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Sakusa Kiyoomi was a simple man. After dedicating most of his life to the sport, he chose to live the rest of it as an ordinary person, away from the public eye. It was true that he would never stop being considered a legend in the world of volleyball, but at least his days were calmer now. And it felt good, after spending so many years with his name constantly on everyone’s lips.
Still, if he was honest with himself, he missed volleyball every single day. He had retired three and a half years ago; now he worked an office job alongside a bunch of parents with families of their own. Even so, the memories of his glory days refused to leave his mind. And it wasn’t easy for a thirty-nine-year-old man (turning forty in just two months) to let go of the first love of his life so easily.
That was why, without anyone in his family or close circle knowing, Kiyoomi began attending volleyball practices at a training center near his home. Most of the members of the small club were people around his age, though they had never taken an interest in the sport when they were younger, so most of them didn’t recognize him. At first, that had been great—but it didn’t take long for them to realize that Sakusa had actually been a professional player, once they saw just how superior his skills were compared to everyone else’s. Even so, they never treated him with disrespect, and he felt very comfortable going to those practices every weekend.
So his routine consisted of waking up, having breakfast, cleaning the house, getting himself ready, going to work, coming back home, training, having dinner, showering again, and sleeping. On Saturdays, he played volleyball, feeling just as alive and happy as if he were still seventeen—or twenty-two.
Twenty-two… when he joined the Black Jackals.
That had been a good period of his life. He spent years on that team, also participated several times in the Olympic Games as part of the national team, and formed strong friendships that had lasted to this day. But there was something that had happened back then, almost twenty years ago.
Or rather… someone.
Miya Atsumu.
A man who, after retiring, became a personal trainer.
In truth, Atsumu had never wanted to retire at all—he genuinely believed his body was still in incredible shape, good enough to keep playing volleyball well into his sixties! But time is unforgiving, and a year ago he had suffered a serious injury that never fully healed. He was forced to let go of the thing he loved most, even after spending years pushing himself just to stay in the sport. Although his teammates had retired before him, Atsumu was convinced he’d be the one to break some kind of record.
Spoiler: he didn’t.
At forty years old, he was nothing more than a depressing, single middle-aged man who worked mornings at a gym in a nice part of the city, and spent the rest of the day as a school volleyball coach—and a loser on top of that. On weekends, he visited his family, and the routine repeated itself over and over and over again. When had his life become so monotonous? Oh, right. When he stopped being a professional volleyball player. How depressing.
Yes, it really was sad. He felt miserable, because teaching a bunch of teenagers how to play wasn’t the same as playing himself—being admired by thousands, stepping onto massive courts in famous, prestigious stadiums, wearing a uniform that would go down in history. And even though he knew his name would also be remembered… Miya still wanted to keep playing as a pro. Being unable to do so was his own personal hell.
He couldn’t believe that anything could hurt more than the heartbreak he’d gone through years ago—but he’d been wrong. Saying goodbye to his dreams hurt even more. Still, he shouldn’t be thinking about his failed love; even if it didn’t hurt that much anymore, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt at all.
His phone buzzed in the pocket of his training pants, pulling him out of his thoughts. His students were on break, while the more intense ones practiced on their own, so Atsumu simply shrugged and tapped the notification on his lock screen. It was from the retired MSBY group chat.
Bokkun: Sunday marks the 17th anniversary since we were all together on the team
Bokkun: we should go out for dinner, what do you guys think?
Shouyou: That’s a great idea!
Shouyou: I’ve been wanting to go to a nice restaurant for a while, but I didn’t wanna spend money ._.
Atsumu: you’re always so damn cheap, Shou
Shouyou: Restaurants are way too expensive to spend money on for no reason (｡ŏ﹏ŏ)
Meian: I can’t escape you people even in a group chat
Meian: so loud
Meian: Does it have to be Sunday? Couldn’t it be Monday?
Bokkun: Not all of us are unemployed, Captain…
Bokkun: Sunday’s the only free day for most of us here
Meian: I have a family trip from Saturday to Sunday :(
Atsumu: then don’t come, Cap, ain’t like you’re that popular anyway, y’know? ^^
Meian: Miya…
Atsumu: hey, hey, I’m kiddin’
Atsumu: you know I love ya (〃ﾟ3ﾟ〃)
Meian: You’re even more childish than my youngest son… you’re disgusting, embarrassing, and shameful
Bokkun: looooooool
Shouyou: This brings back so many memories, I miss being young and training with you guys (ᗒᗩᗕ)
Meian: It’s offensive for the youngest one in the group to say that
Bokkun: I feel deeply offended, truly
Atsumu: same here
Shouyou: I turn forty in five months!! Am I really young?? ʕಠ_ಠʔ
Bokkun: You are, my child
Bokkun: Anyway, dinner on Sunday then? Ignoring the former captain who can’t make it
Atsumu: hell yeah!!
Shouyou: I’ll be there!
Sakusa: Please tag me once you decide on the location and exact time. Thank you in advance.
Atsumu almost dropped his phone when Sakusa’s message appeared in the chat. He was, by far, the most inactive member of the group—so much so that Atsumu sometimes forgot the man was even still in it. What surprised him the most, though, was the way he had him saved in his contacts.
