osamu had turned him down, not wanting to mix love with business.

“Your brother’s wise,” Kiyoomi says. “I would have turned that offer down, too. What if they broke up?”

“Samu never thought they’d break up. They’ve been practically married since we were twenty-one. He’s just stubborn, that’s what he is. He doesn’t have a romantic bone in him. He and Rin got a prenup.”

“That’s just being smart. Osamu owns a business, that’s what they recommend.”

Atsumu sighs. “I still can’t believe Samu’s the one gettin’ married and having a destination wedding. He and Rin are the biggest homebodies. Their idea of a romantic date is going to the farmer’s market together to stock up on fruit.”

Kiyoomi snorts. “I would just want to stay home with my partner, too, if I had been long-distance for what, seven or eight years? Give them several more years before judging them.” When Kiyoomi says things that make it sound like he isn’t a total misanthrope, it always takes Atsumu by surprise. 

“Not long-distance the entire time. They lived in Japan together for a year or two.”

“Still a long time to be long-distance.”

They turn onto the street of Atsumu’s new building, a quiet street off a main road. There is a steep hill sloping down to the right. Atsumu’s going to get a real thigh workout jogging around here every day.

“You’re moving a bit further from where I live,” Kiyoomi notes, making no statement as to whether this is a good or bad thing. They had arrived at Atsumu’s new building, a blue stucco building that only had six units and was old, but it was his own place.

“That a problem?”

“No,” Kiyoomi says. “You should buy a car.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu says. “I’m planning on it, after the wedding. I didn’t ‘cause Samu’s place only had room for a single car in the garage, but he and Rin helped me relearn how to drive.” More like, Rin had sat in the shotgun seat and made snarky remarks whenever Atsumu was about to hit the curb when parking.

Kiyoomi helps him unpack into his new bedroom, helps him set up the bed frame that was delivered earlier that week, before he heads out.

“Just checking, but you’re still gonna be at Samu and Rin’s wedding, right?” Atsumu asks. The wedding is fast approaching, two weeks away, and Atsumu has never been to Hawaii before. 

Osamu and Rin have been talking about wedding plans nonstop the past week, since they’ve had to coordinate with the event venue and the catering. All he knows of Hawaii are Rin and Motoya’s stories of a land of fish and fruit and its folktales and urban legends, of shapeshifting ghosts and volcano goddesses, not dissimilar from those from Japan. 

“Why would I turn down a free flight?” Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu like he’s just said one plus one is three. “There’s a shaved ice place on Oahu that Motoya and I used to go to a lot, and I haven’t been in years. Let’s talk about it at the wedding. If you’ll be free for a few days afterwards?”

Atsumu hadn’t realized Kiyoomi was extending him an invitation until he asked the question. “Let’s do it,” Atsumu says. “I’m flexible. I’ve taken the entire week after off.”

*

Atsumu’s first impression of Hawaii is the Hawaiian garden at the airport in Honolulu, lush with tall trees and strange birds. Between each set of gates, you have to go outside into the sun, and they stopped at the garden because Osamu needed to take a work call and needed to find a place to sit down. Being a business owner meant it was hard to take time off completely, even for his own wedding. Rin and left their suitcases with him and are walking around the pond. Atsumu’s hoodie is too thick after only a few minutes in the heat, but inside is too cold to not wear it. Rin takes his sunglasses out of his backpack, and Atsumu wishes he had the foresight to not put his sunglasses in his suitcase.

A duck, or similar brown bird he’d never seen before resembling a duck, is sitting under red flowers. Rin stops. Rin crouches down to take a photo, and the duck seems to pose for the camera. 

The first time Atsumu met Rin for real was during preseason training before new student orientation, but they had met before during Nationals their junior year of high school, when Atsumu and Osamu and Aran got lost in the complex and ended up running into Rin’s team. In college, Rin initially reminded Atsumu of a wild animal, someone who preferred to watch from a distance and would run when danger got too close. They’ve been teammates, they’ve been on opposite sides of the net. They both played for Team Japan at the Olympics and the FIVB Men’s World Volleyball Championships. Atsumu has seen people speculate online as to why he chose Team Japan over Team USA, and if he were being honest, the answer was mostly that the Japanese team had fun hitters to work with, not any sense of loyalty to either country, not like Rin, who Atsumu is still surprised didn’t make Osamu open up an Onigiri Miya in Tokyo to just stay there after retirement.

“You didn’t sleep on the flight,” Rin says. Atsumu might not be able to read Rin like Osamu can, but Atsumu understands what Rin is asking without asking. Are you okay?

“‘M fine. Was watchin’ the in-flight movies.” Atsumu squints. The sun here might be brighter than even the Southern California sun, and he takes off his hoodie in defeat. “I was just crying at the one anime movie they had.”

Rin snorts. “How’s your new place?”

“It’s good. Not as nice as your place, though.” Atsumu almost certainly overstayed his welcome at Osamu and Rin’s place, even if he did pay for their utilities and groceries while he was there. “Hey. I know Osamu would have kicked me out of your guys’ house if you wanted me out. So thanks.”

Rin’s sunglasses are large enough that Atsumu can’t tell what he’s thinking, but Rin has never been easy to read, regardless. He says, “As if we were going to let you loose into the world when you were having a full-blown midlife crisis.”

“Take that back, I’m not even middle-aged!”

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the horror stories about retirement. The higher you go, the harder the fall, and all that.”

They are making a loop back towards Osamu, but Osamu is still talking with someone on the other side. Rin waves at him. Osamu nods back. A group of kids are watching a bird in the branches of a big tree.

“You make it look easy,” Atsumu says. He can hear the resentment in his voice, even though he’s tried to hide it. 

Rin doesn’t answer for a while, and Atsumu wonders if he has heard or whether he is pretending not to. Then he says, “I could have played for longer, but how I play would have eventually injured me. So I walked away while I still could.” 

At the end, during the last couple seasons, Atsumu was visibly declining, and it was obvious that his choices were either to stay and be benched or leave and figure out what came next. At the pro level, you can’t stop improving or else you start falling behind. His next-to-last season, he was out for a few months because of a bad shoulder. His final season, after two matches where he wasn’t playing like he used to, he called up Osamu and started making plans for what to do after the season ended, though it didn’t really hit the retirement press conference. He had let go, but it didn’t feel like he had actually let go until maybe a few months ago, when he was talking to Kiyoomi about what playing professionally was like in the past tense.

“Are you still pissed at Osamu for wanting different things than you?” Rin asked.

“Samu’s a traitor. How much did he tell you?”

“The only thing he hasn’t told me is your old Tumblr, and that’s because I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten the URL.”

“Shut your trap. Look, I was a self-respectin’ queer kid in 2011. I’m sure you had one, too.”

Rin huffs, which means he must also have a teenage Tumblr since lost to the void of the Internet and that Atsumu needs to bribe Osamu into giving up. “A few years back, Osamu did a video for the cookbook launch with a chef friend of his down in SoCal. They both hate social media but know it’s important, so they do videos together sometimes. Her parents are music people who are famous, really famous. You’d recognize one of her dads’ names right away, even with your questionable music taste.”

“Hey,” Atsumu says. “Dude, my music taste is quality. Top notch.”

“She was surprised I didn’t try to brush that we were a couple under the rug,” Rin says, sounding extremely bored, but the fact that he’s telling this story at all must mean he has a point. “She told us afterwards that since her parents were both public figures, like me and Osamu, and they once broke up secretly for several years before getting back together. The pressure of keeping their private life private made them eventually not talk to each other about the stupid stuff.”

“What’s your point? I already know you and Osamu are publicly a thing. And if you made him your dirty secret after retiring from pro ball, I would have been fuckin’ pissed at you,” Atsumu says. Rin might be an old friend, but Osamu is Atsumu’s brother, the person he knows better than anyone else on the planet. They might fight sometimes, but at the end of the day, Atsumu would be fucked without Osamu, and they both know it. Osamu puts everything he has into taking care of other people, even though he might not be the nicest while forcing onigiri down his friends’ throats. He deserves someone who values him.

“My point is that if you stop talking about what you want for dinner to each other, good fucking luck. That’s my advice for you and your doctor boy, free of charge.” 

Atsumu can’t remember the last time Rin has said this much to him at once, and of course, when he does, it’s another riddle or fable. He and Osamu have appeared at Osamu’s events together as a couple since he retired from volleyball, so Atsumu doesn’t understand what he’s trying to hint at.

“Keep Omi Omi outta this,” Atsumu says. It’s easy to fall into old rhythms, the old call-and-response, with someone you’ve known for too long. “I’m not mad at Samu anymore, by the way.”