“Sakusa”
Since he never talked in the chat, Atsumu had forgotten that for years he’d had him saved as “Omi-Omi”, with a ridiculous number of heart emojis attached. That was until, in a fit of anger and acting like a teenager, he’d changed the name and blocked him. A few days later, he decided the blocking had been too extreme and undid it—but he never changed the cold new contact name back. And that was fine. Supposedly, they were just former teammates now; he couldn’t even really consider him a friend the same way he did Bokuto or Hinata.
Sakusa was simply… Sakusa.
So Miya was going to attend the dinner. Great.
Sakusa turned his phone face down so it wouldn’t distract him again and continued typing on his work computer.
After everything had ended long ago, they’d seen each other a couple of times, and it had always been awkward. But it had been almost four years since the last time—they hadn’t crossed paths again because previous reunions always fell on dates when he was either too busy with work or traveling. This would be the first time he’d see Miya Atsumu’s face since they retired.
And Kiyoomi didn’t know exactly why, but…
He was slightly excited.
★
“Wow, look at you, Omi-san. All dressed up,” Hinata said.
Sakusa shot him a sideways glance before looking down at himself, inspecting his appearance. He didn’t think he looked elegant, he was just dressed… normally. He wore suits like that every day for work. Nothing special.
“You don’t look bad either,” he replied at last.
The orange-haired man flashed him a wide smile and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder—except Hinata had never known how to measure his own strength and treated everything like a damn volleyball. Sakusa nearly folded in half from the hit and shot his former teammate an annoyed look.
“Oof—sorry! Did I hit you too hard?”
A booming laugh interrupted what might’ve turned into an argument. Both Hinata and Sakusa turned toward the owner of that laugh, who—of course—was Bokuto Koutarou. Like Hinata, he was dressed nicely, not in his usual sportswear or pajamas that made him look sloppy. Bokuto and Hinata had become full-time volleyball coaches, though unlike Miya—who coached a school team—they trained professional teams.
“You almost killed Omi, Shou!” Bokuto exclaimed cheerfully.
Sakusa muttered a quiet “don’t call me Omi” under his breath, while Hinata laughed again, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean to hit him! Guess I still don’t know how to control my strength,” he said, staring at his right palm.
“You never have,” Sakusa replied in his usual blunt tone.
“I’m here!”
The warm feeling in Sakusa’s chest from being surrounded by good friends was suddenly replaced by discomfort—and something else—when he heard that voice, that unmistakable accent. “My car broke down halfway here, that piece of junk.”
Miya Atsumu was walking toward them with his usual light, confident stride. A white shirt, a dark gray jacket matching his slacks, and a red tie with white stripes hanging half-done around his neck.
…Seriously? He still doesn’t know how to tie a tie? I taught him like a thousand times.
Sakusa shook his head, startled by his own thoughts.
You haven’t seen him in years, Kiyoomi. Don’t be weird. Ugh, what am I doing, having an internal monologue? Is this a midlife crisis?
Suddenly, he felt heat creep up to the tips of his ears.
“Oh… you came too, Sakusa.”
Sakusa?
Everyone turned to stare at him, eyes wide in shock.
Including Sakusa himself.
Atsumu pressed his lips into a thin line, flustered. Right—maybe saying names hadn’t been the best idea. Now everything was awkward. But he’d just wanted to act normal, damn it. Before he could mess things up even more, he stayed quiet. He had learned when to shut up, after all.
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answered a beat later. “I came.”
“Uh…” Hinata murmured, clearly picking up on the tension. “Should we head to our table?”
“We should,” Bokuto agreed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else right now. Atsumu felt even more embarrassed. “I booked a private room so we can be loud without bothering anyone.”
“If it was gonna be this fancy, y’all should’ve invited your spouses,” Miya said as he followed Bokuto and the others into the restaurant.
“Akaashi-san stayed home with Toubio,” Hinata replied. “We mentioned coming along, but neither of them wanted to.”
“Figures. Those two are always such killjoys,” Atsumu said with a chuckle, shaking his head.
As the conversation picked up, Atsumu started feeling more in sync with the group, and he could almost ignore Sakusa’s presence across the table… Almost. Because how the hell was he supposed to ignore Sakusa Kiyoomi, sitting less than a meter away from him, staring at him nonstop?
Atsumu shot him a questioning look, and the bastard—Kiyoomi—simply looked away and took a sip of his tea before turning his attention to whatever Hinata was saying beside Atsumu.
That son of a—
‘Fine. If you’re gonna ignore me, how about this, Omi-Omi?’ Atsumu thought, right before doing something stupid.
As always.
“Sakusa, ya haven’t said a single word since we started eatin’. What’ve ya been up to lately?”
Miya Atsumu, you’re an idiot.
Sakusa gave him a flat look, though his ears were burning bright red.
“Nothing worth mentioning. I’m just a regular working man with a normal life.”
That was a very Sakusa answer. Atsumu clicked his tongue, clearly expecting more.
“And no volleyball at all?”
“Why are you suddenly so interested?” Sakusa shot back, frowning. Atsumu raised his eyebrows.
“What? Can’t ya answer somethin’ that simple?” He crossed his arms. Sakusa fought the urge to drop his gaze to the strong biceps clearly outlined beneath Miya’s jacket. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Bokuto and Hinata exchanged glances before quietly taking bites of their food.
The atmosphere was weird.
“Miya, what is it you actually want to know?” Sakusa laced his fingers together on the table, like he was in some kind of business meeting. Sitting face-to-face with Atsumu, arguing like this, dragged him straight back in time. Years back. Far too many.