“Mmm.” Rin’s expression is still impossible to read because of the sunglasses and the fact that he is facing away from Atsumu to take more pictures of plants, but Atsumu can sense that Rin is happy. Atsumu can sense that Rin is happy for Atsumu and happy about the wedding, despite the insanity of planning. The wedding is going to be a huge reunion for the A GROUP OF FOXES IS A SKULK chat and the Japanese volleyball monster generation, what they were still calling that generation of players in Japan years later, another chance for them to get together, this time to celebrate one of their own.

“Hey,” Atsumu says. “Don’t tell Osamu I said this, but you’re going to be a good dad someday. If that’s still in the cards.”

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

*

The itinerary for the Hawaii trip: the wedding itself is going to be on the Big Island, but the first couple days they’re staying on Oahu, the island where most people in Hawaii live and where the airport is located. They visit Rin’s family and hang out with Motoya, who talks about how he’s looking forward to retiring and how much he’s missed Hawaii. It’s a homecoming for Rin, who seems more at ease here than anywhere else Atsumu has run into him. They gossip about people they know. Osamu and Rin have collected a horrible amount of gossip over the years. They collectively drink too much and stay up too late and regret it the next day because they’re in their thirties. Except Osamu. Osamu is the responsible one, because of course he is. Atsumu runs around in flip-flops and makes a lot of noise everywhere he goes, and he hears Motoya saying, “I’m glad retiring hasn’t changed him,” to Osamu.

Motoya and Rin drive them around all their old haunts on Oahu. Their favorite food trucks, their favorite lesser-known beaches. You can throw a rock seemingly anywhere and hit a beach. Atsumu chases after a group of turtles he spots on a beach. He’s the only one of the party that hasn’t been here before, as Osamu has visited before to meet Rin’s parents.The water is so blue it almost glows. The sand is warm, not like West Coast beaches where it is always too cold. At random times it starts sprinkling. The climate’s tropical, think the rainforest, Motoya says, laughing as Atsumu’s hair flops over. Building a campfire after dark. Photos at sunset.

And the stories. Motoya and occasionally Rin fill them in on the stories as they drive. To the left and below is the ocean. See that island with a hill that resembles a shark’s fin or hat? A long time ago, there was a goddess wrestling an evil giant lizard, and the body fell into the bay, its tail forming the island. Here is a cliff. A long time ago, there was a battle and the warriors still haunt the place. This is a land where the past is still remembered. 

Atsumu texts Kiyoomi vacation pictures. Some scenery, some food, some travel companions. Kiyoomi reacts with a heart to the one where Atsumu is on a boat, his damaged bleached hair a mess frizzy with the sea air, his smile bigger than it has been since he was on the volleyball court because someone said something stupid.

You should smile more, Kiyoomi texts him.

You’re one to talk, Atsumu replies.

*

Rin and Motoya said that when they were kids, they spent a lot of time in the Honolulu airport waiting for flights to other islands for volleyball games and to the mainland for big, national-level tournaments, planes their version of crappy buses and vans Atsumu’s schools used. This time, they’re all flying to the Big Island for the wedding and not volleyball. Motoya corners Atsumu in the airport. Atsumu is charging his almost-dead phone, which Osamu gave him an earful about forgetting to charge before letting him borrow his power pack. Osamu and Rin have left for snacks. 

“You and my cousin,” Motoya says. Atsumu tenses up. “Relax, I was just going to say that I didn’t expect it all. But hey, whatever floats your boat. I would have introduced you earlier if I had known you’d hit it off.”

“Omi’s—I can’t get a good read on Omi Omi.”

“I know. I’ve told him to be direct with you,” Motoya says. “He’s just, you know how he is.”

Atsumu has always struggled with reading Motoya, and the things he knows about Motoya from Rin aren’t helping. Motoya and Rin co-wrote a fanfic last year that Osamu said went viral. Motoya, though, is presently acting in his capacity as Kiyoomi’s cousin. Making small talk with him about fandom exploits or volleyball would be wildly inappropriate.

So Atsumu sighs. “Isn’t that right?”

“You’re very different from Kiyoomi’s last serious boyfriend. You’re the last person I expected for him to go for.”

“Really? What was he like?” Atsumu asks. He didn’t take Kiyoomi for the type to recklessly rush into an engagement, which only meant that this relationship had been serious.