“I’m just askin’ ’bout my old teammate, that’s all! What—ain’t I allowed to do that now?”
The former bottle blonde—now a brunette—looked genuinely offended, borderline angry. None of them were particularly surprised. Miya Atsumu had always been like that.
Only now, Sakusa Kiyoomi looked a little… upset too.
“So now you want to know about me, after years of not contacting me at all?”
Oh.
Hinata stared at Bokuto, mouth slightly open. Bokuto stared back.
“I did reach out! You’re the one who never answered, don’t go sayin’ I didn’t.”
“You didn’t, Miya! Ever since I retired, I never got a single message from you—and now you show up calling me ‘Sakusa’ all cold like that. What the hell did I ever do to you?!”
“Ya hate bein’ called ‘Omi’! I’m just tryin’ to respect yer damn boundaries, alright?”
“I don’t hate it when you call me that, idiot! And since when have you ever cared about respecting my boundaries?!”
Sakusa Kiyoomi… had raised his voice.
Koutarou and Hinata both felt a chill run down their spines and avoided looking at either Sakusa or Atsumu at all costs. Thank God Bokuto had booked a private room. That had been a very good investment.
“I-I—” Atsumu stammered, and Sakusa let out an irritated sigh. “I—I… ugh! Damn you!”
A pause.
One second later, Atsumu bolted out of the room.
The three left behind sat there in shock, swallowed by an uncomfortable silence. Sakusa finished his meal without saying another word, fully aware that he’d just caused a scene and that his friends had a lot of questions. Even so, he wasn’t going to give them any answers. Pretending indifference—as always—he lifted his teacup to his lips, only to realize it was already empty.
“Why do you guys act like a married couple?” Bokuto asked innocently out of nowhere.
The white teacup slipped from Sakusa’s hand and hit the floor with a soft thud.
Sakusa felt his left eye start to twitch.
★
Sixteen years ago…
Well—maybe there really was something about Sakusa that drew Miya in too strongly.
They’d been on the same team for a year already, and even though they weren’t particularly close, it wasn’t like they couldn’t enjoy each other’s company. Bokuto was off on his honeymoon, Hinata was in another city supporting Kageyama at an Adlers match—everyone was busy, and Sakusa was the only one nearby.
That was why Atsumu invited him over to spend the night at his apartment. They could watch a movie, order fried chicken for dinner, maybe even drink a couple of beers together. He wouldn’t have been surprised if his teammate had turned him down.
But he didn’t.
Sakusa showed up at his door carrying a blue plastic bag with a pack of canned beer in his left hand, his usual sour expression on his face. He was wearing a pastel pink sweater that hung a little loose on him, along with black pants made of some soft-looking fabric. His hair was slightly messy, but his curls were as charming as ever. Atsumu didn’t know why, but his heart skipped a beat at the sight of him like that. Just seeing Sakusa’s face had him excited—what a surprise.
“Omi-Omi, I can’t believe ya actually came!” Atsumu grabbed the bag from his hands and stepped aside to let him in. “Yer the best.”
“Why wouldn’t I come?” Kiyoomi replied, closing the door before slipping off his sandals. “Is the floor clean?”
Atsumu rolled his eyes, amused.
“Cleaned the whole place just in case ya decided to show up,” he added with a playful wink. Sakusa ignored him, as usual. “Twelve cans of beer? Damn.” Atsumu peeked into the bag and whistled. “Ya tryin’ to get me wasted or what?”
“No… if you’re a lightweight, give them back.” Sakusa tried to take the bag from him, but Atsumu was quicker and dodged. “Miya…”
“Relax, Omi. I know how to drink.”
Sakusa clearly didn’t believe him—it showed on his face.
Atsumu laughed, then set the bag down on the small table between the couch and the TV before flopping onto the sofa. He stretched out, grabbing the remote to turn the TV on and start browsing for a movie.
Meanwhile, Kiyoomi was still standing stiffly in the space between the entrance and the living room. Atsumu glanced at him discreetly, letting his gaze roam over his body, feeling his face grow warmer by the second. Omi looks hot even in baggy clothes… though he’d look even better if—
His thoughts were cut short when Sakusa cleared his throat.
Atsumu jolted and quickly pretended he hadn’t been staring, turning fully toward him.
“Somethin’ wrong, Omi? Why don’t ya sit with me?”
Kiyoomi grimaced as he walked closer.
“You’re sprawled out. Where exactly do you expect me to sit?”
“On my lap,” Atsumu said suggestively, sliding his free hand over his bare thigh.
At home, he usually wore shorts like the ones from his team uniform—he’d never been a fan of long pants. Sakusa followed the movement of his hand shamelessly, and suddenly Atsumu felt like he was choking on his own saliva. He snapped upright immediately, making space on the couch for Sakusa, and scratched the back of his neck, unsure where to put his hand now. “Uh… y’know. My lap’s real comfy, haha… ha… ha…” Shit, Atsumu, can ya not shut yer damn mouth?
For some reason, he kept pushing the stupid, unfunny joke, even though Sakusa hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t said a word—and worst of all, was still staring at his thighs.
Atsumu shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
That seemed to snap Sakusa out of whatever he was thinking. He blinked twice, like waking from a light dream, then finally sat down beside him. Still without saying a word.
Please let the floor swallow me whole, Atsumu thought, mortified.
And like something straight out of a low-budget romantic movie, Sakusa suddenly leaned over him.
Atsumu shut his eyes at the suddenness of it, completely blank—no joke, no words, no idea what was happening. He felt the remote slip out of his hand, then noticed Sakusa wasn’t so close anymore. He opened one eye, then the other. Sakusa was sitting normally now, holding the remote, watching the TV with interest.
“What about this one, Miya?” he nodded toward the screen
“Huh?” was the blonde’s brilliant response.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kiyoomi’s profile. He was damn—
“The movie.” Kiyoomi turned toward him, revealing those large, unreadable eyes. “Would you like to watch this?” Then he looked back at the screen.
Atsumu finally snapped back to reality and quickly turned to look at the bright TV screen—a Christmas gift from Osamu the year before. (Well, technically, his twin had given it to him because he’d destroyed Atsumu’s old TV by falling on it while drunk.)
Sakusa had selected a horror movie.
Even the cover was terrifying.
“Hell no!” Atsumu yelped. “Ya into horror, Omi?”
“Aren’t you?” Sakusa looked at him again. “Or… do these things scare you?”
Was that—was that a hint of a smile? Maybe Atsumu was imagining it. Or maybe—just maybe—the corner of Kiyoomi’s lips had actually lifted, just a little.
“Yeah, they scare me! Let’s watch somethin’ romantic instead.”
“Those are boring,” Sakusa replied, going back to the main menu. “Science fiction?”
“Those are even more borin’!” Atsumu crossed his arms.
He glanced at Sakusa again. The man was smiling openly now.
“Hmm… ya like comedies?” he asked, blushing for no clear reason…Or maybe there was one: Sakusa smiling because of him.
“They don’t usually make me laugh, but I suppose they’re entertaining,” Kiyoomi replied with a shrug.
Atsumu sighed and leaned toward the table to grab two cans of beer. He handed one to Sakusa and then opened his own.
“Y’know what? Let’s do this instead.” He snatched the remote from Kiyoomi before he could protest, immediately exiting the movie app and opening YouTube instead. When Sakusa finished reading what Atsumu had typed into the search bar, he smiled again. “This more yer thing?”
Atsumu took a sip of his beer and watched Kiyoomi expectantly. Sakusa opened his own can and finally leaned back into the couch, relaxing against the backrest—until then, he’d been sitting straight, barely touching it.
“Not bad,” was all he said before bringing the beer to his lips.
“The Best Plays of Sakusa Kiyoomi — MSBY Black Jackals”
The video was an hour and a half long, and while Miya loved being the center of attention and rewatching his own games over and over just to admire himself, there was something far more entertaining—and far more interesting—about watching Sakusa react to himself. There was a strange glint in his eyes that usually looked empty, his cheeks were faintly flushed, and his lips slightly parted.
This was way better than any movie. And Atsumu still felt like he was winning something.
Whoever had put that compilation together was probably just some Sakusa fan, but Atsumu had more than just the privilege of having played with him. Sakusa Kiyoomi himself spiked every one of his sets flawlessly, practiced by his side, and was now sitting in his apartment, drinking with him. Atsumu got to see sides of Kiyoomi the public would never know. Even their own teammates wouldn’t.
In a way, it felt like there was a Kiyoomi that belonged only to him.
That was—
“Why are you staring at me so much, Miya? It’s strange and unsettling.”
Atsumu immediately turned his gaze back to the screen—just in time to see the Sakusa in the video slam a spike off a perfect set from Atsumu. The ball hit the other side of the court before the opposing team could even react, earning the Jackals a point. Video-Atsumu cheered loudly and high-fived Sakusa, who returned it with visible reluctance.
Atsumu smiled. His cheeks burned.
“It’s nothin’, I just… like lookin’ at ya.” He murmured before taking another sip of his beer.
★
Sakusa stepped out of the restaurant’s private room as well, needing some air.
Knowing Miya, he hadn’t expected to run into him in the hallway. He’d been certain the man would lock himself in the bathroom to vent all his frustration and anger before coming back like nothing had happened.
But he was wrong.
Atsumu was standing there, back pressed against the wall across from the private room’s door, arms crossed. Damn it, his biceps look way too good when he—
Kiyoomi shook his head sharply to rid himself of the thought and found Atsumu staring straight at him. Hazel eyes met his dark ones.
“Omi,” Atsumu said, his voice sounding tight. He uncrossed his arms and took a hesitant step toward Sakusa. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper and snapped at ya in there…”
Miya Atsumu apologizing for his actions? Had he really matured?
Sakusa snapped out of his daze and lowered his gaze to the wine-red carpet beneath their feet.
“I did not behave particularly well either,” he admitted. And damn it—Kiyoomi knew he was blushing.
Atsumu nodded and stayed silent for a while, so Kiyoomi didn’t speak either. They remained like that—Sakusa staring at the floor, Atsumu staring at him. It was obvious there were too many things they both wanted to say, things they wanted to ask, things they wanted to demand answers for—but neither of them was brave enough to start.
Sakusa felt unbearably uncomfortable standing there in the hallway, but he knew he’d feel even worse back in the room with Hinata and Bokuto. He could leave the restaurant for a bit, get some fresh night air—maybe that would help. Or he could call Motoya, like he always did when he wanted to escape everything and didn’t know how.
He glanced sideways at Atsumu before turning toward the end of the hallway, ready to flee. He took one stiff step, then another, and—
“Omi.”