“I don’t know if Kiyoomi’s told you, but he was in this relationship for the longest time. We all thought they’d get married.” Motoya waves his hands as if Atsumu should be picking up what he’s implying. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t tell,” Atsumu says. He’s just happy Motoya hasn’t threatened to kill him off in a fanfic if this goes south. “I’ll ask Omi Omi myself.” 

*

On the Big Island, there are many volcanoes. There aren’t as many people, is what Atsumu is told, but they are staying at a big hotel as a group, rooms all in one section, a fancy hotel near the beach. There are volleyball nets already set up on the beach, and it hurts. Atsumu hasn’t picked up a volleyball to play since retiring. Osamu and Rin still played for a rec team in the queer volleyball league locally sometimes, with other teams in the league joking about banning Rin because he had an Olympic silver medal.

“It is said,” Rin says in Japanese, after dark, flashlight in his face, “If you pick up a hitchhiker who is a woman with a dog, you’d better let her in your car. Before you get to wherever she asked you to take her, you’ll turn around and she’s gone. That’s the goddess Pele, the goddess of fire. She’s still around, just look at all the volcanoes on this island.”

Half the guests are the old crew from when Atsumu played volleyball in Japan, the national team, Hinata and Bokuto and Ushijima and Kageyama and Iwaizumi. It was practically one big volleyball reunion. Atsumu hasn’t felt this alive in ages. Let’s pretend we’re twenty-four again and scream at the top of our lungs about volleyball, he wants to say, let’s pretend for a few days we’ll be playing volleyball forever. 

Bokuto, Hinata, and Kageyama were sitting in a circle on the floor of Atsumu’s hotel room. They had been catching up on gossip and talking about what they had seen of Hawaii so far. Osamu catches the flashlight as it slips from Rin’s hand when they all hear a thump on the door.

“What was that?” Hinata asks, ridiculously enthusiastic and screechy despite being over the age of thirty. He still lives in Brazil. His Portuguese has apparently become quite good and he has become a beloved Brazilian national icon. He has a lot of fans over there who clamor for Ninja Shoyo’s autograph at games. “Was that a ghost?” 

“Quiet down, dumbass,” Kageyama says.

“Who’s the dumbass here? I think it’s smart to be scared of ghosts.” The two of them start fighting, and the rest of them know that it’s hopeless.

Atsumu says, “I’ll get it.” He checks the peephole of the door, just in case it really is a ghost. There is no ghost. There is only Kiyoomi. Atsumu opens the door. 

“It’s you,” Kiyoomi says. He sounds neither pleased nor displeased. 

“Weren’t ya supposed to be here a few hours ago?” Atsumu replies. Kiyoomi’s flight was delayed by an hour.

“You were keeping track? Get a room,” Osamu jeers.

Atsumu flips his brother off. Kiyoomi is still neither pleased nor displeased.

*

Tomorrow afternoon is the wedding. Instead of staying in their own rooms, the irresponsible ones are in Atsumu’s room, like it’s a giant slumber party. Someone brings over beer, probably Aran or Shinsuke, the twins’ childhood friend from Japanese School who is now a rice farmer and sake brewer in California’s Central Valley, and they all get room service and watch movies together. Inside every adult who has ever taken volleyball seriously is a child who wanted to fly. And sometimes these adults who were once children without wings need to yell and laugh and say, “Hey, that’s my phone! Don’t you fuckin’ dare test out whether you can unlock it with Face ID, Samu!” And Kiyoomi is there, too. He brushes his hand against Atsumu’s when everyone is a bit tipsy and drunk with alcohol and thinking about how another one of their number tomorrow will be legally bound to someone else tomorrow. 

And Osamu and Rin are side by side, sitting on the floor of the hotel room, talking about how they still need to plan a honeymoon, how they got so caught up in wedding planning that they forgot they needed a honeymoon, too. Osamu slumps against Rin’s shoulder, falling asleep surrounded by other people. Rin keeps an arm around him, keeping him from falling over. Atsumu’s glad Osamu is in good hands, has someone to watch out for him for a very long time.

*

Atsumu’s and Osamu’s mother is not aware that all her sons’ volleyball friends have been up until two thirty in the morning catching up and watching the cinema classic Bill and Ted’s Bogus Journey. She and Atsumu were supposed to meet for breakfast. Atsumu shows up fifteen minutes late after sleeping through his first alarm. His mother is not surprised. Despite denying Kiyoomi’s claims, Atsumu is a California boy at heart, though he has not lived there since Osamu moved away, and texting five minutes after to say you’ll be fifteen minutes late is expected for California boys. Kiyoomi may have been right about stereotypes.