He stopped completely. He looked back over his shoulder at Atsumu, who was now standing closer to him.
“I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
Those apologies weren’t about tonight. Atsumu knew it. And Sakusa did too.
I’m sorry.
Kiyoomi clicked his tongue. The deep furrow in his brow was starting to give him a headache. His sweaty palms made him lose patience. His uneven breathing made him feel like he might pass out.
“I’m sorry.”
The hallway seemed to spin—suddenly shrinking, then stretching again.
And behind him, Atsumu stayed exactly where he was, after saying the same words—
The very ones that had once been a farewell, years ago.
★
Ten years ago…
Sakusa looked down at the small black box in his hand before slipping it into the pocket of his coat, which was the same color. Even though he wasn’t showing it—and it was nearly impossible to tell beneath the white mask he was wearing—he was incredibly nervous.
He told himself again and again that there was no reason to feel this way. He needed to trust that everything would go well. And why wouldn’t it? There was no reason at all for things to go wrong, so he should calm down. He took a breath, smiling softly to himself. Everything will be fine, Kiyoomi.
He was standing in a park, and it was freezing.
It was a cold January day in the middle of winter, and the match they were supposed to play that day in Akita against his cousin’s team, EJP Raijin, had been canceled at the last minute due to a false snowstorm alert. Under other circumstances, Sakusa would have been quite upset about the waste of time, but right now, he was simply happy to have a sudden day off.
They had planned to have dinner that night with Motoya, Suna, and Osamu regardless of the match’s outcome, and now that the game wasn’t happening, they had even more reason to get together and talk about whatever came up. Sakusa smiled again, feeling his face warm as he thought about the main topic of conversation that evening. He knew Motoya was seeing someone, and Osamu and Suna had gotten married the year before—which meant it was time for at least them to know about him and Atsumu.
They had been dating (not-so) secretly for six years, not counting all the time before that when their relationship had been nothing but tension. Sakusa didn’t know what it had been like for Miya, but for him, it had started back in high school during the youth training camps. From the beginning, he’d had his eye on that loud boy with the irritating chick-blond hair.
Of course, at first he couldn’t stand him—his arrogance, his shouting, his heavy accent, the selfishness he sometimes showed—but… there was something about Miya Atsumu that drew his gaze. Maybe it was his talent. Or maybe it was simply him.
And after graduating high school, Kiyoomi had thought he would never see him again, until they ended up on the same team.
Now, he was convinced it had been fate.
“Omi-omi.” Sakusa turned quickly at the sound of Atsumu’s soft voice. His man was jogging carefully across the thin layer of snow on the ground, and when he got close enough, Sakusa extended an arm toward him. Atsumu took his hand and tugged him into a hug. “It’s cold as hell out here.”
Kiyoomi opened his coat, letting Atsumu settle into the embrace, then wrapped his arms around him as well, enclosing them both in the thick, warm fabric of his long coat.
“Would you rather wait at the hotel until it’s time to go to the restaurant?” Sakusa asked. Though he’d been the one to suggest waiting in the park until seven, he didn’t mind going back to the hotel where all the Jackals were staying—it wasn’t far at all—if Atsumu was cold.
“Nah, I already came all the way out here. Ain’t turnin’ back now,” Atsumu huffed, making Sakusa let out a small laugh. “Hey. You’re forgettin’ somethin’.”
“Hm?”
Atsumu loosened one arm from around Kiyoomi just long enough to pull his mask down. He slipped it into his pants pocket, then used that same hand to caress Sakusa’s cheek, moving upward to gently brush a few curls away from his forehead.
“Ya didn’t kiss me today,” Atsumu whispered before giving him a short kiss on the lips—one that left Sakusa blushing far more than he cared to admit. He would never truly get used to displays of affection.
It’s now or never, he thought.
He took a step back, letting go of Atsumu, though his gaze remained filled with love and warmth.
He slipped a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the small black velvet box. Without hesitation, he opened it, showing Atsumu what was inside.
A ring. Obviously.
“I love you. I have loved you for the six years we have been together—perhaps even longer than that—and I know I will love you for the rest of my life.” Kiyoomi had never been good with words. He had spent hours memorizing this small speech. Unable to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, he fixed his gaze on his boots—black as well. “You are what I think about every minute of every day. My deepest thought, and the person I want most in this world. That is why, Atsumu… will you marry me?”
Now, knowing Miya Atsumu, Sakusa had expected an immediate response. A shout. Blushing. Something loud and emotional.
But no.
Or rather—yes.
Atsumu began to cry silently.
Kiyoomi didn’t know what to do or say. His nerves wouldn’t let him function properly, so he simply stood there, watching—ring box open in his trembling hand, brow furrowed.
“Omi, I…” Atsumu began, his voice breaking. “I love ya. There ain’t no doubt ’bout that…”
You’re going to say “but,” aren’t you?
Sakusa’s heartbeat turned erratic.
“B-but…” Damn it.
Sakusa closed the box.
“I can’t take it. I—I can’t. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Why, Atsumu? Marriage wouldn’t be so different from what we already have.
Why, Atsumu? Do you think getting married would interfere with our careers?
Why, Atsumu? What are you afraid of? Bokuto is married. Suna and Meian are too—and they’re still excellent players.
Why, Atsumu?
Why?
Sakusa had so many questions that, in the end, he didn’t ask a single one.
He simply nodded, slipped the box back into his pocket, and left the park—leaving Atsumu alone, crying in the cold.
He sent a message to his cousin: Don’t wait for me at dinner. I don’t feel well.
★
“Miya, I don’t want to have this conversation again,” Sakusa said after taking a deep breath. Even though everything around them seemed to warp and blur, Atsumu was the only thing that remained steady in his vision.
“But, Omi, I really am sorry. I’ve regretted it all these years, and—”
“You have already told me that. Do you not remember?”
“You never believe me!” Atsumu exclaimed. When he realized he had raised his voice, he cleared his throat. “I tried talkin’ to ya so many times, tried explainin’ everythin’, and ya never wanted to listen, Kiyoomi.”
Sakusa took another deep breath before turning to face his ex.
“I already know enough. And what I know is that, even though you loved me, you loved volleyball and your damn image more. And that is fine. I understand. Ten years have passed, and once again, we have already discussed this before. The only thing I wanted, perhaps, was to have at least a friendship with you after my retirement. But you did not want that either. So, if you will excuse me…”
Kiyoomi did not let Atsumu say another word. He walked down the hallway until he found an exit out of that section of the restaurant.
★
Seven years ago…
Atsumu took a breath before striking the ball with force. He felt it hit the ground on the opposite side of the court at the same moment he landed himself.
Another service ace.
Huh? Gotta serve again already? Man, I just wanna play, he almost pouted, but held it in.
He received the ball again, went through his routine—that same one Sakusa always called a “ritual”—took a few steps, and this time opted for a float serve.
Here, take this, will ya? He rolled his eyes before hitting the ball.
The players on the other team hesitated, but thankfully, the libero managed to receive it.
“Thankfully.”
Atsumu almost laughed at himself. Had he seriously thought that? Well… he just wanted to actually play for a bit and get the match over with. And from what he could tell, the other team wasn’t very good. If Sakusa were here, he’d be criticizing them right along with him.
But he wasn’t.
He had taken a month-long vacation and wouldn’t be playing in this match—and anyway, they hadn’t really spoken in three years. Sakusa only talked to him about team-related matters or volleyball. Nothing personal.
Ever since Atsumu had rejected the proposal, it had been like that.
He understood Kiyoomi being angry for a few days. Weeks. Even months. But years? Was that really happening?
Atsumu had tried to explain his reasons a thousand times, but Kiyoomi hadn’t wanted to listen. And when he finally did—exactly one month ago, just days before leaving the country for vacation—he had only said: “It no longer matters.”
What the hell was Atsumu supposed to do with that!? “It no longer matters”—what no longer mattered? His feelings? The nearly half-decade relationship they’d had?
Still, he couldn’t fully blame Sakusa for his reaction. Atsumu knew that his reasons for rejecting the engagement had been selfish. He had married teammates who continued living their lives normally, but Atsumu didn’t feel ready to let go of his image. His relationship with Sakusa had been an open secret within the team, but they had truly managed to keep it hidden from the public eye during the six years it lasted. Because of that, the “persona” created by the media and fans remained intact.
The most eligible bachelor in the sports world.
The genius player who loved wild parties.
Miya no-strings-attached Atsumu.
He had said countless times in interviews that he was afraid of marriage, of binding himself to someone for life—which had been true, until Kiyoomi had forced his way into his life in every possible way. But… Atsumu didn’t want to say goodbye to the image he’d been building since high school, back in Inarizaki.
If he got married at thirty, people would start calling him a liar. Or worse—they’d go after Sakusa for “ruining” Atsumu’s life and condemning him to eternal boredom.
He didn’t want that.
A relationship could be hidden. A marriage was far more difficult—for countless reasons.
And Miya hadn’t been the only one who had acted poorly. Sakusa had also refused to listen, refused to try to reach a compromise.
When they had finally talked, Atsumu had suggested they could postpone the engagement until they were both retired.
Sakusa had only said:
“What would be the point? It no longer matters.”
Atsumu scoffed, annoyed just remembering it.
That day, when he had returned to his apartment, he’d been so upset that he blocked Sakusa. He’d even almost deleted his number—but he didn’t, because no matter their personal mess, they were still part of the same team.
He removed the stupidly sweet contact name he’d given him when they started dating—a name he’d never changed, even after years apart—and cried for days over it. In the end, he undid the block. There was no point. He knew they wouldn’t talk again anyway.
And that was how the month had passed.
Atsumu was so lost in his thoughts that instead of following the play, he kept pulling feints. He could see the confusion and irritation on his teammates’ faces—even Bokuto was glaring at him. Atsumu turned toward the bench and shot Coach Foster an apologetic look, only to be met with a threatening stare in return.
Alright. That was enough to force him to focus.
But…
But… he was still thinking about Sakusa.
The same Sakusa who, upon returning from his vacation, had gone straight to the stadium where that match was being played—luggage and all.
He was sitting among the crowd like any other spectator, hiding from cameras and fans, and as always, his eyes were fixed on one person. Miya Atsumu. Who was playing terribly. How ridiculous.
When the match ended—with a miraculous win for the Jackals—Kiyoomi intended to go to the locker room to congratulate his teammates. He stopped short of entering when he heard everyone tearing into Atsumu.
“What the hell happened to you today, Mr. Feints?” What a glamorous nickname, Meian, Sakusa thought, holding back a laugh.
“I was just distracted,” Atsumu excused himself vaguely. “I’ll do better next time, I swear.”