His mother is maybe five feet two inches tall, formerly taller but currently in that period of life where you lose height instead of gaining it, and both her sons dwarf her. His mother still thinks being queer is just making your life harder for yourself, and she wants her sons to have it easy. But she knows that there is no changing either Osamu’s or Atsumu’s minds on anything. The fact that she is at Osamu’s wedding is already noteworthy, considering either of their parents refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room for a long time. This is probably as good as it will ever get with their mother, this somewhat awkward dance around their personal lives. It is okay because Atsumu will always have Osamu, and Osamu will always have Atsumu. His parents’ greatest gift to them was each other. When Osamu found out Atsumu got a tattoo, he went and got a matching one. Their parents still don’t know about the tattoos, physical and emotional distance making secrets easier to hide. So Atsumu talks up Rin to his mother, says how he’s grateful that Osamu has someone to take care of him.

His mother jokes if Atsumu’s going to get married next. Atsumu decides to come clean.

“There’s someone,” he says. “No idea about marriage, but there’s someone in my life.”

“Will I meet them at some point?” Japanese is a language where pronoun usage doesn’t line up perfectly with English, and technically she does not ask them but uses no pronoun at all. Atsumu, in his head, translates it to ‘them,’ optimistic even when he shouldn’t be.

“Maybe,” Atsumu says, and that’s that.

*

The wedding venue is a garden, completely outdoors. The grooms brought along with them extra bottles of mineral sunscreen in case anyone needs it or left it at the hotel. Atsumu’s mother is seated with Rin’s family, where hopefully Rin’s glamorous little sister can work her charm. It is a beautiful day. Osamu and Rin might not be complete failures at romance, getting married in a garden in full bloom in Hawaii.

Atsumu gives a speech for Osamu and Rin, one that he was stressed out about making perfect right before leaving for Hawaii. He talks about Osamu, how fucked he’d be without his brother and how he can’t imagine not being a twin. He talks about how Rin was the team’s champion planker in college and all the times they got animal fries at In-N-Out after coming home from a match or tournament and how sometimes Osamu would join in. It was there, sitting next to Osamu and across from Rin when Atsumu realized there were probably feelings involved between his brother and his friend. Atsumu cries talking about animal fries. There are more speeches. Atsumu cries more. 

The grooms share vows. Osamu talks about food, of course, about all the food he’s made Rin over the years. Rin talks about how Osamu has been his anchor since they were twenty-one and all they had back then were big dreams and burgers from In-N-Out. They kiss. Atsumu is still crying. Bizarrely, Shinsuke is the one marrying them because he is somehow ordained to marry people by the State Of Hawaii. It is a gorgeous day in a garden where the beach is a ten minute drive away, and Atsumu is out of tissues and his eyes are swollen red and he is smiling so much his cheeks hurt. 

The rest of the wedding is a blur. Everyone in the GROUP OF FOXES IS A SKULK chat came wearing matching fox pins, including the grooms, so they take group photos together. Osamu refuses to do a Naruto animal hand sign for their second goofy picture on principle until Rin makes him. Everyone who played on the Japanese national volleyball team does another group photo, one where Hinata and Bokuto jump way too high for. They have to take a redo. Everyone groans.

Atsumu’s worlds, his childhood friends and volleyball friends, collide. Everyone finally meeting each other and exchanging stories and phone numbers and promises to stay in touch before the next wedding. Someone starts a betting pool going on as to who’s going to be getting married next. Atsumu’s money is Ushijima and Tendo Satori. Rin’s guess is Iwaizumi and Oikawa, since Oikawa is retiring next year. Osamu’s sure it’s going to be Kuroo and Kodzuken, they have the childhood friends thing going on and strong power couple energy in matching aloha shirts. Either that or Gin and Akagi, who are under the radar compared to all the public figures at the wedding but have been living together for eight years.

Atsumu meets Osamu’s Los Angeles-based YouTube collaborator chef buddy and her husband. Her family all came on vacation with her and her twin sisters, fans of volleyball and Atsumu because of the twin connection, didn’t believe that the entire monster generation of Japanese men’s volleyball would be there, so Atsumu takes a selfie with her while Kageyama and Hinata and Hoshiumi are going for more cake in the background. Atsumu has nearly forgotten how famous they once were in Japan, how their faces were in every subway car and on TV. Kiyoomi surprises him by sneaking up and commenting about Atsumu’s messed-up hair from the wind. Atsumu takes off his fox pin and sticks it onto Kiyoomi’s blazer. For safekeeping or some shit. Then remembers he was talking to someone else, the chef. She says her sisters are fans of Atsumu because of the twin thing and will be sad to know he’s 1) gay and 2) taken already. Atsumu laughs and laughs.