“You’d better, you dumb bastard,” Bokuto snapped—well, Bokuto had never been that crude before. “You know how I get when I don’t get enough sets.”
“Yeah… sorry,” Atsumu said, sounding exhausted.
Sakusa hesitated for a moment before entering—but he did.
All eyes turned to him.
How uncomfortable.
“Uh… congratulations,” he said without looking at anyone in particular. “It was a good match.”
“You don’t have to lie, Sakusa.” Even Barnes was annoyed? Damn it. “I mean, it started out fine, but—”
“I already said I was sorry, fuck!” Atsumu shouted, startling everyone before storming out of the locker room in long strides.
Sakusa followed him with his eyes before looking back at the rest of the team.
“I… I’m going home to unpack.”
They all said their goodbyes in short phrases, and he left less than a minute later.
Atsumu was at the end of the hallway, on a phone call. Sakusa wanted to talk to him, so he walked until he was standing in the middle of the corridor, waiting for the blond to finish.
“You too, ’Samu? You’re a piece of shit, I shoulda eaten ya in mom’s womb, idiot! Fuck you, don’t ever call me again!”
Ah. He was talking to his twin.
Atsumu muttered curses under his breath as he ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket. He still hadn’t noticed Sakusa’s presence.
Kiyoomi was supposed to have made everything clear before leaving on vacation. There shouldn’t have been anything left to say between him and his ex.
And yet.
During the time he’d been away, he’d thought about many things—and had come to the conclusion that he had been wrong. At least a little.
Or maybe he still loved Atsumu far too much. Enough to accept whatever it was that he wanted.
“Miya,” he called. Atsumu turned sharply, startled. “You didn’t play that badly,” Sakusa said. “So don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“Oh, wow, thanks a lot,” Atsumu replied dryly. “What’re you doin’ here? Why’d ya even come?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.”
Atsumu looked him up and down before crossing his arms. Sakusa swallowed, forcing himself not to look at the defined biceps of the man he loved.
Then Miya started laughing.
“Now you wanna talk to me?” Sakusa nodded. “Well, I don’t. Bye.”
And he left.
Sakusa sighed.
He had earned that, and he knew it—but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
★
From that day on, things went back to how they had been: they only spoke about team matters and volleyball. Nothing else.
Sakusa stopped going to the celebration parties after wins, and he also stopped attending the consolation gatherings at Bokuto and Akaashi’s place after losses. He only showed up for practices and matches—nothing more.
Years later, he retired.
He contacted Atsumu again, leaving him a short message: You may already know this, but I am retiring. These years playing volleyball and being part of the Jackals have been good ones. I hope that now, even if nothing binds us anymore, we can at least be friends.
Atsumu never replied.
And Kiyoomi let him be.
★
He stepped out of the restaurant and finally managed to breathe in much-needed fresh air.
But he was cold.
His coat had been left behind in the private room, abandoned there, and Sakusa had no intention of going back inside until he felt better.
He hugged himself as he stood on the sidewalk, watching the few cars in the area pass by.
This is all my fault. I’m still the same immature idiot I was in my twenties. Why haven’t I changed in almost two decades? Why can’t I let go of what I love, even when it’s out of my reach? Atsumu, volleyball… I cling to things too much. I always have. Fuck you, Kiyoomi, why are you like this?
Yes—despite his expressionless face, Sakusa was having a full internal argument with himself, reproaching himself for absolutely everything. He had always been hard on himself. When he was younger, he used to share those self-destructive thoughts with Komori, who would always try to calm him down and recommend therapy.
Sakusa never went. And maybe this was the result of that.
You never listen to the people who care about you. You’re not good for much, are you? All these years you waited for so many things, only to end up with nothing. Are you satisfied with just playing volleyball on Saturdays? Are you satisfied with your boring office job? Are you satisfied with being single? If I had never started playing volleyball… would I be happy?
He cut his thoughts short and opened his eyes wide. Had he really just thought something that extreme?
Shit.
One thing he would always be grateful to Motoya for was introducing him to volleyball; he simply couldn’t allow himself to have thoughts like that, no matter how bad he felt. He sighed, exhausted, and slipped a hand into his pants pocket to pull out his phone. He wanted to call Motoya, but stopped himself just before doing so—it was late, and he didn’t want to bother his cousin.
Maybe it was time to go home.
But he didn’t want to go back into the restaurant to get his coat, where his car keys were.
But I do have to go back in, I’m freezing to death—
Something warm settled over his shoulders. Kiyoomi startled and turned around.
“You’re gonna die of hypotension, Omi.”
It was Atsumu.
He was smiling a little, and Sakusa didn’t know whether the man was flushed from the cold, from seeing him, or from both. All he knew was that he flushed too, and felt the tips of his ears burn, along with his neck.
“It’s hypothermia, idiot,” he corrected him seriously, then adjusted the coat more securely over his shoulders, feeling an inexplicable warmth that clearly didn’t come only from the padded fabric. “And… thanks for this, I suppose.”
Miya’s smile widened, and he nodded in response, carefully studying Sakusa’s face—the moles on his forehead, the curls that fell over it, his dull yet gentle eyes, like someone who had seen too much in life, and his thin lips that Atsumu had once loved kissing so much.
It didn’t help either of them with the blushing. Still, neither of them said anything for a while.
And screw it—Sakusa was already tired of the silence.
“Why did you come after me?” he asked. “I know you didn’t do it just to bring me my coat.”