Atsumu finds the happy newlyweds. Osamu and Rin both chose to wear matching dark blue suits for the wedding. Rin’s smile is showing teeth, wider than Atsumu has ever seen anywhere outside of the Olympics. They’re a done deal, his brother and his college friend.

“Congrats,” Atsumu tells them. “Good job with the food. Everyone’s going ham on the pineapples.”

“Thanks,” Rin says. “My sister helped us pick the venue.” Rin’s little sister is an event planner and just as wily as her big brother. She and Atsumu go shopping together whenever he’s back in SoCal, she’s come with the crew for Pride with her girlfriend. She has roasted him frequently for having basic gay taste in clothing and poor taste in men. And now she’s his sister-in-law.

“Samu.” Atsumu steps in front of his brother, who looks to be dazed, as if he can’t believe that today is real. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“Tsumu, who do you think I am?” Osamu has snapped back to reality. “I should be the one saying that to you about Kiyoomi. I can tell he actually cares about you as a person, which is a lot more than I can say about the last guy.”

*

Atsumu is sitting at his table alone. His mother is still preoccupied with Rin’s parents. This is the first time they have met, and they are exchanging contact information. They are deep in conversation, which is great. Less work for him to keep her entertained. Rin was always lucky that his parents just always assumed he was gay from an early age and calibrated their expectations accordingly. 

Kiyoomi sits down in the seat next to him. Kiyoomi hands him another tissue packet from a pocket on the side of his suit jacket. His suit is black, a classic black suit that goes with his pale skin and hair. He doesn’t seem to be sweating despite the weather, and the suit is a choice given that the dress code is business casual. It’s too hot to make everyone show up in a stuffy suit. Atsumu, Motoya, and Ushijima were the only other guests that wore suits. Atsumu and Kiyoomi look good together, both dressed up.

“I think I might believe in love again,” Atsumu says. “Maybe for the first time since those Sterek gifsets from Tumblr when we were in high school. I had no idea either of them were that sappy. I take back what I said about them being unromantic.”

Kiyoomi squints at him. “How many drinks have you had? You might need to lay off the alcohol. I didn’t take you for a gifset type of person.” He is staring at Atsumu, as if the revelation that high school Atsumu reblogged gifsets means he has new hidden depths.

“Only a couple beers,” Atsumu says. “I’m drunk on life, I guess.” He wipes away the rest of his tears.

“Your mother came over and told me hello.” Kiyoomi passes him a Kleenex packet, travel-sized. He was thoughtful like that.

“She did?”

“She told me that she wished I were her son, because I’m a doctor and whatnot, and that you needed someone to knock some sense into you once in a while. She seemed nice. My mother would have grilled you about your five-year career plan and made you learn the family secret recipes.”

Atsumu groans. “Samu must have told her about you, I’m gonna make him pay.” The fact that his mother has finally accepted she can’t wish the gay away is progress, but she should have given him a heads’ up before hunting down Kiyoomi. He then processed the second half of what Kiyoomi just said. “Give me the recipes when we get home, I can cook, dude, I had to keep up with Osamu as a kid since I wasn’t going to let him beat me. Your mom doesn’t need to worry that you’ll starve.”

“I’ll see you back at the hotel?” Kiyoomi asks. He pulls Atsumu’s wrist towards him, smooths out his balled-up fingers. “If you’re up for it.”

Atsumu laughs. His eyelids are still uncomfortably swollen, but he laughs. He is hooking up with Kiyoomi after his brother’s wedding and still has no real answer as to whether he and Kiyoomi will be a thing after they’re back home. “Yeah. I’ll text you?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Kiyoomi says. He stands up. Atsumu watches him head towards Motoya, how Motoya claps him on the back and says something that makes Kiyoomi flush.

*

Atsumu will remember Kiyoomi like this, listening to the hum of the fan of the hotel room on thousand-thread-count sheets, watching dark, wavy hair spill across the pillowcase next to his. Atsumu runs a hand along Kiyoomi’s shoulder. Kiyoomi shifts but does not wake up.

When you’re young and have never been in love before, you don’t think about inevitable endings when you’re lying next to a sleeping lover, but Atsumu has seen enough and loved enough and hurt enough that he has learned everything worthwhile in life comes to an end someday. Sometimes these endings are agreed upon, like the time Atsumu parted ways with someone at the end of a backpacking trip, sometimes not, like the time he was ghosted for three weeks by an ex before getting an abrupt message that they had moved to another city. You don’t get past thirty without hurting some, without making a few frantic phone calls to your brother when it’s one in the morning in his time zone, and this is a universal truth because he’s done the same to you. A difference between them, according to Osamu, is that when Atsumu is in love, he loves like he’s going to die tomorrow, the short one-night loves and the yearslong loves and everything in between equally deserving of his attention.

Maybe someday Atsumu and Kiyoomi will part ways. Maybe Kiyoomi will decide Seattle’s merely adequate food is a dealbreaker. Maybe Atsumu will say the wrong thing during an argument and regret it, but they part ways anyway. Maybe they work out and become yet another unromantic old couple, but then Kiyoomi passes away first, leaving Atsumu to be alone. But at least Atsumu will have this memory, no matter what happens tomorrow and the tomorrow after tomorrow. At least Atsumu will always love Kiyoomi, no matter what happens someday.

He brushes Kiyoomi’s wavy hair to the side, watches him breathe. Atsumu has never been a quitter. Not when it comes to volleyball, not when it comes to anything else. He dares to hope.

*

The day after the wedding, a lot of the wedding guests are planning to go on a tour of the volcanoes. Atsumu and Kiyoomi are not awake in time to go. By the time they are awake, he has been tagged in the A GROUP OF FOXES IS A SKULK chat with different variations on the eggplant and water droplet emojis and Akagi going GET IT ATSUMU. Gin says, What happened to bros before hoes? Can’t believe you’re skipping out on volcanoes for your man SMH loser. Shinsuke says, Atsumu, bring Dr. Sakusa to dinner tomorrow. This is not optional.

So Atsumu and Kiyoomi get a leisurely lunch instead. They look like a couple. Kiyoomi is wearing one of Atsumu’s Hawaiian shirts but oddly makes it look good. He lets Atsumu post a photo of Kiyoomi staring intensely at Atsumu’s acai bowl but doesn’t let Atsumu tag him. Atsumu reassures him that his fans are normal people and he’s never had any stalkers, something that has happened to other big name Japanese volleyball players before. He’s retired already, so nobody cares about him anymore anyway. Kiyoomi is even more freaked out by the mention of stalkers. Looks like Kiyoomi will just be the nameless guy on Atsumu’s account from here on out.

Atsumu is thinking he might want to coach at the collegiate or pro level someday, after he gets some more experience coaching, he confesses to Kiyoomi, who says that it sounds like a good idea. Atsumu brings up Osamu and Rin becoming parents, what does Kiyoomi think about kids, to which Kiyoomi says he doesn’t want to be a parent, because he has four nieces and nephews already. The Sakusa family lineage is more than secure, despite what his parents say about how being gay doesn’t get him out of finding a nice boy and settling down and having kids, he still can’t tell whether they’re joking or not. Fair, Atsumu says. Atsumu also mentions Rin had been dropping hints recently that a college in Hawaii might be looking for new coaches in a few years since their current ones will be retiring soon and have been bugging him to join and to connect them with Atsumu, what do you think about Hawaii? To which Kiyoomi says he had been considering looking for work in Honolulu at one point, so Hawaii isn’t out of the question. Motoya is planning on taking over the Komori family’s surf shop once he retires. 

Speaking of Motoya, Atsumu starts, before asking Kiyoomi about the ex Motoya mentioned. Atsumu gets a long sigh in response. Kiyoomi then chews carefully on his eggs before responding.

Kiyoomi and his ex-boyfriend met at a housewarming for a mutual college friend, both of them having gone to the same school but never having met until afterwards. At the end of their relationship it was more of a friendship than a relationship, he explains, though they’re still friends. He will be attending his ex’s wedding next year, and he still needs a plus one. He would have asked Motoya, but Motoya doesn’t want to go on principle because it’s Kiyoomi’s most serious ex’s wedding. Motoya believes in the bro code. Kiyoomi scoffs at bro code , says it like it offends him personally. All said, Kiyoomi doesn’t regret the experience.