Atsumu shrugged and shoved both hands into his own coat pockets. A strong, cold gust of wind ruffled both their hair slightly.
“’Cause I love ya.”
Uh—
★
Sixteen years ago…
“Ya can sleep in my bed, I’ll stay here,” Atsumu told Sakusa, who immediately refused.
“I’m a guest. I shouldn’t take your bed.”
Atsumu rolled his eyes.
“You’re way too stubborn, Omi,” he complained, scratching his eyebrow with his thumb.
Sakusa didn’t move an inch from where he was sitting on the couch; he only muttered, “Look who’s talking.”
Miya smiled.
“Y’know what? My bed’s big enough for two athletic guys over six feet tall to fit…” Just a joke. Not a serious suggestion—
“What are you implying?” Well, it was clear Sakusa hadn’t caught the joke. His face showed a mix of confusion and disgust that had Miya seconds away from bursting out laughing. He was going to keep teasing him.
“Let’s sleep together, Omi-omi,” he said, trying to sound flirtatious as he spoke, running a hand over his thigh at the same time.
It was impossible to ignore the way Sakusa’s gaze dropped to follow the movement of his hand. Atsumu felt his heart start racing, a strange, heavy sensation pressing in his stomach and throat. Arousal. His breathing hitched, and he could only hope Kiyoomi hadn’t noticed. Seriously, gettin’ turned on over this little, ’Tsumu? he scolded himself mentally.
Sakusa stopped staring at Atsumu’s thighs and looked up at his face, then fixated on the setter’s full lips.
“Was that your intention when you invited me to spend the night?” he asked, blushing, his eyes never leaving those lips. “To sleep with me?”
Atsumu licked his lips, fully aware that Kiyoomi was still watching them.
“Could be,” he replied, continuing the game—one that was starting to feel dangerous. Maybe it wasn’t a “game” anymore. “So… ya want to?”
Kiyoomi didn’t answer right away. He studied Atsumu’s face, then sighed and shook his head. His black curls fell further out of place.
“We shouldn’t, Miya. This could affect our performance on the court, and—”
“So ya do want to.”
The dark-haired man cleared his throat and suddenly avoided Miya’s gaze at all costs. Atsumu smiled at Sakusa’s nervousness.
Cute.
“It’s not like I dislike the idea entirely…”
One second of silence. Then two. Then three and four—
And then Atsumu lunged forward to kiss him, and Kiyoomi welcomed it eagerly, savoring his lips as if he’d been fantasizing about that moment for years.
And really—who was he trying to fool? It was obvious he had always wanted to kiss Atsumu.
★
Sakusa came to an abrupt halt. Had he really heard that right? Had Atsumu said that he loved him?
As if he could read his thoughts, Miya spoke. “Yeah. I love ya, Omi. I never stopped, even when my actions said otherwise. I…” He scoffed, looking away. “I know I was an idiot and did a thousand other things wrong. I disappointed ya so many times that I didn’t even have the guts to face ya. I’m a coward. I always have been, and ya know it.”
“Indeed,” Sakusa said shyly.
That made Atsumu smile.
“Look, I thought this awful feeling I’ve been dealin’ with for a while was ‘cause I can’t be a pro volleyball player anymore, but I’ve realized I haven’t been feelin’ like this for just a year or two. It’s been many years, Omi. Ever since we broke up. I’m not tellin’ you this ‘cause I want ya to forgive me or get back together with me, I just…” Atsumu stammered, nervous. “I just want ya to know what my real feelings are. And my regrets. I know we could’ve been an incredible couple, and I ruined it.”
All the years that had passed since they first met rushed before Sakusa’s eyes. Every time he had felt sad, angry, in love, happy, and lost—almost all of them had been because of, with, and thanks to Atsumu. He was only now realizing that, from his adolescence until now, Miya Atsumu had been the axis of so many things in his life. He was as important as volleyball itself, as essential as oxygen and food. Sakusa would be lying if he said he didn’t miss him every single day, every single moment.
Many times, when he grew tired of thinking about Atsumu, he asked himself, “Is it really possible to love someone this much?” And the answer was yes. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget him. He couldn’t let him go.
I really am someone who clings.
“Atsumu, I was very angry with you. I think I still am,” he admitted. “But… fuck,” he muttered, “there’s something about you that makes it impossible for me to keep my eyes or my thoughts away from you for long.” He dragged a hand down his face, exasperated. “This must be love…” He finally looked Atsumu in the eyes. “I never stopped loving you, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”
Those eyes he loved so much filled with tears, and Sakusa understood why. His own throat felt tight. Atsumu let out a small laugh and wiped away the tears with his fingers before they could fall down his cheeks. Then he looked at Kiyoomi with deep warmth and longing.
“Can I get closer?” When the dark-haired man nodded, Atsumu took a few steps forward until their breaths collided. “Can I touch ya?” he whispered, his lips brushing Sakusa’s. He nodded again, and Miya took his hands. They were cold. “Can I… can I kiss ya?”
This time, Sakusa didn’t nod.
Instead, he leaned in himself and tasted Atsumu’s lips. After ten years without even a single kiss, there he was—kissing the man he had chosen to love for the rest of his life.
Neither of them knew what would happen after these confessions. They only knew one thing. They would never let go again.
Miya Atsumu would never live a life without Sakusa Kiyoomi in it.
And Sakusa Kiyoomi would never allow Miya Atsumu to walk away from him again.