“I would have stayed on the East Coast if the breakup didn’t happen. My ex’s family wouldn’t let him move far,” Kiyoomi says. “We wouldn’t have met if I never moved out to Seattle,” and Atsumu thinks he knows what Kiyoomi is saying, is trying to say.

I want to go to the wedding with you, Atsumu wants to tell him in response, I will go with you to your first love’s wedding in the middle of nowhere because I want to understand you better, but he will wait until after they get back from Hawaii. So instead, Atsumu holds Kiyoomi’s hand when they go to the beach by the hotel. Kiyoomi sets up a towel and reads a book while Atsumu goes for a swim. Kiyoomi is reading a thick fantasy novel titled Jade City. Atsumu finds a sand dollar lying on the ground and places it on Kiyoomi’s knee, which has a scar running up and down from an old meniscus tear surgery. They make plans to spend the final few days on Oahu together before flying back. Rin drops a link to a Japanese article in the chat about the mystery man on Atsumu’s Instagram, people trying to figure out who he is and how long he and Atsumu have been friends. Atsumu wants to show Kiyoomi that the Internet is thirsting over him. 

“You are going to drip water on my book,” Kiyoomi says when Atsumu is shoving his phone in front of his face. His nails holding the book are still bitten down. He is very pointedly not looking at Atsumu’s unbuttoned shirt.

Atsumu grins. He backs up. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Someone clears their throat behind them. “Wanna play volleyball?” 

It’s Hinata. Of course it’s Hinata. Hinata has returned from the volcanoes and is ready to play more volleyball, even though he does it for a living already.

“Atsumu-san! Atsumu-san! You and your boyfriend should come play beach volleyball with us.”

Atsumu hesitates. Kiyoomi is watching him again, squinting at him in that way that means he’s worried about him.

“Let’s do it,” Atsumu says. “Omi, wanna join in?”

Kiyoomi nods.

*

Sand is stuck between Atsumu’s toes. His flip-flops are somewhere nearby, he’ll figure it out later. Hinata is yelping, Bokuto miming spiking a volleyball. Atsumu hasn’t played on a court so long, only watching pro matches once in a while. After this, he and Kiyoomi will be getting dinner with his childhood friends, but for now, volleyball is the only thing on his mind. 

Someone says, Hey, hey, let’s make teams! Atsumu isn’t sure who or how or where, but teams are formed randomly, and Atsumu and Kiyoomi are on the same side.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Atsumu says.

“I haven’t played in ages.” Kiyoomi shakes his head.

Atsumu laughs. “Muscle memory’s a thing.” 

Hinata hands him a volleyball. He feels the ball in his hands, standard regulation weight and size, gives it a good spin and it feels right in his palm. So what if his days on a court under a camera are over, so what if he’s just a guy teaching kids how to serve, so what. Kiyoomi is watching Atsumu. He is watching Kiyoomi back. To be loved is to be observed. When they get back to Seattle in a few days, Atsumu is going to have to talk to him, tell him that he thinks this is a good thing and maybe they should keep it going and maybe put a label on it. But as for today, today is a day to celebrate everything that he has right now instead of living in the past or the future.

“You’ve still got it,” Kiyoomi says. He isn’t one to flatter. Atsumu believes him. The sunset burns his hair, makes him glow against the sky, throwing the light against his sharp collarbones. Atsumu inhales. He wants to kiss Kiyoomi.

“Gross,” Osamu says, much too loudly, breaking him out of the moment. “Tsumu, stop ogling and serve the damn ball.”

Atsumu jumps. He yelps when he hits a service ace. Then the other team, led by Kageyama, gets a point. Back and forth, back and forth. Rin gets a few mean blocks in. Hinata does his ninja thing. Volleyball is a sport where the ball has to stay in the air, by any means possible, and Atsumu gets sand in his face and hair trying to receive the ball. 

One more time, Atsumu flies. He laughs the first time Kiyoomi spikes one of his sets. Atsumu’s thighs and core ache in a good way. He’s still got it. At eight-eight, he feels warmed up at last. The ball comes his way, thanks to Osamu. 

Atsumu prepares for an overhead toss. The angle and speed are good. Kiyoomi jumps, spiking form beautiful. For a split second, Kiyoomi is frozen in midair before he hits the spike, sun behind him. Atsumu feels like he’s the one floating instead, floating higher than he’s ever been.